Current
Now running: World of Light: The Tale of the Dark Itself
4 mos ago
Forever and ever, amen
8 mos ago
Calling out from Scatman's world
1
like
10 mos ago
Called into action - by threats that seem harmonized
1 yr ago
Tomorrow comes
Bio
Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
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.
A man of strong physique, standing at 6'1” and weighing 200 lbs. Has platinum-blond hair cropped short, especially on the sides, with a longer ridge down the middle. On his chin is a short goatee. He wears eyeglasses with rectangular black frames. His hazel eyes are almost gold in coloration, particularly right around the pupil, and he has golden open-faced grills on his teeth. Marxion often wears collared button-down office shirts, usually blue, yellow, or gray, along with black slacks, shoes, belt, and suspenders, though given his line of work he typically keeps the sleeves rolled up and swaps the shoes out for boots. He's of only average attractiveness, giving off a faint goonish impression.
Personality:
'Passionate' is a word that describes Marxion very well. He's confident, outspoken, boisterous, and outgoing, but at the same time a fairly dedicated nerd and workaholic. Whether it's hammering away at a keyboard for hours on end on going a few rounds against fellow fighters at the nearest gym, he commits himself fully to his endeavors. This 'full speed ahead' sort of mindset also makes him blunt and at times insensitive or obnoxious, less than patient with fools, introverts, and anyone acting duplicitous; he can also be cocky and hardheaded. Still, as his friends can attest, he's a reliable pal and a force to be reckoned with. Most of all, despite his enthusiasm in various areas (and his grills) he's still a pretty down-to-earth and normal dude.
Attribute:
Save (Conceptual) – Marxion's attribute allows him to make a record of something at a point in spacetime, a 'save point'. A save point is made when Marxion willfully touches or nearly touches a target (defined as someone else, an object, or himself), creating a small golden mark on the contact point resembling a clock face with an X across it. Once a save point is made, Marxion can -at will- send the target back to the relative point at which the save was made, restoring the target to the state it was in at that time. This position is relative rather than absolute because, most basically, since the planet itself is moving, an absolute position would result in the target being sent to space and not be saved in any real respect. However, the relative position would also, say, allow a wallet to be returned to the pocket it was in when the save point was made even if the person with the pocket moved somewhere else.
Abilities:
Bruiser - Marxion is a skilled and brutal brawler, clearly trained in technique but preferring raw power to refinement, and most comfortable using his fists but not afraid to throw a knee or go for a grab every now and then.
Brainy – Though Marxion loves raw strength, he fights smart. He's observant enough to get an idea of what his opponent is doing and defend himself appropriately, and cunning enough to employ strategies like feints, conditioning, and out-positioning while keeping his head in the game
Skills:
Computer Whiz – While he doesn't exactly look the type, Marxion's more than competent when it comes to computers, though more on the software side than hardware. He's a pretty good programmer, and in general very handy with a keyboard and mouse
History:
From an early age in the city of Melbourne, Australia his father drummed two things into his head: ambition and achievement. Those principles drove him from his first day of school to his last and beyond, into the working world where his labored as a software developer for a high-profile banking corporation during the day and an up-and-coming MMA fighter in the evening. All the while his intensity cooled, leading to a rather ordinary remarkable life. Yet, he could never tame the urge that ran through his veins for so long: to do and be more. The advent of the Rifts, at long last, provided just that.
Unable to escape his responsibilities for the time being, he waited for the world to make sense of the chaos while filling his off-time with study of the incredible phenomena that arose from the relevatory occurrence, and of those most interested in them. Through his observation, the keen-eyed and sharp-witted overachiever kept tabs on not just the actions of public organizations in response to the Rifts, but on the vague entities moving in the shadows as well. He knew that he couldn't wait for the rule of law and due process to make these extraordinary anomalies open to ordinary folks like him, and in doing so dull them down to mundane, everyday occurrences; as such, he looked to those shadows to find his ticket to greatness.
After a while he found it: a small organization of unique individuals, already bearing Attributes from their ventures into the Rifts and putting them to good use in the underbelly of this brave new world. Boldly, he pinned them down and approached them, demanding to put his considerable skills to use for the sake of the group—after all, he'd done what countless others had failed to: finding and confronting them. Their leader considered his request, and after a trial by combat, agreed to take him in. Soon after, he faded from the book of history, and Marxion took his place.
Operating on his Organization's behalf, Marxion continues to take great interest in the Rifts, working with companies and other groups when possible to explore them as much as possible.
I'm interested in this premise. Here is my submission.
Name: Marxion Age: 25 Appearance:
A man of strong physique, standing at 6'1” and weighing 200 lbs. Has platinum-blond hair cropped short, especially on the sides, with a longer ridge down the middle. On his chin is a short goatee. He wears eyeglasses with rectangular black frames. His hazel eyes are almost gold in coloration, particularly right around the pupil, and he has golden open-faced grills on his teeth. Marxion often wears collared button-down office shirts, usually blue, yellow, or gray, along with black slacks, shoes, belt, and suspenders, though given his line of work he typically keeps the sleeves rolled up and swaps the shoes out for boots.
Personality:
'Passionate' is a word that describes Marxion very well. He's confident, outspoken, boisterous, and outgoing, but at the same time a fairly dedicated nerd and workaholic. Whether it's hammering away at a keyboard for hours on end on going a few rounds against fellow fighters at the nearest gym, he commits himself fully to his endeavors. This 'full speed ahead' sort of mindset also makes him blunt and at times insensitive or obnoxious, less than patient with fools, introverts, and anyone acting duplicitous. Still, as his friends can attest, he's a reliable pal and a force to be reckoned with. Most of all, despite his enthusiasm in various areas (and his grills) he's still a pretty down-to-earth and normal dude.
Attribute:
Save (Conceptual) – Marxion's attribute allows him to make a record of something at a point in spacetime, a 'save point'. A save point is made when Marxion willfully touches or nearly touches a target (defined as someone else, an object, or himself), creating a small golden mark on the contact point resembling a clock face with an X across it. Once a save point is made, Marxion can -at will- send the target back to the relative point at which the save was made, restoring the target to the state it was in at that time. This position is relative rather than absolute because, most basically, since the planet itself is moving, an absolute position would result in the target being sent to space and not be saved in any real respect. However, the relative position would also, say, allow a wallet to be returned to the pocket it was in when the save point was made even if the person with the pocket moved somewhere else.
Abilities:
Bruiser - Marxion is a skilled and brutal brawler, clearly trained in technique but preferring raw power to refinement, and most comfortable using his fists but not afraid to throw a knee or go for a grab every now and then.
Brainy – Though Marxion loves raw strength, he fights smart. He's observant enough to get an idea of what his opponent is doing and defend himself appropriately, and cunning enough to employ strategies like feints, conditioning, and out-positioning while keeping his head in the game
Skills:
Computer Whiz – While he doesn't exactly look the type, Marxion's more than competent when it comes to computers, though more on the software side than hardware. He's a pretty good programmer, and in general very handy with a keyboard and mouse
History:
From an early age in the city of Melbourne, Australia his father drummed two things into his head: ambition and achievement. Those principles drove him from his first day of school to his last and beyond, into the working world where his labored as a software developer for a high-profile banking corporation during the day and an up-and-coming MMA fighter in the evening. All the while his intensity cooled, leading to a rather ordinary remarkable life. Yet, he could never tame the urge that ran through his veins for so long: to do and be more. The advent of the Rifts, at long last, provided just that.
Unable to escape his responsibilities for the time being, he waited for the world to make sense of the chaos while filling his off-time with study of the incredible phenomena that arose from the relevatory occurrence, and of those most interested in them. Through his observation, the keen-eyed and sharp-witted overachiever kept tabs on not just the actions of public organizations in response to the Rifts, but on the vague entities moving in the shadows as well. He knew that he couldn't wait for the rule of law and due process to make these extraordinary anomalies open to ordinary folks like him, and in doing so dull them down to mundane, everyday occurrences; as such, he looked to those shadows to find his ticket to greatness.
After a while he found it: a small organization of unique individuals, already bearing Attributes from their ventures into the Rifts and putting them to good use in the underbelly of this brave new world. Boldly, he pinned them down and approached them, demanding to put his considerable skills to use for the sake of the group—after all, he'd done what countless others had failed to: finding and confronting them. Their leader considered his request, and after a trial by combat, agreed to take him in. Soon after, he faded from the book of history, and Marxion took his place.
Operating on his Organization's behalf, Marxion continues to take great interest in the Rifts, working with companies and other groups when possible to explore them as much as possible.
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.
Name: Donovan "Donnie" Lee, Grand Master of the Order of the Broken Temple
Personality: Donnie is a man of two extremes, the wild spirit of his early adventuring days tempered by years of experience, the harsh conditions of battle, and the patience instilled by the teachings of Xuen, the White Tiger. He may be, on the surface, fighting for truth, justice, and the Azerothian way, at the end of the day he cares about two things: Beating the crap out of whatever monster is going on a genocidal murder spree this week, and having a great time doing it. Despite being an Alliance monk, he's also a diehard Huojin, meaning he values action over words. This is not to say he can't come up with a perfectly workable strategy, or even use diplomacy when the situation calls for it, but just don't expect him to sit idly by when innocents are in danger. He ardently believes that you must be the change you wish to see in the world, and, judging by his long list of accomplishments, he practices what he preaches. In any event, he's kinda seen it all by this point. Considering the amount of apocalyptic crises he's had to stop, it takes a lot to faze him. Galeem is only scary to him, really, because he's big and powerful. In most other ways, he's just like Sargeras or the Old Gods.
Well, where do I start? I was born in Stormwind, like pretty much every human these days, and the son of a sailor. My father was an accomplished trader, with his very own merchant vessel, regularly making trips between Kalimdor and the Eastern Kingdoms. When I was twelve, my father took me onboard for a routine trip, only for the ship to get caught in a devastating storm at the halfway mark and wind up sunk. I grabbed on to a piece of driftwood, holding on for dear life. It must have been days. Eventually, I washed up on what I thought was an island, after what felt like a trip straight to the Twisting Nether.
Even half-delirious with hunger, thirst, and exposure as I was, I could still tell I was horribly wrong. Islands didn't have scales. Or beaks. Or flippers. The "island" was a gigantic sea turtle. It didn't notice such a tiny object hitting its massive shell, but I was nonetheless utterly terrified. Now, as a former adventurer I can tell you firsthand that Azeroth is full of bizarre and interesting creatures, but for a traumatized kid from Stormwind, who had just lost his father, was far from home, whose only hope of survival against overwhelming odds for the last several days had been a piece of flimsy wood, and whose only prior experience with the outside world was taking the occasional trade route to Theramore with his dad? It was too much. I fainted on the spot.
When I woke up, in a rather comfy bed, I saw a plump bear-like creature standing over me. That was the first pandaren I ever met, a good fellow named Zhao Longdrink. He came from a family of prominent brewers on the island, hence the name, and he had been delivering a cart of choice kegs to a local tavern when he saw me, faintly, from the mountains near the edge of the living island. After I recovered from my ordeal, and once I managed to learn enough of their language to become fluent, I learned where I was. Apparently, this turtle had a name: Shen-zin Su. And it could talk. Known as the Wandering Isle, Shin-zin Su had made voyage after voyage from a continent known as Pandaria to the rest of the world at the behest of his closest friend, the legendary Pandaren explorer Liu Lang, but after Lang's death from old age, he had fallen into a deep depression and no longer bothered to travel to land. Enough time had passed since they had last been to the Eastern Kingdoms that the Pandaren on the island had completely forgotten even my species, despite surely having discovered humans in their distant past.
After coming to terms with the fact that Shin-zin Su was never going to take me home, I decided to make the best of the situation and integrate myself into pandaren society as best I could. Over the next several years, I learned the ways of the pandaren monks, how to harness my chi to heal or hurt. How to take on armored foes with my bare fists. How to meditate and achieve inner peace. How to read and write their character-based language. How to write a damn good poem in the traditional Pandaren style. And of course, how to hold my damn liquor: The Pandaren are quite fond of drink, what with inventing an entire fighting style based around getting sloshed (looking at you,Brewmasters), and being capable of imbibing enough damn alcohol to put ten humans under the table in as many minutes. I would try going to a tavern and find myself shitfaced after one cup of their ridiculous sake. I...don't know how I did it, but after so many embarrassments involving booze, I can keep pace with a Pandaren lightweight now. Somehow.
Well, eventually, I finished my studies, but that was only the beginning of my adventure. One day, some of the monks started noticing that Shin-zin Su appeared to be in pain. I and two good friends of mine, Aysa Cloudsinger and Ji Firepaw, took a glider around the isle to see what was wrong. Appparently, the problem was that both a Horde and an Alliance warship had each ended up wrecked on Su's shell in the same spot! Naturally, they tried to fight each other, but we monks managed to intervene in time to mediate the conflict. My knowledge of Common was vital here: Combined with a particular orc on the Horde side who knew both Orcish and Common, I was able to help pierce the language barrier and stave off possible disaster.
I had lived on the Wandering Isle for years at this point, but I hadn't forgotten my home. I hadn't forgotten my mother, or my siblings, or the neighborhood I grew up in. But at the same time, living away from the war and the constant fear of the Horde all us Alliance citizens lived in for a good chunk of my life showed me just how stupid the whole thing was. When I had first told my master, Shang Xi, of the Alliance-Horde conflict, he honestly didn't believe me, that so many species could be engaged in a literal race war for so many years. And, well, ever since that conversation I had found myself questioning if the Horde really were the monsters that they were made out to be. Bigotry was a powerful force, though, and I had felt I needed definitive proof. When those two warships arrived, that was the real trigger.
It would take a few weeks for the soldiers to get their ships repaired with the supplies we had on the island, and in that time, I took the opportunity to talk to some of the Horde, relying on that same orc from earlier to translate for me (since Orcish was the lingua franca of the Horde, much like Common was for the Alliance). Their cultures were alien, and perhaps somewhat harsh, but those conversations cemented more than anything else that they were just...people. They weren't the monsters that we were told of. They could be good or evil, just like us.
I learned a lot about what had happened since I washed up on the isle from those soldiers. Lady Katrana Prestor, the black dragon Onyxia in disguise, who was later killed by a bunch of adventurers. The Alliance and Horde joining forces to charge through the Dark Portal in the Blasted Lands and invade Outland, seemingly killing the corrupt Demon Hunter Illidan and dealing a serious blow to the Burning Legion. The conflict with the Lich King starting up again, which lead to that bastard dying too. Bolvar Fordragon, one of the best paladins in the world, becoming the new Lich King and singlehandedly confining the Scourge to Northrend so they can't hurt anyone else. The Dragon Aspect of Earth, Neltharion, going insane due to Old God corruption and becoming Deathwing, singlehandedly wrecking the world in a global Cataclysm and throwing the elements themselves out of balance. He ended up dead too (sensing a pattern here?). To be honest, part of me wanted to stay on the island, and get away from this idiotic war. But I needed to know if what was left of my family were alright. I wanted to see what had become of the world I left behind for so long in my absence. And, with my newfound powers, to do something about all of these crises. I wouldn't get another chance thanks to Su's endless moping. I needed to go with them.
But, the pandaren heart is also perhaps filled with a small amount of wanderlust too. Several monks on the island wanted to join one of these two factions. Now, there are also two dominant schools of Wandering Isle thought: The Tushui (who valued meditation, rigorous discipline, inner peace, etc), and the Huojin (who, rather than try to attain inner peace, valued action over words and thought that allowing something terrible to happen by inaction was just as bad as doing it yourself). I gravitated towards the Huojin...but that was before it turned out that the Tushui were going largely to the Alliance and the Huojin were going to the Horde! And since what I call the Great Race War was still on, going with the Huojin would be suicide! So, I went to the Alliance ship in a very un-Tushui-like rage, and three weeks later found myself back in Stormwind, not only out of place among my fellow monks, but out of place among my fellow humans as well.
The first thing i did after landfall, though, was go confirm if my mother was still alive. Turned out she, and all my siblings, had been killed when the Lich King released the Plague of Undeath on Stormwind, leaving me with no-one to turn to. So, with nothing tying me to Stormwind or even the Alliance anymore beyond my species, I decided I would make good on my promise to do something about all of the apocalyptic bullshit that happened over the last few years, and make sure it could never happen again. I went out into the world as a freelance adventurer, walking the earth and making Azeroth a better place for it, one piece of loot at a time.
I beat the shit out of countless monsters and menaces in the course of my adventuring, and eventually, through my actions in the Pandaria Crisis, and the time-bending Draenor bullshit, became the Grand Master of every monk on Azeroth. And then I helped destroy the Burning Legion and free the literal creators of my planet in an epic battle with the soul of a dying world given form. Not bad for the son of a simple merchant, I guess.
Specialty: Melee Combat, Support Level: 1 Experience: 0/10 (The amount of EXP required to level up will increase by 10 each level, but rewards get bigger, too) Powers: --> Chi Burst: A Hadoken-like technique that travels in a straight line, hurting enemies and healing allies.
Strengths: --> Windwalker Monk: Donnie is a monk, one who sees the flow of chi, or life energy, in the world around him and can bend it to his will, enhancing his body and mind and enabling him to, with help, go toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous beings in Azeroth. He is an agility-based fighter, prioritizing not getting hit over being able to take strong blows, but nevertheless the equipment he wears, looted from the bloodied corpses and glittering treasure vaults of beings far beyond mortal reckoning, is capable of withstanding much more damage than it has any right to, being enchanted and all. As a Windwalker, a melee fighter whose fists and feet are more deadly weapons than any blade, hammer, or gun, he can channel his chi into a variety of deadly (and not-so-deadly) abilities, including some healing stuff. In general, his brute strength is not to be underestimated either, considering all the times he's punched in the faces of ogres or demons four times his size wearing full plate mail with his bare hands. He is also capable of acrobatics in combat and can run at superhuman speeds using the power of the wind. --> Adventuring Experience: Donnie has dealt with these kinds of threats before. The man has faced down all manner of apocalypse scenarios, and thus has some knowledge on fighting monsters like Galeem. --> Enchanting: Donnie has some talent with the arcane, and can enhance weapons and armor with various enchantments to improve their performance. He has the necessary reagents on him to do so, though they can run out. Keep in mind that his enchantments will be restricted by his level, and will only reveal their full power as the person wearing the item levels up. The enchantment cannot be removed without destroying the item, though it can be changed. (Not sure if I should keep this, since it doesn't really fit the criteria for a strength. It's more of an out-of-combat utility thing than a passive bonus, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to get more enchanting supplies in this game.)
Weaknesses: (Faults, flaws, inabilities, and so forth. Nobody's perfect) --> The Bigger they Are, the Harder they Fall: Donnie is used to being able to punch out things twenty times his size, heal the sick, and revive the dead (at least within limits). None of these are available now, and that last part is going to hurt. Without his old powers, and without the promise of being able to be revived should he fall, a lot of his previous battle experience will be moot. He hasn't been this weak for a long, long time, and seriously has to adjust to this. --> The Good Life is a Hell of a Drug: Donnie is a bit of a hedonist, honestly. The Pandaren way of life, while based on real-life Buddhist principles of reducing suffering in the world, was chiefly designed to prevent the sha from returning. The sha, the murderous incarnations of negative emotions, would wreak havoc if widespread negativity was allowed to exist on the continent of Pandaria. This resulted in the locals living life to the fullest and doing whatever they could to keep themselves and each other happy. This spread to the Wandering Isle, and has left Donnie both gluttonous and fond of drink.
Spirits: None yet, except for maybe his own chi.
Kindred Spirits: --> Anduin Wrynn: The boy king of Stormwind has Donnie's respect as a man of peace. He has worked with (and protected) Anduin on numerous occasions and is proud to serve him even though doing so drags him into the Alliance-Horde conflict. --> Thrall: Donnie respects the former Warchief of the Horde for much the same reason as he respects his king: Thrall was one of the few people willing to attempt to forge peace between the Alliance and the Horde, the conflict that has defined Azeroth's recent history. --> <Available spot. Possible candidates include Xuen, the White Tiger (though a literal god is probably too powerful), and Chen Stormstout, but I was thinking of putting a character from outside the franchise here instead. Possible ideas?> Inventory: --> Fists of the Heavens: A legendary artifact of unspeakable power, these handblades were forged by the tol'vir (basically, cat-people) smith Irmaat, who sought to create the most powerful weapon imaginable. In his hubris, he sought to charge the handblades with power by using a ritual to siphon Elemental Air from Al'Akir, the then-most powerful air elemental in Azeroth, and ruler of the Elemental Plane of Air. However, Al'Akir foresaw this possibility and, knowing that Irmaat was attempting to steal that which he could not control, sabotaged Irmaat's masterpiece; Al'Akir purposely poured far more power into the handblades than they could handle, making the energy within so chaotic and volatile that anyone who wielded the newly-made Fists of the Heavens would be torn apart in the ludicrously-powerful storm that would ensue. When Irmaat, not knowing this and believing that he had done the impossible, foolishly tried to wield the Fists, the explosion of pure elemental power obliterated both him and the entire city he lived in.
Later, after Al'Akir's death during the Cataclysm, the resulting power vacuum in the Plane of Air instigated a civil war among several powerful air elementals. One of them, Typhinus, tracked down the dormant Fists of the Heavens, and being an air elemental himself, was able to control them well enough to win the war with the power they gave him. But controlling such chaotic energies for so long gradually eroded away his sanity, eventually leaving the djinn both completely insane and with the power to obliterate anyone who stood up to him.
Grandmaster Lee and a close ally, Li Li Stormstout, desiring a weapon powerful enough to stand up against the heavyweights of the Burning Legion following Sargeras' latest invasion of Azeroth, travelled to the Elemental Plane of Air, tracked Typhinus down, and killed him, taking the handblades. Because monks must achieve inner balance and harmony of spirit in the course of their training, Donnie could truly control the Fists of the Heavens, succeeding where both Irmaat and Typhinus failed.
The Fists of the Heavens amplify Donnie's abilities dramatically. As the Fists act as a massive reservoir of raw elemental air, it is much easier for him to dodge while using them, increasing his agility even further levels. Techniques such as Touch of Death are dramatically amplified to have a much higher chance to kill, Touch of Karma now heals Donnie proportionally to how much damage it redirects, Fists of Fury briefly generates eight wind-based clones of Donnie that each have equal amounts of power to the genuine article, and in general, Donnie has far more energy while using them and can thus use his more powerful techniques more often and with less physical cost.
So, to summarize: The Fists of the Heavens act as a stamina-booster, a "tank" of Elemental Air that can thus augment Windwalker techniques in various ways, and, through infusing its wearer with Elemental Air, make Donnie much harder to hit.
Unfortunately, the above information is completely useless. Galeem's mass Isekai event sharply limited the Fists' power. While they still do enhance Donnie's abilities, the boost is less "endgame raid level," and more "Baby's First Magical Weapon" level. This also means that anyone can wield them right now, since their power is restrained enough that it won't wipe out a city or drive the wielder insane. As Donnie levels up, they will slowly start to gain their original power back, and it'd be advised not to steal them when that process finishes.
--> Xuen's Battlegear: A full set of leather(?) armor obviously crafted along Pandaren lines, infused with the power of the Pandaren Wild God Xuen, the White Tiger. As such, it is monstrously powerful, granting Donnie dramatically-enhanced agility (including reflexes), the ability to strike and use chi techniques much more quickly than a human should be able to, dramatically increases Donnie's strength to superhuman levels, hugely improves his intellect, and greatly enhances Donnie's ability to see and exploit an enemy weakpoint or repair someone's chi faster than normal. Of course, it's also an absurdly-powerful set of magical armor from a high-fantasy world and probably made out of pure Bullshittium, so it's sufficient to protect against most sources of damage at least partly, be it falling from the sky, getting shot in the chest, getting caught in an explosion (magical or otherwise), being set on fire, being hit with a blast of pure Void magic, getting caught in a particularly-nasty Frostbolt, or getting stepped on by a Fel Reaver.
Like with the Fists of the Heavens, this information is also somewhat worthless. The armor's magic is sealed, rendering it closer to a more conventional suit of magical armor than something outright legendary. As Donnie levels up, its full power will gradually be released.
--> Madman's Luggage: A bizarre, possibly-magical, possibly-eldritch carry-on, wheeled backpack (in Azeroth's traditional medieval/Victorian/steampunk aesthetic) sold to Donnie by a raving lunatic smack-dab in the center of Dalaran for the low, low price of 500,000 gold pieces, necessitating that Donnie make multiple trips to the bank just to carry the gold needed to pay for it. Defying all logic, it is vastly bigger on the inside than on the outside. In a pinch, if you can fit through the opening, you and five friends can use the handy vents Donnie had added to spend all day inside in the event of inclement weather, as it's as big inside as a studio apartment. It's stored...a lot of stuff. Everything from entire sets of magical armor, to several absurdly-dangerous or even legendary weapons, a ludicrous amount of food, water, ingredients, and enchanting supplies, multiple severed heads, animal trophies, demon parts, Old God parts, elemental parts, Voidlord parts, dragon bones, enough gold coins to fill three banks...it has always been very well-stocked. He has also enchanted it further to be dismissable and summonable with a thought, appearing out of thin air whenever he wants it.
Currently filled with: --> Several hundred pounds of food, water, cooking ingredients/supplies, enchanting supplies, engineering supplies, survival equipment, general adventuring supplies (including potions), etc. --> A month's worth of clothes --> Toiletries --> Camping equipment --> A tremendous quantity of gold, silver, and copper coins. --> Every mount Donnie owns, including the reins of an armored war gryphon (which summons the real deal on command), a Gnomish "World Spinner" rocket, a Dwarven flying machine, the head of the Titan-forged Mechagnome Mimiron (converted into a small aircraft with a convertible roof), the list goes on. However, he is most likely to use the Disc of the Red Cloud, an engraved, magical frisbee-like device that Donnie can ride like Goku's flying Nimbus. He can summon all of these mounts through enchantments (or however the hell WoW adventurers make fifteen-foot-tall dragons appear out of thin air). He also owns the Champion's Treadblade, an Alliance-themed motorcycle and perhaps one of the only times he's ever shown Stormwind Pride. Oh, and he's got the reins to an armored war-tiger, but he'd rather go with the bike any day. --> Hearthstone: Hearthstones are rare, magically-augmented stones capable of warping the user back to wherever the user sets as their "home" once an hour, which in Donnie's case is whatever inn he stayed at last. This particular hearthstone is set to the Gilded Rose Inn, Trade District, Stormwind City. It also...probably won't work properly when trying to cross universes, so it's best not to use it until Donnie can set its location to a place in this universe.
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?
Blinking, Poppi ran over what Linkle told her in her head. The others had been like her at some point, forced to fight against their wills? But few -if any- of them appeared to be machines like her. That could only mean that the power of the entity called Galeem affected all manner of beings, regardless of what they were. Rather than mind control or hacking, it constituted something altogether higher and more threatening—and more poignantly for Poppi, it didn't hold any special significance for her versus her living allies. While certainly a frightening thought in some ways, it somehow made her feel more at peace in others. After a moment or two, the artificial blade looked up. “...Oh. If everyone susceptible, and not just Poppi, feel less bad about.” For the first time, she seemed to realize that Linkle had been offering her a hand to shake. Mustering a smile, she placed her metal mitt in the girl's. “Nice to meet Linkle. Please call Poppi Poppi,” she requested, as though her usage of the Nopon dialect didn't make her name one-hundred-percent obvious.
A moment later Poppi got to her feet, and shook the water from one leg, then the other. “Thank you for meeting,” she remarked as she did, “Now Poppi feel silly for getting worried while lacking info.” After she finished, her face grew solemn again. She looked Linkle in the eye and told her in a low, urgent tone, “But...if Poppi ever do go berserk and start to do bad thing...friends might get hurt. Tora might get hurt. Maybe better off if Poppi destroyed.” She stared back into the water, only for Hat Kid to plunge headlong into it the next moment, sending ripples across its surface. Alarmed, the blade reached out a hand toward the child, but the girl swam steadfastly toward her floating ship and climbed inside. Within, the spacefarer would find a vault with only two of her forty timepieces remaining, meaning another collect-a-thon in store. “Huh. Hattypon good swimmer,” Poppi observed. While her earlier statement hadn't been forgotten, she didn't know what else to do about that feeling at the moment, so she started back toward the castle's doors. “Regardless, things okay for now. Should go back to Masterpon.” A few steps later she turned about, glancing back at Linkle. “Coming, friend?”
Tora
Level 4 Tora - (14/40) EXP Location: Peach's Castle Kitchen Word Count: 887
Though a little jealous of Blazermate and Ratchet, who got to tinker and engineer while he cooked, Tora didn't want to let Cooking Mama down, and he especially didn't want to make her angry after her chastisement of Bowser. He minded the stovetop for a while, flipping and seasoning when necessary, until he judged the meat done and scooped it off onto a plate. He took a deep sniff while holding the finished product, and exclaimed, “Ooh, wonderful fishy smell! Tora can hardly wait to chow down!” After heading to the chef for further instruction, he took the meat to a prep station, where Toads were busy putting together various foods on a number of plates. Tora watched at first, then lent a wing to get his sizzling fish ready for eating. As much as his mouth watered just thinking about it, more remained to be done before everyone could eat, so the Nopon returned to his station with a spring in his step as though his enthusiasm could cook the meat faster.
Before too long, Peach placed the article of food on the final plate, and stood back from a countertop blanketed in delicious-looking dishes. Among them were her very own grilled vegetable kebabs, promising to thrill the tastebuds of any vegetarian, and tender vegetable stew. Tora's grilled fish stood out as one of the largest meat servings available, though less committed seafood lovers could also try the tender steamed fish, or the meticulously-prepared crab. There were also breaded pork cutlets with tomato sauce, roast stew with an excellent texture, mouth-watering skewers, a mushroomy chicken saute, hefty rib steaks, pizza, and more. So tantalizing was the smorgasbord that few could take their eyes off it; more or less everyone had appeared for the meal, including those left indisposed during the Megadragonbowser fight, like the Kid, Banjo and Kazooie, Junkrat, and Roadhog. The princess looked thrilled, and with a ring of the dinner bell declared open season on the assembled feast.
Tora,at the forefront of the gathered crowd, wasted no time grabbing a plate of fish. Out of habit he reached for the pizza too, but at last second changed his mind and snapped up a dish of skewers. Hurrying through the crowd, he made his way to the large dining table and clambered up into a high chair designed for a toad, which ended up with him a little higher than he needed to be, though he didn't particularly care. His one-track mind urged him to pull off pieces of fish by the hunk and wolf them down, but the sight of an approaching figure stopped the hungry Nopon in his tracks. “Poppi!” he sang, delighted to see her smiling again. “How are you? Everything goody-good?”
The artificial blade nodded. “All goody-good, Masterpon.” She looked at all the food. “Looks like Tora will be overeating again.”
Sputtering, Tora waved a wing dismissively. “Pfff! As if such thing were possible for Tora! But here, take look at this!” Without even having a bite himself, Tora pushed his plate of fish over to Poppi, who hopped up into a chair beside him. “Tora know that Poppi love food smells. Made this myself, you know! Am super-good chef!”
With a wry smile Poppi pulled the plate over, saying, “Very sudden change of pace for renowned microwave aficionado.” She allowed her olfactory sensors to take the dish in, and found herself nodding in satisfaction. Once she pushed the plate back over, Tora dug in with reckless abandon. “Despite odds, very nice smell indeed.” While the Nopon preoccupied himself with the seafood, Poppi reached for a skewer to take a whiff of it, too.
Like the others, they took note of the map brought in by Bowser, a cute little mini-Bowser, and their sorcerous koopa adviser. Though highly lacking in specificity, the map seemed to cover the whole region, with Peach's Castle in the center below a huge, blank spot. Nobody could be sure of the exact scale, or whether things on the map were scaled appropriately to one another in the first place, but given the relative size of 1-1 the region seemed pretty expansive. Tora took a break from his second skewer to comment, “Place seem really huge. Much bigger than any Titan. Would take incredibly long time to get around to all hotspots.” He used his half-eaten skewer as a point, indicating first the Dark Forest and Under, then the Land of Adventure and Dead Zone. “But if split in half, whole team could go either way around and meet at top. If Tora know anything, know that 'City Without Name' serious endgame place.” He shrugged as best one could without a neck or shoulders, returning to his food. “But that just suggestion.” He glanced at Bowser following his announcement of a kart-retrieval mission, and would have shouted out that he'd like to go if his mouth wasn't full.
All the while, the Master of Masters leaned against the wall by the door. He nibbled at a kebab, the food turning as dark as his hidden face the moment it neared his invisible lips. Kirby stood nearby on a countertop, steadfastly devouring peelings, cut-off ends, overcooked bits, extra ingredients, and anything anyone cared to give him, like a living garbage disposal. The little guy sure could eat.
Hilltop
The sun sliding farther toward the horizon painted a pretty picture, visible in all its glory from the rounded top of one of the old Mushroom Kingdom's colorful, zigzag-patterned, nigh-cylindrical 'hills'. From this vantage point, much of this region of the New World could be seen, from the rocky barrens to the south to the desert of the east to the northwest's frigid peaks. A quick look over the should confirmed the presence of the dark forest, its leafy green sea stretching all the way to the sparkling ocean. The woman atop the hill breathed a heavy sigh; so far a cry was this from the muddled nightmare she'd left behind.
The noise prompted a look from the man to her right, though his black hood obscured his features. He lost interest quickly and returned to watching Peach's Castle, idling all the while. He seemed unable to stand still, instead rising up and down by bending his knees while his fists lay on his hips. For her part, the woman did her best to ignore him.
Their mutual annoyance came to an end as an inky plume arose behind them. The air whirled and collapsed in on itself, forming a dark gateway, and through it marched a third figure clad in black. Together the odd pair turned to face him, and he looked between them curiously.
“...Well, enough standin' around all goonish-like then, spit it out already!” he encouraged, his deep voice a remarkably casual drawl.
Ceasing his idling, the energetic man held up a hand, palm-up, ready to explain with theatrical aplomb. However, his acquaintance cut in before him. Her musical voice was smooth as silk, bearing a curious accent. “He left it in the bedroom of the princess. The seekers have it by now; I watched the spawn of the reptile take it just a few moments ago.
A chuckle issued from the newcomer's hood. “Pff! Aren't we making it a bit too obvious?”
After casting a sidelong glance at his interrupter, the other man propped up his hands on his lapel and gave a toothy smirk. “Hohoho! You ain't got a good look at them seekers, see? Dumber'n a bag o' rocks, and twice as slow! They ain't goin' nowhere if we don't spell it out!”
“Heh,” the newcomer snickered. “Fair enough. But let's not forget how strong a couple of idiots can be. Boss told be 'bout a time a few someones rained on your parade...”
Balling his fists, the other clenched his teeth. “Why, you...!”
Dispassionate and distant, the woman cut in once again. “If they waver from the path set before them, we will correct their course. Until then...” She trailed off, and with a final glance at the skyline of the New World, turned away. Another dark portal appeared, and into it she vanished without a trace.
Huffing, the short-tempered one tugged on his collar to straighten it. “Hmph! Anklin' on back to the ocean, I'll bet. Awright, enough bumpin' gums. All the sharks where they oughta?”
With a grin the newcomer stepped backward, a corridor flaring up behind him. “All but you, buddy. Better hustle on over.” The next second, he was gone, and the last of the three left soon after.
Though he couldn't see outside his little metal container, Slayer realized it for the best very quickly. It launched at breakneck speed, eliciting a brief, strangled cry from the gentleman vampire, who fought to keep himself steady as the shell rocketed through open space. A split second later it hit home with an incredible impact, burying itself in the Halberd's side. Slayer stood up from the resulting mess after a moment or two, not much worse for wear physically, though his head span something fierce. After rubbing his temples and shaking out the stars, he looking up just in time for a second shell to strike the ship not far away from where his own came to rest. This time he didn't jump in alarm, instead removing his monocle to polish it as Alicia extracted herself from the remnants of her transportation. He'd seen her before now, of course, but only now did he really look.
”Ah, hello there. Forgive me for any staring, I implore you; you rather resemble the somewhat irksome fellow who 'beat' me in the arena back at the castle.” With that observation and its nebulous intent made, he turned his attention to his surroundings. He'd been less-than-formally introduced to the Halberd's second floor, where a certain machine resided that needed be rent asunder. While he anticipated some sort of defense mechanism, perhaps on par in terms of 'threatening' appearance with the ship's harmless-looking crew members, he did not anticipate a problem. While he could tell he hadn't yet regained his true strength, he felt might fine; beneath his noble veneer lay a tremendous amount of power, and where terrific might and cunning wit walked hand in hand, few could bar the way. ”No time to waste, I suppose. Let us find that pesky reactor.”
He made tracks down the second floor's central walkways en route to the reactor chamber, giving no consideration to stealth. Any Waddle Dees or Doos that got in his way demanded little more than a light slap or shove with the foot to tumble away, dissuaded or dizzied. To be frank, Slayer felt bad pushing the little critters around, but given that they were enemies, they still got off pretty easy. That conclusion made Slayer think about how this whole heroism business had affected his mindset; before, he didn't have any enemies. He never involved himself in the world's affairs, merely watching and learning, so never did anyone really don that mantle. Fools, curmudgeons, and vagabonds there were plenty, but being misguided, or overly proud, or desperate did not make one a 'foe'.
Slayer's musing trailed off as he neared his destination. Between him and the reactor chamber lay a complex and dangerous-looking weapon system, more sophisticated than anything Slayer might have attributed to the work of a Waddle Dee's stubby hand. ”Well now. It would seem they've prepared an energetic reception for us.” No cover, nothing to use as a shield, too far to teleport, too strong to block or tank given that claw-arm. What to do, what to do. He glanced out a nearby porthole, and an idea struck him. Could he just...go outside? With his strength, he could make hand and footholds out of the Halberd's exterior, blink back up if he happened to slip, and then punch his way back inside once he got past the Combo Cannon. Things would be easier if the shell launchers just put us right in the reactor chamber, he reflected, though surely there must have been some obstacle that prevented such an easy solution. If Alicia didn't some up with something better, he'd be giving it a try.
My problem is actually the exact opposite. I exclusively play characters with traits I can define, because I don't feel confident in my ability to play pre-defined canon characters. It's a matter of not being able to really do them justice.
Odd. I'd always imagined that the chief appeal of an RP like this would be to take control of a character one is passionate about. However, feel free to give it a whirl. I'd be interested in seeing what you come up with.
Hey @Lugubrious, I just wanted to check with you, what exactly are the limitations on "Blank Slate" characters? I was thinking of going with the protagonist of Armored Core 3, but that game makes your character a blank slate. Every aspect of your mecha can be customized, and every feature of your character is up to the player's imagination, since the game doesn't actually give you anything to work with.
Thus, the protagonist of any Armored Core game to my knowledge is going to blur the line between canon character and OC, since I intend to play mine as something other than a silent protagonist who never gets out of their mecha. It's almost like bringing in Commander Shepard: Yes, the major story beats of any individual Shepard's backstory is going to be the same, but the details--and their personality--will differ, often heavily. But this is even more extreme. Even more extreme than the Good Hunter in the characters list, since at least he's actually seen on-screen.
Well, I would prefer (and I think it's a better idea) to have far more defined characters. I've found that blank slates are often uninteresting to play as, even if traits are assigned, and that many who head in that direction lose motivation. The Courier, played by ProPro, is a mysterious figure whose past, appearance and personality are pretty much up to the player, is an exception, but ProPro has demonstrated a strong vision for what those are for Courier 6. If you want to go down this route I can't say no, but I would advise against it.
Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.
Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Current GM of World of Light. When it comes to writing, there's nothing I love more than imagination, engagement, and commitment. I'm always open to talk, suggestion, criticism, and collaboration. While I try to be as obliging, helpful, and courteous as possible, I have very little sympathy for ghosts, and anyone who'd like to string me along. Straightforwardness is all I ask for.<br><br>Looking for more personal details? I'm just some dude from the American south; software development is my job but games, writing, and trying to help others enjoy life are my passions. Been RPing for over a decade, starting waaaay back with humble beginnings on the Spore forum, so I know a thing or two, though I won't pretend to be an expert. If you're down for some fun, let's make something spectacular together.</div>
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