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I'd say yes (also, Y has a shotgun built into her gauntlet, so she is ranged). For people having trouble, maybe look up the weapons from Kid Icarus, as they all have ranged and melee attacks.
The copy-paste is strong with this one!
Go for iiiiiit, you know you wanna :P
Also, someone please use a cross between a pillar and a cannon. I need my tanky super-heavy weapon fix, but it makes no sense on my stealthy assassin character!
Oh, I also want to throw out my vote that 3 groups is too much. That many people will be hard to keep track of. I'd suggest two squads and a waiting list.
Also, someone please use a cross between a pillar and a cannon. I need my tanky super-heavy weapon fix, but it makes no sense on my stealthy assassin character!
Oh, I also want to throw out my vote that 3 groups is too much. That many people will be hard to keep track of. I'd suggest two squads and a waiting list.
Henzukaya said
OK HUGE MISUNDERSTANDING ON MY PART. I mean NO Canon characters, as in we're all making them from scratch. I'm sorry for ANY AND ALL confusion caused by my misinterpretation of english slang. Although...... Penny isn't a part of any team, is she? Actually, what does she do?? If she attends or is attending Beacon, I would probably allow somebody to play as her.Yeeaaah, better change that now then.So, title ideas? I definitely want it to include or be based around Chess
Penny doesn't attend Beacon, and is becoming a larger part of the story. The problem with using a side official character like that is that new information may be revealed about them in the show which will not be consistent with the RP.
I vote for us to call the RP Deep Blue. Yes, it has to do with chess, but it's vague enough that people won't go "Oh, chess!" when seeing it. Also it contains color, which is important in the RWBYverse.
Canon characters are those who are official parts of the cast.
And dang it, I forgot that Penny has floating swords covered. I wanted to make my weapons 8 throwing knives, but they were going to return telepathically, and I guess Penny pretty much has that covered. Well darn... maybe I'll steal Pit's weapon.
And dang it, I forgot that Penny has floating swords covered. I wanted to make my weapons 8 throwing knives, but they were going to return telepathically, and I guess Penny pretty much has that covered. Well darn... maybe I'll steal Pit's weapon.
By rule 5, I assume you mean NO canon characters? Otherwise I will be dropping out as I prefer to make my own characters.
There's a Dust-focused lore video on the RWBY rooster-teeth website.
There's a Dust-focused lore video on the RWBY rooster-teeth website.
Oh, sweet, I'm always up for making insane characters!
Same here, if this gets off I want in :P
“…about sixteen of us down here.” Mariya furrowed her brow and was about to protest that it certainly looked like there were more than just that many, but someone else entered the scene before she could formulate how she would say it.
He was a tall man with quick words which he delivered with a bit of a sneer, though his words could have almost been kind. He certainly did seem well-informed, regardless. And as he got closer and closer, he got quieter and quieter until he stood not a foot away and his last words were nothing more than a whisper. From this close she had to look up much further than she was used to, and to save her neck the pain, she took a step back.
What he said was important, though. He knew what had caused their downfall? Her uncle told her that no one knew due to a mass amnesia spell, or at least that was the best that he could gather from the fact that none of those who had been there and seen the horrors could actually remember what had caused them. Somehow every memory of the battle seemed intact, but none of them held the perpetrator. But this man was suddenly claiming to know what had caused it, and apparently was willing to part with that information for a price.
Uncle would want to know about this. But how would she bring the news to him? If this character did know, and she let him go, and her uncle wanted to know, then they might have lost their chance. If she brought him to her uncle right away, then she might give away their location for no good reason. Even just letting slip that she wasn’t alone might be a mistake.
Well, it wouldn’t hurt to at least see what he thought the information was worth. Maybe she wouldn’t have to make any decision at all if he demanded something preposterous.
A wicked smirk spread across Angel face, which had remained arrogantly calm, as he lazily stared at the Dweller with his crimson spectacles. It didn't take long for XIII to realize he had caught the Alchemist's attention, all it took was but a brief glimpse to understand something was a miss with her. The Crimson Asylum was a reputable Psychokinetic, though due to the nature of his ability it is often difficult for him to switch it off completely, a fortunate error in this scenario.
The human mind is an enigma of complexities, and memories are but one part of its magnificence. On average the human mind possesses a 100 billion neurons and each neuron is capable of making a thousand connections, a rough estimate would make the brain's storage capabilities to be around 500 to a 1000 terrabytes. However in Angel's words, 'a man could live a hundred lives and never lose grip over his cognative functions. This is the reason why our minds never delete any information, it surpresses it no doubt but the data is forever present. If a scenario ever does surface which signifies tampering and or deletion of a memory, there is but one explanation....alchemy.
"Tell me, little one," Angel spoke, his tone polite albeit laced with arrogance. "Do you feel there are gaps....in your memory? I don't mean amnesia....I mean a sensation that you literally draw a blank over a period of time....as if a memory never existed?" The Lost Number continued, his nimble fingers tapping the frame of his glasses in a repetitive melody.
Mariya was quickly getting less and less comfortable with this character and the situation he was placing her in. The robots subtly shifted to reflect this, Frizz coming up closer and the other two slowly winding up their guns so that the interesting metronome of their clinking mechanical bits created a staccato that reverberated pleasantly to eliminate the silence that would have otherwise prevailed in the pause as she once again tried to figure out what to say to extricate herself from this situation.
There was nothing pleasant about this man. He didn't try to be pleasant in any way, his face leant a conceited and wicked turn to what should have been a reassuring smile, and he looked like he knew it and liked it. And then there were his searching questions, which were not the sort to put someone at ease. You didn't come in claiming to have information about what killed someone's parents and friends and teachers and everything they had, and then ask them if they were missing memories. Especially if there really were times where she drew alarming blanks, specifically around that incident. No, there was nothing unthreatening about approaching someone in that manner. It was almost like he could read her mind, and saying the things which would cause her the most discomfort.
Mariya spent a too-long time standing hesitantly between turning away or turning toward him. Her mouth hung open slightly as she flitted her eyes over him over and over again, looking for something to make up her mind, but there was nothing there. She realized that she was spending too long, and that it would do nothing but confirm his suspicions no matter what she said. But did that really matter? If she just walked away now, she could get back to her uncle and they could figure out what to do together, and meet this horrible man with some sort of plan and on their own terms. She finally made up her mind, and Carl and Ralph stopped their spinning to quickly recombine into her armored bike.
"Perhaps," she said, backing toward her method of escape without turning her back on him.
"You can't hide forever little rogue, time is a leisure we can't afford." The Crimson Asylum spoke in a grimmacing tone, the consistent tapping of his spectacles abruptly stopping. "There is a device that is blocking the use of our alchemy and complicating matters," he continued, clasping his hands toghether and pondering over the matter briefly.
"This device acts like a radio jammer, it locks onto someone's frequency and causes a clutter. All Asylums share a link and as such jamming our concentration patterns is far easier, but you," XIII's finger lazily pointed at the Alchemist before him, the true objective of this little conversation was about to be revealed.
"You are immune to this disturbance, the device hasn't locked onto your mental frequency...yet. Locate the device and help us destroy it, quite a simple exchange really. You help us and we help you. But like I mentioned, time is a luxory we can't afford."
Mariya mounted her mechanical steed as Angel continued talking, motioning Frizz to come around to his mount point. She was about to bug out without response, but then noticed the small glowing red LED that indicated that Uncle's radio was connected to Frizz. Oh, great, how long had he been listening?
"Hey, Uncle," she muttered, only peeking her eyes over the dash so that Angel couldn't see the holdup. "What's up?"
"I was going to ask the same thing. Turn me up so that I can talk to him." Mariya grimaced, but did as Uncle had asked.
"Hello there, Asylum. I've been listening in for a few minutes, but do excuse me if I don't see how your proposition helps us in the slightest."
He was a tall man with quick words which he delivered with a bit of a sneer, though his words could have almost been kind. He certainly did seem well-informed, regardless. And as he got closer and closer, he got quieter and quieter until he stood not a foot away and his last words were nothing more than a whisper. From this close she had to look up much further than she was used to, and to save her neck the pain, she took a step back.
What he said was important, though. He knew what had caused their downfall? Her uncle told her that no one knew due to a mass amnesia spell, or at least that was the best that he could gather from the fact that none of those who had been there and seen the horrors could actually remember what had caused them. Somehow every memory of the battle seemed intact, but none of them held the perpetrator. But this man was suddenly claiming to know what had caused it, and apparently was willing to part with that information for a price.
Uncle would want to know about this. But how would she bring the news to him? If this character did know, and she let him go, and her uncle wanted to know, then they might have lost their chance. If she brought him to her uncle right away, then she might give away their location for no good reason. Even just letting slip that she wasn’t alone might be a mistake.
Well, it wouldn’t hurt to at least see what he thought the information was worth. Maybe she wouldn’t have to make any decision at all if he demanded something preposterous.
A wicked smirk spread across Angel face, which had remained arrogantly calm, as he lazily stared at the Dweller with his crimson spectacles. It didn't take long for XIII to realize he had caught the Alchemist's attention, all it took was but a brief glimpse to understand something was a miss with her. The Crimson Asylum was a reputable Psychokinetic, though due to the nature of his ability it is often difficult for him to switch it off completely, a fortunate error in this scenario.
The human mind is an enigma of complexities, and memories are but one part of its magnificence. On average the human mind possesses a 100 billion neurons and each neuron is capable of making a thousand connections, a rough estimate would make the brain's storage capabilities to be around 500 to a 1000 terrabytes. However in Angel's words, 'a man could live a hundred lives and never lose grip over his cognative functions. This is the reason why our minds never delete any information, it surpresses it no doubt but the data is forever present. If a scenario ever does surface which signifies tampering and or deletion of a memory, there is but one explanation....alchemy.
"Tell me, little one," Angel spoke, his tone polite albeit laced with arrogance. "Do you feel there are gaps....in your memory? I don't mean amnesia....I mean a sensation that you literally draw a blank over a period of time....as if a memory never existed?" The Lost Number continued, his nimble fingers tapping the frame of his glasses in a repetitive melody.
Mariya was quickly getting less and less comfortable with this character and the situation he was placing her in. The robots subtly shifted to reflect this, Frizz coming up closer and the other two slowly winding up their guns so that the interesting metronome of their clinking mechanical bits created a staccato that reverberated pleasantly to eliminate the silence that would have otherwise prevailed in the pause as she once again tried to figure out what to say to extricate herself from this situation.
There was nothing pleasant about this man. He didn't try to be pleasant in any way, his face leant a conceited and wicked turn to what should have been a reassuring smile, and he looked like he knew it and liked it. And then there were his searching questions, which were not the sort to put someone at ease. You didn't come in claiming to have information about what killed someone's parents and friends and teachers and everything they had, and then ask them if they were missing memories. Especially if there really were times where she drew alarming blanks, specifically around that incident. No, there was nothing unthreatening about approaching someone in that manner. It was almost like he could read her mind, and saying the things which would cause her the most discomfort.
Mariya spent a too-long time standing hesitantly between turning away or turning toward him. Her mouth hung open slightly as she flitted her eyes over him over and over again, looking for something to make up her mind, but there was nothing there. She realized that she was spending too long, and that it would do nothing but confirm his suspicions no matter what she said. But did that really matter? If she just walked away now, she could get back to her uncle and they could figure out what to do together, and meet this horrible man with some sort of plan and on their own terms. She finally made up her mind, and Carl and Ralph stopped their spinning to quickly recombine into her armored bike.
"Perhaps," she said, backing toward her method of escape without turning her back on him.
"You can't hide forever little rogue, time is a leisure we can't afford." The Crimson Asylum spoke in a grimmacing tone, the consistent tapping of his spectacles abruptly stopping. "There is a device that is blocking the use of our alchemy and complicating matters," he continued, clasping his hands toghether and pondering over the matter briefly.
"This device acts like a radio jammer, it locks onto someone's frequency and causes a clutter. All Asylums share a link and as such jamming our concentration patterns is far easier, but you," XIII's finger lazily pointed at the Alchemist before him, the true objective of this little conversation was about to be revealed.
"You are immune to this disturbance, the device hasn't locked onto your mental frequency...yet. Locate the device and help us destroy it, quite a simple exchange really. You help us and we help you. But like I mentioned, time is a luxory we can't afford."
Mariya mounted her mechanical steed as Angel continued talking, motioning Frizz to come around to his mount point. She was about to bug out without response, but then noticed the small glowing red LED that indicated that Uncle's radio was connected to Frizz. Oh, great, how long had he been listening?
"Hey, Uncle," she muttered, only peeking her eyes over the dash so that Angel couldn't see the holdup. "What's up?"
"I was going to ask the same thing. Turn me up so that I can talk to him." Mariya grimaced, but did as Uncle had asked.
"Hello there, Asylum. I've been listening in for a few minutes, but do excuse me if I don't see how your proposition helps us in the slightest."
It still made little sense to him, but Jupiter wasn’t in a mood to argue with Vulban on the subject. He’d half expected for him to explode at the mention of Jupiter’s confusion, and it made no sense to push his luck, especially since Vulban seemed quite set on his purpose.
Regardless, there were more constructive things for them to do with their time than argue about what they’d do once they had won. After all, they had to win first. And to do so, they would need a plan.
He was at a disadvantage, as he saw it. Were they on his home planet, he would be at the top of the food chain, but the sad circumstances were that they were not. No, here the atmosphere was thin and empty, devoid of both the nutrients that he needed to survive and the elements that his throat could ignite into light. That was the whole reason for the tube: it constantly pumped the nutrients of his home planet into him without giving him a favorable atmosphere. The Terrans had become smart when it came to his weapons.
That left him with only his huge frame to commend himself to battle. Surely it was nothing to take for granted: his large wings gave him a huge reach and his natural armor gave him near invulnerability to the weapons that he had experienced so far. His physiology even gave him an advantage should they end up in a situation with no air or a poisonous gas: his race was a space-faring one, and as such had evolved beyond the need for respiration as most of their enemies would almost undoubtedly still require. He still had to be careful not to inhale too much of a poison to avoid eating it, but he doubted that they would be facing any such threat, anyway.
However, Vulban’s powers were still a mystery to him. He had said that he specialized in punching things, but that told Jupiter little of their potential. Was Vulban’s a strong race? How would he fair against the more-common ones that they would face? And where would his weaknesses be, so that they could plan around them?
“I think that it is time for us to discuss the competition,” he said solemnly. “We must know each other’s strengths and weaknesses if we hope to survive to get your revenge.”
Regardless, there were more constructive things for them to do with their time than argue about what they’d do once they had won. After all, they had to win first. And to do so, they would need a plan.
He was at a disadvantage, as he saw it. Were they on his home planet, he would be at the top of the food chain, but the sad circumstances were that they were not. No, here the atmosphere was thin and empty, devoid of both the nutrients that he needed to survive and the elements that his throat could ignite into light. That was the whole reason for the tube: it constantly pumped the nutrients of his home planet into him without giving him a favorable atmosphere. The Terrans had become smart when it came to his weapons.
That left him with only his huge frame to commend himself to battle. Surely it was nothing to take for granted: his large wings gave him a huge reach and his natural armor gave him near invulnerability to the weapons that he had experienced so far. His physiology even gave him an advantage should they end up in a situation with no air or a poisonous gas: his race was a space-faring one, and as such had evolved beyond the need for respiration as most of their enemies would almost undoubtedly still require. He still had to be careful not to inhale too much of a poison to avoid eating it, but he doubted that they would be facing any such threat, anyway.
However, Vulban’s powers were still a mystery to him. He had said that he specialized in punching things, but that told Jupiter little of their potential. Was Vulban’s a strong race? How would he fair against the more-common ones that they would face? And where would his weaknesses be, so that they could plan around them?
“I think that it is time for us to discuss the competition,” he said solemnly. “We must know each other’s strengths and weaknesses if we hope to survive to get your revenge.”
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