Recent Statuses

5 Nov 2016 21:58
Current I want to see things - that no one else can see
15 Aug 2016 2:36
I'll judge you with my Stand! 「Greased Lightning」!
2 Aug 2016 18:16
At maximum overbork
1 like
7 Apr 2016 0:47
Are you tired of peel, peel, peeling potatoes? Stop!
1 like
25 Mar 2016 2:36
You are the ocean's gray waves, destined to seek life beyond the shore just out of reach. Yet the waters ever change, flowing like time. The path is yours to climb.


I am currently managing Heroes of Beacon, a RWBY roleplay, and have managed several Dungeon Keepers roleplays in the past. I've only recently embarked on a new endeavor: a tournament RP with a unique combat system. 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

Knight Sylvestre

Location: the Neighborhood

Cyril woke to soreness in all sorts of places all the time, but this morning in particular a new pain greeted him. The instant he tried to move his foot, a lance of pain shot through his whole leg, not much better than the agony inflicted by the throwing knife responsible in the first place. Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position, then tried to stand. Altogether, the task of moving from recumbent to the closest bathroom took several minutes. There, he washed the wounded foot in the tub, having been able to figure out its function due to the existence of similar furnishings in his own world. A slow but thorough search of the cabinets revealed no medical supplies, but a roll of perforated paper hanging beside what he guessed to be an advanced toilet would work decently as bandages. “Ahhhh, ah ah!” He grimaced, his bushy black eyebrows two ridges of sheer anger, while uselessly fuming at his former self for not taking the time to treat the injury the day before. Even at a slow and steady pace, he was halfway through putting his armor back on (a time-consuming and tedious task for a knight bereft of a squire) when a massive explosion in the distance simultaneously startled him and threw a pauldron from his hands.

In half a minute he stood on the commandeered house's doorstep, armor mostly equipped. “What in the world?” To his knowledge, only the destruction of a gunpowder storage or a magical disaster could cause such devastation. He did not have time to ponder it, however. Oren the announcer powered on his phylactery's hidden microphone and proceeded to yammer his ears off, though the information he did offer was by no means useless. More pieces on the table, Cyril mused at length. Looks like the city won't be abandoned for much longer. Holding his rubbery techno-heart in his hands, the Knight Sylvestre debated on whether to call Oren straightaway. After an entire fight and the following night, a little actual help would be great. Still, if he had only three calls to make, it would be better to save him until he was in a real bind. Nodding his head at this conclusion, Cyril tucked the phylactery away, attached his shield, reluctantly grabbed the weird screw, hoisted is halberd, and stepped out the door into a new adventure.

Even in broad daylight, the ticky-tacky houses of the suburb all looked much the same. The sun's arrival did allow him to peer into the distance for the first time, and after using his Sheen to boost onto a roof, Cyril scoped out the horizons. More buildings lay in every direction for some way. The closest variations in architecture were not that far away, but they didn't seem especially remarkable. Big, colorful signs spoke of merchants' advertisements on a larger scale, and while Cyril decided he would visit one, he didn't think that an opponent with a chance to dig in would make such a small-time place his or her hideout. Far, far away were buildings of a size nothing short of astronomical; the vanguard caught his breath to see such monolithic structures just standing there, however many miles away. In another direction, he could spy a hazy green mass that could only mean a forest. Despite these, the middle ground caught his attention. To the east-southeast -judging by the sun- the buildings became more city-like, and among them stood a giant white facility with a curved roof. “Gotta try that,” he declared, feeling sure that was the place to be.

The Fungal Knight

Location: Amusement Mile – Echoed Dead Man's Rock

The plant, sentient thanks to its spawner's power but not omniscient, could only mill around in circles after receiving Bonesword's command. How, after all, was a poor stump to know a mobile entity's location? The skeleton's phylactery, however, hung ready and waiting from its cord. Using it meant spending one of Bonesword's three allotted calls for help if he needed something of Oren, but announcing to the announcer his knowledge of the invading clowns did not require Oren to do anything, and could thusly be accomplished for free.

By now, the sun had arisen over the cityscape's horizon enough to make the sea glimmer with reflected light. A light coat of mist hung over the ocean, a final hurrah of last night's deluge, but it meant little to any contestant. In front of Bonesword sprawled the City of Echoes, only a few steps away off the end of the wooden pier that supported the Amusement Mile, and within lay the secrets and souls that would define his quest for the wish even he didn't know. While he was thinking, the microphone hidden within his phylactery came online, but only the sounds of crashing waves and seabirds came through at the moment.

(Your character's phylactery has been linked to RoughDragon1's character's. From now until otherwise noted, you both will be able to hear whatever the other says, as well as sufficiently loud noises in their surroundings)

The Blood Devil

Location: the Shore

A dark shape hurtled over the coastline toward Saria's current position, radiating a steady whine that grew louder as it grew closer. It burst from a grove of coconut palms only a few hundred feet away and swooped down as it closed the remaining distance, slowing itself as it did. Though as unknown to the warrior of a bygone age as when she'd first seen it, the four-rotor flying contraption now sparked a hint of familiarity. Without further ado, Oren's image popped up from its front, suspended weightless in the air as a two-dimensional projected sheet of light. Today's smile spoke of personal guilt, though not one that troubled him too badly. “Top of the mornin' to ya! Sorry 'bout last night. Scouting drone got smashed in the fight, and your first prize went into the ocean. Boy, was the College not happy about that! No more enclosed spaces for me after losing two drones and an artifact. Still, as a show of good faith, I got you something special anyway. Here it is, better late than never.” From the undercarriage of the drone, a wooden box fell to plop in the sand, ripe for the opening.

You got:
18. Egg Timer
Rules were meant to be broken
Changes the direction of gravity for the holder based on the turn of the timer

The picture of Oren showed him tapping the side of his forehead, just above the rim of his glasses. “Now, I know what you're thinking. Your request, right? Never fear when the Genie's here. You're live in three, two, one...” He made a big show of lifting up his hand, twirling his fingers, and then extending his index to press a button with utmost ceremony. The projectile blinked out and the drone, having recovered from the flight problem that ensued following its sudden loss of weight, ascended. Saria's mic remained on, however, and from it too issued the sound of ocean waves.

(Your character's phylactery has been linked to Banana's character's. From now until otherwise noted, you both will be able to hear whatever the other says, as well as sufficiently loud noises in their surroundings.)

Gaben's Chosen

Location: Flooded Governance Hub

The sound of Mountain's car dangerously hydroplaning all over the place was, for a moment, interrupted by the announcer's reply as the sharpshooter's phylactery mic switched on. His voice contained no trace of static or other interference, and was seemingly confined to the anomalous tower in which Mountain Dew sheltered the night. With a noteworthy degree of coffee-induced pep Oren told his caller, “Well flyboy, lemme start with some sage advice, free of charge: you're on a crash course with the boundary of your zone, and leaving it before you finish Round 2 is a no-no. Why not let the College nerds look into the big boom? If your ADHD's kicking up, though, I have just the ticket. There's an anomaly the good Dr. Barnaby was unable to track down, originating from the northeastern end of the Governance Hub. I've been trying to keep an eye on it with a drone, but any time it gets near...well, it's hard to explain. It just gets sent back. Barnaby bets the culprit's an artifact, and we're all very interested, so if you'd find it and bring it back to my tower, we'll reward you handsomely. Capiche? That's a 90 degree left turn at the next intersection if you're in—that is, if you can find any traction! It's a miracle you're still in one piece, huh?” Oren's voice sounded incredulous.

The Cereal Killer

Location: Flooded Holy Grounds

Dutifully the Crucible's announcer answered Runch's call for help. “Hey there, happenin' cap'n! Your friendly neighborhood Genie here, in with the hottest scoops for the brave hero of breakfast! I'm here to let you know that yes, there is in fact something going on nearby that I'd classify as interesting! And with that 'bran'-d new, bite-sized bit of knowledge, I'm outta here! Remember, only two calls left!”


A smattering of birdsong in the distance cut through the ambiance of wind, bright and clear as the risen sun that shone through the windows of the building in which K. Runch had taken up residence. Enough seconds went by for the sapphire-blue singer to complete an entire stanza, were his warbling a ballad.


“Aw, ya know what, since I'm such a 'nice guy' I'll be a pal and tell ya where too, free of charge. But be careful whatcha wish for next time. We genies tend to be the literal type. According to the handy-dandy GPS locator hidden in your phylactery, you're near...” The rapping of a mouse's buttons filled the announcer's pause. Oren spoke again soon, but in a low voice rather close to reverence. “Ooh, the Old Basilica. South beyond the Cold Monastery -you'll know it when you see it- then east near the Three Rivers' Mosque. I just know you get a kick out of what's inside.”


Location: the Park - Quenched Forest Cinders

From the moment that Sophia removed Clotho's phylactery from her neck, it became obvious that it wouldn't be of much use. While an ordinary heart would have rotten, this organ-shaped device went stiff and gray, its rubbery exterior less malleable and its insides still as they were dark. Everything about it screamed 'inert', and finding her own phylactery became necessary. Its embedded microphone read her loud and clear and, after its alert signal was replied to be the operator himself, came online with a tone.

Oren attempted to answer 'good morning to ya!' to Sophia's own greeting, but she steamrolled over him, and getting the impression that his first caller of the day had something worthwhile to say, the announcer held his tongue. He readied a nonchalant response to her request for more supplies only to find himself at rapt attention when she continued. Greedily Oren absorbed every tidbit the woman had to offer, and after she went silent, he abstained from breaking it a few moments while his mind raced. The seconds ticked by while he, seated in his sick swivel chair with elbows on the table and hands clasped, pondered what she'd said. Oren's eyes drifted to his recording equipment, pleased on the inside that his setup served more of a function than broadcasting the Crucible live for streamwatchers all over the world to see. Not for the first time, he was reminded of his wish to have more announcer-like, entertaining things to say, but this new revelation swept all that aside.

“Is that...soooooooo?”

His snicker was audible through the communicator. “Well, well, well. Miss Monster Arm's made quite the breakthrough! Guess ya can say you're giving us a 'hand'? Neheheh...a flying beast, carrying a bunch of strange but powerful beings, and they're linked to that bug woman. Sounds to me like the College bringing Clotho over triggered some kind of reaction, summoning a place with which she was familiar, and now they're on the scene...just a minute!”

The mic clicked off, and a few minutes of radio silent slogged by like molasses. When his voice returned to Sophia's phylactery, it held unbridled excitement. “Sophia my girl! That's super good intel. Everyone's going nuts. This is what we glasses-wearing folks call a 'game-changer'. Wrench in the works, yeah, but also turning a corner on all the eggheads' theories. But look at me, going on and on when you couldn't care less. Have I got news for you! First off, there's a supply cache wedged in the top of a long, narrow ravine about 2 kilometers to your northwest. It's not the wrong direction to your next opponent, either. Even better: a little gift for your service to the College. And call it recompense for Clotho ruining your round-one reward, too. I just sent a drone on its way, E.T.A. half an hour maybe?”

“But look, there's one more thing. The College wants a better look. My drones can't fly too high. Signal gets weak, air gets thin, nothing works. If you can fly up near the big bird carrying my incoming drone, and get a good view at its whole deal, we'd be very grateful. You in?” A buzzing noise entered the mic, and Oren muttered something under his breath. “Hold that thought, I've gotta take this one. Some time to mull it over, 'kay?” Click

A minute or so passed before the channel became active gain. This time, however, there was not one, but a pair of voices.

“Hello again, Sophia! I know we're thick as thieves right now, but I've met someone who's just dying to have a chat with ya. Say hello to Jin Sunrise! ...I, uh, hope this doesn't affect our little deal?”

(Your character's phylactery has been linked to FloodTalon's character's. From now until otherwise noted, you both will be able to hear whatever the other says, as well as sufficiently loud noises in their surroundings)


Location: the Village

“Right you are!”

Oren's response came several minutes late, long enough to agonize anyone who cared about punctuality—or anything except exploring the bottom of a stolen flask of elven hooch. Judging by the announcer's tone, he wasn't too banged up about his tardiness, but he did go to the trouble of explaining why. “Shoulda known that I'd get a buncha calls right when the line opened up. Um, had to set a couple of your competitors straight. Ya know, if I were any less of a cool dude I'd charge you a call point, which it technically costs to contact me at the moment, but just this once I'll let you off the hook. Anyway, I dispatched two drones 'bout five minutes ago, and one's headed your way. Don't turn up your nose at the plainness of the goods: if the best things come in unexpected packages, then unexpected packages themselves are surely the best things, right?” True to Oren's word, a drone arrived not long after, carrying a large but lightweight payload to drop on the near-dry sidewalk next to Teller if he opted not to catch it mid-air.

You also got:
30. Cardboard Box
Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides
Completely masks the presence of anyone or anything hidden inside

The radio silence that followed the present's delivery indicated that Oren had better things to do than wait on a single tournament fighter, though that did not prevent Teller from ringing him up again.


Location: Culture Center – Obliterated Amphitheater
@The Wild West

A dark laugh, quintessentially pleasant but at the same time soaked with the putrescence of absolute confidence, answered Tyrant's demand. It carried on for six seconds straight before Oren paused, but he did not keep his lips still for long. “Not from there, it won't. But just so ya know, ya ugly oversized sacka lard, even if we were face-to-face, I'd wipe the floor with your sorry ass in one second flat. If ya survive long enough, ya can visit my tower in the Governance Hub and try me. In the mean time, waddle west until ya find the lake. Your next fight's there.”

Jin Sunrise

Location: the Settlement

Morning's arrival in Jin's neck of the woods, with its collection of lonely cabins upon an island of grass in a sea of murky conifers, riddled with mist, did little but to lighten the sky's shade of gray. Looking more like winter clouds than rainclouds, the heavens gave no indication of a followup downpour, but instead hinted that for this eerie place there might never come the light of day.

“I can guarantee ya she's a monster, but if my local hatchery raised chickens that looked just like toddlers, I'd go home hungry. Maybe that's just me.” Oren snickered, more than aware thanks to his surveillance drones that Jin appreciated neither his unique perspective nor distinctive brand of human. Silly city slicker—didn't the guy know that showing distaste for someone's antics painted a big target on him for future harassment? “Maybe before calling for food, ya shoulda searched all the cabins? I bet they got more than campfire swarms. Doughnuts, cereal, O.J., expired milk, you name it.” The sound of a swivel chair creaking came through the mic. “Still, gotta give ya props for thinking about it at all. Some of the contestants haven't even considered food or drink. Betcha ten to one someone collapses before the day's over. Anyhoo, I don't like twofers much, but whatever. Matchmaker Oren's gonna setcha up!”

(Your character's phylactery has been linked to DracoLunaris' character's. From now until otherwise noted, you both will be able to hear whatever the other says, as well as sufficiently loud noises in their surroundings)

“Hello again, Sophia! I know we're thick as thieves right now, but I've met someone who's just dying to have a chat with ya. Say hello to Jin Sunrise! ...I, uh, hope this doesn't affect our little deal?”

Considering that if any mental effects are thrown around, they certainly won't be weak ones, that'd be okay.

In the mean time, though, I remembered something I've been meaning to ask you for some time. I would like you to definitively list everything that's contained in Mountain's pocket dimension and add it to your sheet beneath 'inventory'. From now on, only those things, and things Mountain explicitly puts into the dimension, can be taken out of it. Sound good?
@Hostile your guest character is extremely strong, what with the semiauto sniper rifle for a main gun, homing grenades, missiles that kill unarmored targets who can't avoid them, and the unbreakable armor lock, but I can forgive those because he's not a character that's meant to influence the competition. However, I am not okay with a total immunity to mental effects originating from 'willpower'. Remove that and I might approve him. If you never said 'somehow' again in a sheet or IC post, it would still be too soon.

@The Wild West I don't get the convenient piece of paper that explains what the Pot does in your recent post. Nobody else got something like that, and it doesn't really make sense IC. If you want Tyrant to know what it does, he has to figure it out. Either he loses a finger after sticking it in (if he's not too smart) or he experiments with dropping an object in. As for the height, considering that Tyrant is 16 feet tall, I can't imagine that a 2-foot urn would be no bigger than his hand unless his hands are 2-foot-long mitts.
After a fair bit of worrisome ambiguity, I have returned to the web from across the seas. Now that I can access the thread, I will start work on my next post. Some good stuff so far...keep it up!

Here's my Guest Character. I shall adjust if needed.

A bit too meta for my tastes. I'll mull it over further, but the chances aren't good.
@Lugubrious How is my guest NPC?

Oh, sorry for forgetting. The guy's really powerful, but also interesting, and I imagine you've already come up with a good use for him in your character's ongoing story. He's accepted, and can be put into the Characters tab.
<Snipped quote by Lugubrious>

No no I didn't mean more posts, just sort of...uh more substance I guess? I'm not sure how to explain myself, I suppose it just felt like the encounter was pointless. The soldiers just showed up and then went away, with barely any impact from encountering a carnivorous blob-demon.

Anyway I will get to posting soon, sorry I've been silent in the IC, wasn't quite sure what I wanted to do next.

It did foreshadow this morning's explosion, set up future events, and introduce the new faction, but I see what you mean.
Since you guys' fight hasn't continued for 6 days...Is someone yielding here? I know Rokku needs to post for Steve, but if you guys aren't going to actively finish each other and drag this on...I'm just letting you know that the survival match will continue for as long as either of you is still conscience lol. Or until enough participants yield. I've been reading it and it hasn't reached a point to where I would have a force-yield with GM judgement.

Oh no, I'm not yielding, just patiently waiting. Though slow progress may be mildly annoying, I have no problem with it continuing until it reaches a satisfying conclusion.
hmm, that last update post left me in a bit of an awkward situation.

@Lugubrious, would it be fine if i wrote in a bit about sitting down and all that rot, then skip to the morning? Or would it be perhaps possible for a collab to do all the doctor interaction thing before i write that morning part?

I was expecting that most characters would have a pre-night and morning section, actually, so that'd be fine. As for the doctor, he'll be helpful and unassuming, not very talkative, so feel free to take liberties with him.
@Lugubrious Before I forget to ask, how big would you say that the Pot of Greed actually is? Is it scaled to the relative size of Tyrant or is it just some human sized pot making it pretty small in his eyes.

The Pot is about the size of a classic urn, two feet tall and about as thick I think, making it a touch large for a human but pretty small for Tyrant.

You're going down! >:D

That's the spirit!
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