Recent Statuses

3 yrs ago
Current I want to see things - that no one else can see


I am currently managing the Crucible, an extradimensional tournament with a unique combat system, and have managed several Dungeon Keepers roleplays in the past along with a RWBY RP I left in more capable hands. Forgive me for melodrama as I say: I can't promise I'm a good man, but I'll do the best I can.

Most Recent Posts

Norway - Skiafjell Ski Lodge

“Heh,” Marxion smirked, rubbing his chin in contemplation, as his new acquaintance tried to explain his attribute. How perfect was this? The kid could patch him up if he got hurt, and make his fistfighting even more potent? The two of them formed a perfect team. Anyone else would just be icing on top of the cake.. After glancing back over at Soraya, however, Marxion found himself having to amend that conclusion: most anyone else would be icing on top, but some would be a nasty crusting of improperly-mixed sugar around the edges. He didn't let the haughty snob put him off, though, and instead resumed trying to think of how Jules could enhance his own attribute. There wasn't a lot he could do in terms of strength, but...if he could, say, boost the range at which he could apply Save Points, that'd be something else. He'd be invincible. Unbeatable.

An idea occurred to him, rooted back in the recesses in his mind. Depending on how the kid did, he might be worth mentioning to the organization. While increased core membership wasn't on the table, adjunct members already existed. Jules' attribute could be useful indeed. However, Marxion shook his head and put the thought out of his mind. From what little he'd seen of Jules' character, good-natured and innocent, he deserved better than the organization.

“Well then mate,” he started, bringing himself from his thoughts back to reality. “Looks like we'll be a killer duo. The way I see it, the only way we'd ever go down is if someone took us both down at the same time in one hit. Otherwise, we'll come back from anythin'.” Two methods of restoration meant that neither would fall so long as the other remained conscious. It was an exciting prospect.

There came a noise from the far end of the resort's main hall. Marxion glanced over to discover the source of the commotion, and spotted a still image of a daytime forest on the section of wall above the grand fireplace, where no screen existed before. A quick glance confirmed the source of the feed to be a projector on the second floor balcony above the reception area, where a portly red-haired man stood managing the device. Every mouth fell silent and every neck in the room craned upward to watch as the video began to play.

The Prospector moved into frame, wearing a frumpy hat and looking a little worse for wear than he did on the ad that played the day before. Without hesitation he launched straightaway into speech. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen of the new frontier. By the time you see this, it will be half past the hour, with thirty minutes until the main event begins. But history isn't made by sticking to plans and schedules, and besides, even now masked men with guns close in on Skiafjell Peak to stake a claim of their own into the promised land for which they have waited—this one-of-a-kind, legendary Rift. But do not let your spirit of adventure falter. Behind the resort are three snowmobiles, ready and waiting. Hurry now, and follow the trail of marked trees. To the brave new world!”

Well before he finished speaking, Skiafjell Ski Resort was a bed of chaos.

Unrepentant when it came to barging past others and throwing his weight around, Marxion proved to be among the first few outside. Just as promised, three snowmobiles with engines already started stood close together on the fresh powder. Marxion sprinted toward them along with the other frontrunners, an idea forming in his head. While he didn't have anything against the others, this was a competition first and foremost. There would be winners and losers, dust makers and dust eaters, and Marxion planned to get results. In front of him, the speediest members of the Metalhead and Tactical groups claimed one snowmobile apiece for their whole units, with other loners hard-pressed to cram in or forced to take the third. Marxion visited each one of the opposing vehicles one after another, slapping a hand on each like a car salesman before climbing into the last snowmobile. Once in, he stood up to wave at Jules, after a moment extending the invitation to Soraya, Reese, and Edison's little group as well. “'Ey! Over here! Y'better choose this one!” If they didn't join him, he didn't particularly care -other than about Jules- but they'd be sorry once his plan came to fruition.

After only a few more moments, every potential rift diver had piled onto one of the three, and one by one they roared to live, surging forward up the snowy hill. A bright blue cloth hung around a tree half a mile up, and the convoy sped its way through the biting mountain air.
Norway - Skiafjell Ski Lodge

Soraya's less-than-courteous observations evoked a scoff from Marxion, who rolled his eyes at her snobbery. Then, as suddenly as she'd come, she was gone. Pretty unphased, he watched her go and begin to bother some random, irritable-looking chick. The look on her face as Soraya approached filled Marxion with sympathy; she seemed to tired and fed up to be disgusted and insulted. Not everyone could fly in on some luxury jet with beds, after all. He heard clearly as the spoiled princess demanded the stranger's help and couldn't help laughing softly in disbelief.

After a moment he leaned over to Jules, shrugged, and told him, “Women, eh?” Then, he leaned back and stretched over the area Soraya left behind, as though to say 'more space for me.' Jules, however, didn't give him any time to relax. “Yeh, I'm here for this rift...” Marxion began, only to be inundated by his new acquaintance's questions. One after another struck him, far too quickly for any to garner a response, until the young man stopped to catch his breath. “Easy there, mate,” the brawler chuckled. “You'll wear yourself runnin' your mouth like that. But um, sure, Defo goin' in. No team though. Wouldn't mind someone watchin' me back, that's for sure. Now, attributes, heh...”

Marxion leaned in again, this time close enough for confidentiality. He spread his fingers wide, as if signifying grand scope. “Do I ever! Check this out, mate.” Grinning, he slapped Jules on the shoulder, sat up, and without a moments hesitation lifted a leg and planted a foot against the ornate glass vase atop the coffee table before him. It sailed over the floor, careened into the ground, and shattered loudly enough to draw eyes from all over the room. When they looked, however, they say nothing out of the ordinary at all; the vase stood on the table, perfectly normal and in one piece, while Marxion stared off innocently into space.

After a few moments, and the various more-or-less confused onlookers put the event out of their mind, Marxion's face broke out into a smile again. “Pretty sick, ain't it? The name's Marxion. If we're gonna be diving together, we oughta get familiar.” He reached out a hand for Jules to shake.
Norway - Skiafjell Ski Lodge

A few minutes slipped by in relative peace, allowing Marxion to doze off where he sat despite the general hubbub. With barely any time at his disposal, he couldn't even come close to sinking into the deep sleep where real rest happened and dreams could filter through, but it was nice enough that the sensation of an impact right next to him felt like a rude awakening. After a moment or two of coming to his senses, he realized he'd already gotten stiff somehow and groaned. Once he'd straightened up and wiped at his eyes a bit -which had leaked a couple tears once well shut- he found himself greeted by the voice of an unfamiliar woman. Naturally, with it being so close and all, he looked to the side. There sat the very picture of posture and etiquette, slender and short and glamorous despite not being outstanding. And with yellow eyes...remarkably similar to his own. Of course, he could barely tell since she was...not looking at him?

Were he the anxious sort Marxion might have looked away, letting the moment turn awkward, but instead he gave a sharp exhale through his nose and a wry smile. The young lady wouldn't have parked herself by him if she didn't want his attention, or at least cared about receiving it. He came with the territory. “Yeh, she's alright. Beautiful. Empty. Cold. Mis'rable. Without anythin' real interestin' to see or do...'til now that is.” He glanced over at the other Rift Divers at Soraya's mention of 'this whole business,' then back at the girl. Now she was looking his way, with a toying sort of look. With a shrug, he replied, “Real piss up, sure. With teams like them around, I'm gonna be flat out tryin' to snag my share from the Rift.”

A few words reached him from a trio not far away: do we have assigned groups or are we finding our own like last month in New Mexico? An opportunity—a path to greater glory waiting ahead. Clearing his voice, Marxion upped the volume a notch and said, “'Course, nothin' stoppin' folks like us from workin' together against those big teams. Fair's fair.” As if on cue, a little man in blue appeared and installed himself on the other side of Soraya. Under normal circumstances Marxion might have felt intruded upon, but people weren't in Skiafjell Ski Lodge today by accident, and his current gambit needed as many members as he could get. Still, he didn't know for sure until the new arrival turned to talk to Soraya, found Marxion already leaning forward and staring pointedly at him, and revealed another set of yellow eyes.

What a coincidence.

But what the kid said made him pause. Was this some sort of joke? He unpaused the next second, steamrolling right over whatever Soraya might've been fixing to say without a care in the world. “You ain't here for the Prospector's Rift, mate?”
I'll be looking to move forward past the night and into the next step of the adventure come Saturday. Until then, I'll look forward whatever you folks might have in store. Remember, if you're wanting to explore or interact with NPC's, I'm happy to help.

Instead of raucous colors, insipid actors, or a catchy jingle, the commercial opened with dead silence and the image of a bushy-haired old man before a forest. A moment passed, and between his whiskers flashed a pearl-white smile. “Over a hundred and seventy years ago,” he rumbled in gravelly, heavily-accented English, “Countless brave men of character threw themselves into the wild unknown of the California frontier in the hopes of making it big. They strode into uncharted territory and incredible danger for wealth, thrills, and the spirit of adventure. Yet, my discovery is greater still.”

He laid a hand on his breast. “Who am I? You may call me the Prospector. This isn't about me, but what I've found.” The grizzled fellow stepped to the side, lifting up his arm to point out a roiling white tear situated upon a hill rising above the snow-caked trees and jagged cliffs. “One week ago I found a new frontier, a brand-new Rift alive with possibility. And tomorrow, I will host a new Gold Rush. Before the governments and corporations get their grubby fingers on it, you,” he pointed right at the camera. “Will be able to plunge into lands unknown. Its splendors and treasures, yours for the taking. But do not delay. If you're in for the chance of a lifetime, be at Skiafjell Ski Lodge in Norway by 10 o'clock tomorrow—that's just twelve hours from now.” Cackling, the old man winked and held a finger to his lips. “And don't tell anyone!”

Then, just as abrupt as it came, the commercial blinked away. A soda pop ad came on in its wake. Countless pairs of eyes across the continent blinked in confusion. Was this a joke? Some kind of rich old fart's idea of having fun? Or was there some shred of truth to what he said...? A great many gave the strange commercial no more thought, but more than a couple fingers began to text and type. Word spread like wildfire, and with the grand hour so close at hand, an intrepid few heard destiny at the door, and leaped from their lives to say hello.

With a great big yawn, Marxion shoved the door open and stumbled inside. He rubbed at the exhaustion filling his eyes with his free fist, setting his case on the hardwood floor with the other, and blinked before looking around. Cozy, cheery, merry, comfortable. A delightful ski resort, the kind of place your everyday Joe Shmoe dreamed about kicking back in with a Schnapps or four. And here he was at last.

...What an old bastard. Who the hell would do something like this?

After catching wind of the Prospector's bizarre announcement, the organization was all in. With such a brief period to capitalize on the chance, they had to act fast. Out of sheer chance, Marxion happened to be the closest, living it up in Wales after a grueling assignment, which he'd obviously aced to the max. No rest for the wicked. Eight hours later, here he stood, smack dab in the middle of picturesque nowhere fit to be tied. He checked his phone: nine-o-seven AM. Less than an hour until the big event. Enough time for a sweet catnap, maybe.

“Um, sir?”

Marxion glanced over at the receptionist. So, she could tell just by looking at him that he probably spoke English? Not surprising. She looked more than a little distressed, which didn't surprise him either. Even from here he could catch a glimpse of the decidedly un-relaxing spectacle at the other end of the spacious main hall. Clearly, those crowds weren't here for a peaceful alpine vacation. “'Ello there,” he greeted her, scooping up his bag and starting in the direction of the unusuals. “Don't mind me miss, jus' hear for the party.” Looking defeated, the woman sank back into her chair. What a day, she was probably thinking, except in Norwedgian. She'd have to do without his sympathy.

Before he reached the other weirdos, he made a hard swerve at the plush couches and plopped himself down. “Ahhhhhh,” he breathed, ready to fall asleep there and then. Before doing so, however, he swept over the gathered people with a half-open eye. There seemed to be a couple assorted loners, and two larger, tight-knit groups. The more interesting bunch appeared to be a totally wild death metal group, its metal-and-black clad members loaded up with unusual weapons and in the process of getting hype for what was to come. If Marxion didn't know better, he'd think they were headed for the Rift just to have some rockin' monsters and crazy backdrops in their latest music videos. As if computer imaging that sort of stuff wasn't about a billion times cheaper and safer. Meanwhile, the other squad was quiet, aloof, and subtly clad in muted, tactical gear. If that group wasn't from a PMC or government plant, Marxion didn't know what was. So much for beating the feds and corporations here. Still, the frontier opened in less than an hour; no policy or official response could roll out that fast. Most likely, they were scrabbling for a piece of the pie just like him. And that was just fine.

More or less satisfied, Marxion stretched out his arms and closed his eyes to relax. Things could be tough without a team, but when the going got tough Marxion got going. That would never change.
If you don't mind me asking @PKMNB0Y, what do you think about my character sheet?
I'm interested in this premise. Here is my submission.

Tora & Poppi

Level 4 Tora - (17/40) EXP && Level 3 Poppi - (7/30) EXP
Location: Peach's Castle Kitchen
Word Count: 1263

The kitchen was lively, but even with the addition of another half-dozen faces and the best efforts of a few copycat rabbids, the situation never devolved into chaos. Tora appreciated that; it allowed the whole affair to retain the comfortable, familiar air of a big community dinner instead of a mess-hall madhouse. Even with the typical Nopon appetite, he felt full after a while, and settled back on his chair to watch and listen. Poppi, content with the aromas she'd sample, busied herself collecting plates and debris to pile in the sink or toss in the trash—or to Kirby, as the case might be. No matter what came before him, the little guy seemed content to vacuum it down.

In the course of her efforts the Artificial Blade passed close to practically everyone present, and she committed each face to memory. These were her allies, her teammates. From the searing visage of the Centurion to the startling normality of Franklin to the effortless elegance of Din, each one left an impression. A normal blade knew from birth the tragedy of his or her existence; that when his or her driver perished, the inert nothingness of existence as a Core Crystal would persist until a new would-be driver came along, and awakened the blade anew, all memories swept away. Some, like Bridgid, knew such privilege that they could jot down their lifetimes into journals that would last the generations, but most would never have the slightest hint of the loves, hatreds, excitements, and sorrows that came before. Poppi did not envy them. Her memories of her Masterpon were precious, and if it came down to dying forever or living again with all thought of her friends erased, erasure seemed preferable. Fortunately, as a Blade of machinery and software, she need never know such a fate as what awaited Dromarch, Bridgid, Aegeon, Pandoria, Obrona, and so many others.

She came to Gene in due course, making sure to study his features especially since he was so knew. The situation might have been awkward if the young man didn't preoccupy himself with an introduction. Putting her new knowledge to good use, Poppi assured him, “Do not worry, mister Gene. Everyone vulnerable, and actions under baddypon influence not friends' fault. Now that Gene has come to senses, he can be Poppi's friend. That what matter.”

In a corner of the kitchen, a young man with a bad squint sat with a rather sardonic grin on his face. The meager dish of food he'd made for himself lay close by, barely picked at. Meals alone would not sustain him, and did not interest him. His eyes fell upon an approaching toad, an aged, sharply-dressed specimen. Toadsworth came to a stop in front of Henry, planted his cane, and said, “Pardon me sonny, but you look like you know your way 'round a tome or two. What do you say you lend a hand in the library, helping me sort out all these books from different worlds? Luigi left a couple spooks behind when he left, so it could be pretty exciting. Well? Coming?” He extended the mage a hand.

Meanwhile, Tora threw a dubious look at Centurion. Sure, the guy got a bit bigger and more incendiary, but already he seemed to be a little full of himself. Maybe it was for the better Tora didn't get that Megadragonbowser spirit; few Nopon could avoid giving in to temptation. Din spoke more sense. Even with the whole group, including a couple of the sturdiest tanks and deadliest fighters in the business, their foe had wiped a couple of them out with terrifying ease. Tora took a look around, taking in everyone present. Then again, with a group as big as this, they could split into two groups and neither team would be much smaller than the one that invaded Peach's Castle. “Meh, meh,” he piped up, not sure what to do. Coming up with a plan and setting it into motion was Rex's shtick, or perhaps Nia's, or Morag's. Leadership wasn't the inventor's responsibility.

Speaking of, that pipsqueak Bowser Jr was leading the way out of the kitchen, no doubt embarking on that repair mission his dad mentioned. With Ratchet and Blazermate busy teleporting bread and sorting out one facet of the transportation issue, the mite-sized miscreant would need someone who knew his way around a wrench. Plus, as nice as going to bed sounded, he didn't want to conk out right after a meal. Leaping to his stubby legs, Tora called, “Hold on, littlepon! Tora will help do it!” As he made tracks, his faithful companion plonked down her stack of plates into the sink and rushed after him, her metal legs clanging against the stone floor.

It was a beautiful evening outside. The sun's descent sent streaks of yellow and orange up from the horizon; it wouldn't be too long before it set. Still muddled by dinner, Tora made it to the bridge over the castle moat before he ran out of breath; Bowser Jr and his rabbid entourage would have to wait for the moment. Given what he'd seen, the Nopon didn't exactly trust the critters when it came to safety, but somehow they did seem to have a knack for cobbling contraptions together. Speak of the devil: an unusual noise seized his attention, and from the heavens came a bizarre flying machine, landing itself in front of the castle door before divulging Hat Kid and a stranger that seemed free from Galeem's influence. Tora would have said hello, but Linkle jogged up a second later, only marginally slower than Donnie's whole process of summoning, boarding, flying, de-boarding, and de-summoning. She looked as though she would continue after Junior, as opposed to joining the others inside, but Tora could not stop himself from accosting her.

From the vantage point of a Nopon, the changes made manifest on Linkle were particularly clear. “Meh meh mehmehmeh!?” he exclaimed, intrigued and delighted. “Linky-Linky got smaller, and sprouted long ears! Friend as cute as bunnit!” Still standing beside him, Poppi rolled her eyes. Seldom did her masterpon wear his idealization of cutesy appearances and behavior on his sleeve.

She crossed her arms. “For while there, Poppi almost forgot about major flaw. A shame Tora had to go and remind.”

Tora looked hurt. “Meh! Poppi so mean to Tora...” He averted his gaze and, spurred on by his invention's disapproval, continued after Junior in a hurry. In doing so, he totally forgot Donnie, who Poppi acknowledged with a bow. “Hello, new person. Poppi bid welcome to ragtag misfit force. Make proper introduction later. Goodbye!” With that, she went after Tora.

The two rendezvoused with Bowser's kid and his cohorts in the Scrapyard. Wreckage from various machines lay everywhere, much of it too comically large to be anything other than the cast-aside parts of some colossal clockwork, but a great many karts and bikes in various conditions could be found. None of them seemed broken up into too many little pieces, so with some scrounging, replacement, and retrofitting, repairs would be a good sight easier than a typical feat of engineering. Were racing machines really that easy to make in the Mushroom Kingdom?

An idea came to the Nopon as he looked among the available chassis: an innovative kart resembling a miniature boat on wheels. It could be a lot of fun. That said, there needed to be at least twenty karts in working order, and with daylight fading fast the mechanic team needed to put its collective pedal to the metal.

(The next update will begin with a wrap-up of the evening and then skip over the night. Once morning comes, the trek into the Land of Adventure will begin, unless a different consensus is reached before that. Close out the evening with interaction, question-asking, story-telling, hijinx, games, feasting, exploration, or whatever strikes your fancy, for 'tomorrow' we ride!)

Okay, so I decided that my Armored Core PC wasn't going to work. Have my Warcraft PC instead! Note that it's like 5AM and I may have missed some things.

Alright, terribly sorry for how long it took me to reply, but your character is accepted. He does have a whole lot of equipment, but it seems like you've done a good job limiting it appropriately. Welcome to World of Light! Go ahead and put your sheet in the Characters tab. I myself have no specific ideas for whatever character should occupy your third Kindred Spirit slot; since the others are connected to your Grandmaster, though, maybe you could pick a fun character you really enjoy either to potentially play or to take as a Spirit later on. If nothing strikes your fancy, perhaps your favorite Smash Bros character.

Since it's not reasonably at this point that your character came along like Gene in the nick of time to be affected by the dark wave, he'll still be under Galeem's influence at the start. If you like, I could collab with you and have him get into a fight with some monster or something near Peach's Castle, weakening him enough that a Friend Heart could restore him. Or, you could work with another player for an introduction fight. Any preference, or other ideas?
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