I'm pretty sure the lifting max is around 100 tons or so.
Though, this makes you wonder why some characters that are unbelievably large can only lift 100 tons, like Green's high-tier mech, which is around 200+ feet tall (I think).
Does size factor into a character's overall physical might?
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So Boerd said
What is a god-forged champion of war anyway? Or a magma kraken?
If those are Exalted thing-ama-jigs, then I foresee a lengthy Beta post around the corner.
Beta said
Nice double-quote. Also, just for clarification... you're character hasn't actually taken any hostile actions yet, right?
Blame Mahz.
Anyway, no. BoT is currently observing the situation at hand. He doesn't know who--or what--Erde is, but Ysolda bears strong resemblance to a member of Jurreal's tribe. All of this nonsense will be explained both in the IC and in the PM you will be receiving relatively soon.
Beta said
-this portion erased because it makes Beta seem like an even bigger assbag than normal-Also, PM me with this plan, if you would. I'd like to know at least a bit about it, since my character is involved.Ugh... re-read your post, ASTA. I'm sorry for snapping to conclusions. You're not so much attacking, as preparing in case you are attacked. I've been dealing with an incredible amount of stress the past few days and I fear it has been boiling over into the OOC/IC. My sincere apologies to everyone.
Beta said
-this portion erased because it makes Beta seem like an even bigger assbag than normal-Also, PM me with this plan, if you would. I'd like to know at least a bit about it, since my character is involved.Ugh... re-read your post, ASTA. I'm sorry for snapping to conclusions. You're not so much attacking, as preparing in case you are attacked. I've been dealing with an incredible amount of stress the past few days and I fear it has been boiling over into the OOC/IC. My sincere apologies to everyone.
I will PM it to you---after I play a few more rounds of Conquest on BF.
Done.
Now I can bitch endlessly without Leeroy or Melon complaining.
But in all seriousness, I do have a plan for Beta's character.
Now I can bitch endlessly without Leeroy or Melon complaining.
But in all seriousness, I do have a plan for Beta's character.
Beowulf of Trinity never could properly comprehend morality—though in truth, most concepts and emotions intrinsic to the human condition often struck the automaton as completely alien. They were eccentric— confusing to the God Machine above all else—though current former caretaker, Jurreal Maldor, had shown him much in the ways of Humanity.
Anticipation and joy; these two unique emotions Jurreal revealed to Beowulf when the manually-powered digging utensils of his tribe first unearthed him, for the wizened chieftain knew then that a defender had come forth from the heavens to shield them from the marauding daemons that prowled the Wasteland World’s boundless lands. Beowulf had made notes of the changes in Jurreal’s unique gait, such as the way his eyes ‘shimmered’ upon taking his first look at his metallic body or how his fleshy eyes secreted a bizarre mixture of salt and water.
And then there was fear and anger. Personally, Beowulf found these two emotions the most enticing and intriguing of them all. The first time the Machine God had been introduced to them had been when his caretaker’s primordial enemies first came down from the western mountains—just so they had done in the past—with their weapons held high and their voices bearing the songs and words of war and slaughter. The tribal natives ran for their ramshackle adobes, donning club and rifle in preparation for the mounting of ferocious defense of their homes. The primal aggression and unadulterated terror that radiated from Jurreal’s people’s bodies was truly overwhelming, breathtaking even (if Beowulf could even breathe perhaps), their vigor strong and their willingness to die even stronger. Their spirits seemed to take on a more savage demeanor with each death that they delivered to the enemy. Suffice to say, their emotions only intensified when Beowulf unshackled the peerless might of his particle weapon and electromagnetic rotary guns.
When Beowulf first exited the wormhole, the first thing that met his visual sensors was the current state of the metropolis. Perched upon a hefty mound of debris, the Machine God scanned the landscape before him, sweeping his great head from side to side. The muffled screams of the dying met his acoustic sensors; the crimson radiance of roaring flame reflected off of his armored body.
He was unmoved by the dismal vista, for such destruction was not unknown to him, but the sight of what appeared to be a gargantuan human male made of stone, wood and bits of tree seemed relatively…’out of place’ so to speak. Indeed, that was interesting—but only vaguely.
What did catch and hold Beowulf’s eye was the individual that the Tree Man, whom Beowulf had designated as Unidentified Entity-268, held under his heel. Her physical appearance contrasted well with that of one of Jurreal’s tribe. It was uncanny. It was confusing to Beowulf; he had sworn his most generous of caretakers’ people had been left on the Wasteland World.
Part of him wanted to act, though the God Machine knew that he now resided within foreign lands. His presence he did not conserve however; on the mound he would remain, his large body in full view of anyone that looked to his direction. In preparation for possible conflict, Beowulf began charging his particle weapon, cycling plasma through the magnetically-charged coil that spanned the length of his spine.
Anticipation and joy; these two unique emotions Jurreal revealed to Beowulf when the manually-powered digging utensils of his tribe first unearthed him, for the wizened chieftain knew then that a defender had come forth from the heavens to shield them from the marauding daemons that prowled the Wasteland World’s boundless lands. Beowulf had made notes of the changes in Jurreal’s unique gait, such as the way his eyes ‘shimmered’ upon taking his first look at his metallic body or how his fleshy eyes secreted a bizarre mixture of salt and water.
And then there was fear and anger. Personally, Beowulf found these two emotions the most enticing and intriguing of them all. The first time the Machine God had been introduced to them had been when his caretaker’s primordial enemies first came down from the western mountains—just so they had done in the past—with their weapons held high and their voices bearing the songs and words of war and slaughter. The tribal natives ran for their ramshackle adobes, donning club and rifle in preparation for the mounting of ferocious defense of their homes. The primal aggression and unadulterated terror that radiated from Jurreal’s people’s bodies was truly overwhelming, breathtaking even (if Beowulf could even breathe perhaps), their vigor strong and their willingness to die even stronger. Their spirits seemed to take on a more savage demeanor with each death that they delivered to the enemy. Suffice to say, their emotions only intensified when Beowulf unshackled the peerless might of his particle weapon and electromagnetic rotary guns.
When Beowulf first exited the wormhole, the first thing that met his visual sensors was the current state of the metropolis. Perched upon a hefty mound of debris, the Machine God scanned the landscape before him, sweeping his great head from side to side. The muffled screams of the dying met his acoustic sensors; the crimson radiance of roaring flame reflected off of his armored body.
He was unmoved by the dismal vista, for such destruction was not unknown to him, but the sight of what appeared to be a gargantuan human male made of stone, wood and bits of tree seemed relatively…’out of place’ so to speak. Indeed, that was interesting—but only vaguely.
What did catch and hold Beowulf’s eye was the individual that the Tree Man, whom Beowulf had designated as Unidentified Entity-268, held under his heel. Her physical appearance contrasted well with that of one of Jurreal’s tribe. It was uncanny. It was confusing to Beowulf; he had sworn his most generous of caretakers’ people had been left on the Wasteland World.
Part of him wanted to act, though the God Machine knew that he now resided within foreign lands. His presence he did not conserve however; on the mound he would remain, his large body in full view of anyone that looked to his direction. In preparation for possible conflict, Beowulf began charging his particle weapon, cycling plasma through the magnetically-charged coil that spanned the length of his spine.
LeeRoy said
Alright, ASTA, you're cool to post.
Cool.
Give me a moment.
LeeRoy said
You should wait just a sec, ASTA. I'm editing my post.
Ok.
GreivousKhan said
I can tell you what color shes not.
I'd rather you not, honestly.
About half-way done with my post.
But uh.
Beta, what color is Ysolda's skin?
Ignore the fact that this question is very odd. Just answer it.
But uh.
Beta, what color is Ysolda's skin?
Ignore the fact that this question is very odd. Just answer it.
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