NytefallIt almost feels like we're reaching the point where we need a chatroom.
I miss those insomnia-esque late-night chat sessions back from the original omniverse. (late night for me, that is.)
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Skallagrim said
SILENCE!!!!! I mean we would never do anything like that ...
The point where we find out this whole RP is essentially big brother for Skallagrim's race.
Also, I get the impression a lot of this is being manipulated by the Dreamers for their amusement, so they could probably alter any communication issues where they arise.
Beta said
Looking at the current roster... I feel like nearly all of my characters would be Low tier, Intermediate at best.This is discouraging...
I found this was the case for most of my characters, it's worth considering that because everyone has stronger characters no-one has stronger characters though, so what I'm saying is ramping up your character's power levels doesn't feel like a cop out, nor does it mean you're going to easily sweep the floor with anyone.
I think the logic behind it is making a blade heavier doesn't really make it any sharper, which is the main reason why blades exist*, for stabbing and cutting. Making a weapon heavier means you can apply more force as the weight of the weapon is added to your attack, but that's not really beneficial to a sword because you're just wasting additional energy to do the exact same thing, cut or stab, which can be done just as effectively by using a sharper weapon. (that's just how pressure works.) Where-as with a mace or hammer, the idea is just to project a shit-ton of physical trauma into a wide area of the opponent's body, to shatter bones and cause massive internal damage. This is directly proportional to physical force and weight. (which incidentally is why it would be my preferred weapon, because I'm big and slow.)
*disclaimer, I'm aware blades aren't anything like what you see in bad samurai movies. In fact, it was counter-intuitive to make your blade -too- sharp, especially with longswords etc.
*disclaimer, I'm aware blades aren't anything like what you see in bad samurai movies. In fact, it was counter-intuitive to make your blade -too- sharp, especially with longswords etc.
Vordak said
Thanks for the info. ^.^It seems quite unsettling though, as that means some attire as heavy as ~250 lbs would already be inefficient in such terrain, and that's actualy what i wanted just the blade of one my characters to weigh. Looks like no fighting in bogs for me, eh?
Technically a bog's kpa is like 40, so a man standing will slowly sink, if you weighed that much you'd probably start drowning.
A heavy blade is actually somewhat pointless, though a heavy mace or maul is a different story altogether.
Why am I here, protecting these children so different from my own species, the Clockwork Man asked of himself. The night had truly reached them now, him and his small group of merry children. However, when the Clockwork Man destroyed the first of the Broken Ones with his pistol, they were cowed into fearful silence.
They don’t even look like humans, really, he thought. That wasn’t completely true of course, the Mystans were humanoid in appearance, but they sported far larger eyes than humans and their hair grew either incredibly dark red or jet black. Save for that small difference, they were uncannily similar to humans, though they lacked the little finger and the fingers they did have were longer and more deft, and their necks were marked with coloured grooves ranging from pale green to dark blue, marking the age of the individual. Otherwise they were similar indeed, and all of them favoured fur lined clothing which wouldn’t have looked out of place in Scotland or England even.
Once again he was dragged from his deep thought by the sounds of metal on scrap, the Broken Ones were still all around him and he was a good ten minute walk from the camp. He needed to get closer, and then the Warding Machines the Mystans employed to deal with hostile technology like the Broken Ones would kick into action and do his job for him.
“Quickly.” He called, jumping onto a slightly elevated pile of scrap to survey the area. The Scrap Yard was like a maze, and difficult for the Mystan’s to traverse. Though the distance to the camp was relatively short now, it would still be hard going for the young ones, and all around them the Broken Ones lurked. Remnants of the Eternal Machine Wars, George was growing adept at picking out the most dangerous. Some even posed a significant threat to him, but he had been on the planet long enough to pick those out, armed as they were with Lazer technology they were difficult to sneak past, it was only his technomagic nudging them the right way which had spared him a dangerous confrontation.
The three children struggled on, as he fired two shots in quick succession emptying his gun into a leaping scout bot. Strangely, it resembled a wolf, though half its head was sheared away and the other half was blown to pieces by his rounds. His free left hand crept into his satchel to seize more Elmorium covered bullets, and load them deftly into the Clockwork Pistol, as he leapt off the pile of scrap and re-joined the group, leading them on at a brisk jog. Suddenly, as if crashing into a brick wall, he was brought to a stop.
A familiar buzzing worked through his Soul Crystal, and he realised that they had made it into the protective shield of the Camp. The Warding Shield struck against any foreign technology, with a combination of technological interference and powerful Technomancy. Luckily, the Clockwork Man had become friends with a few of the Mystans since his arrival, and they had taught him the trick of protecting oneself from the effects. It was still difficult, even for a powerful Technomancer such as himself, but with one last effort he was returned to full strength, and walked through the most debilitating part of the shield. The group followed him, and he led them on, sparing one last glance behind him at the wolves at the door, so to speak. They could come no further, though this did not stop them running the length of the shield in irritation. He turned away, leading the small group up and towards the large metal gates of the camp. They opened before him, and he and the Mystans hurried inside.
After saying goodbye to the children, and accepting the slightly worried thanks of the parents, he decided to pay a visit to the elder of the camp. Inside the gates the Mystan scrap settlement was as much a maze, but of homes and abandoned merchant stalls. The hour was late, and most had retired to their homes, which resembled strangely high-tech shanties. In the middle, smoke billowed from a larger almost tepee esque building. He headed towards it, and with a brief word to the two guards outside, armed with lazer carbines that could blow a hole through an elephant, not that they had any, he was admitted inside.
They don’t even look like humans, really, he thought. That wasn’t completely true of course, the Mystans were humanoid in appearance, but they sported far larger eyes than humans and their hair grew either incredibly dark red or jet black. Save for that small difference, they were uncannily similar to humans, though they lacked the little finger and the fingers they did have were longer and more deft, and their necks were marked with coloured grooves ranging from pale green to dark blue, marking the age of the individual. Otherwise they were similar indeed, and all of them favoured fur lined clothing which wouldn’t have looked out of place in Scotland or England even.
Once again he was dragged from his deep thought by the sounds of metal on scrap, the Broken Ones were still all around him and he was a good ten minute walk from the camp. He needed to get closer, and then the Warding Machines the Mystans employed to deal with hostile technology like the Broken Ones would kick into action and do his job for him.
“Quickly.” He called, jumping onto a slightly elevated pile of scrap to survey the area. The Scrap Yard was like a maze, and difficult for the Mystan’s to traverse. Though the distance to the camp was relatively short now, it would still be hard going for the young ones, and all around them the Broken Ones lurked. Remnants of the Eternal Machine Wars, George was growing adept at picking out the most dangerous. Some even posed a significant threat to him, but he had been on the planet long enough to pick those out, armed as they were with Lazer technology they were difficult to sneak past, it was only his technomagic nudging them the right way which had spared him a dangerous confrontation.
The three children struggled on, as he fired two shots in quick succession emptying his gun into a leaping scout bot. Strangely, it resembled a wolf, though half its head was sheared away and the other half was blown to pieces by his rounds. His free left hand crept into his satchel to seize more Elmorium covered bullets, and load them deftly into the Clockwork Pistol, as he leapt off the pile of scrap and re-joined the group, leading them on at a brisk jog. Suddenly, as if crashing into a brick wall, he was brought to a stop.
A familiar buzzing worked through his Soul Crystal, and he realised that they had made it into the protective shield of the Camp. The Warding Shield struck against any foreign technology, with a combination of technological interference and powerful Technomancy. Luckily, the Clockwork Man had become friends with a few of the Mystans since his arrival, and they had taught him the trick of protecting oneself from the effects. It was still difficult, even for a powerful Technomancer such as himself, but with one last effort he was returned to full strength, and walked through the most debilitating part of the shield. The group followed him, and he led them on, sparing one last glance behind him at the wolves at the door, so to speak. They could come no further, though this did not stop them running the length of the shield in irritation. He turned away, leading the small group up and towards the large metal gates of the camp. They opened before him, and he and the Mystans hurried inside.
After saying goodbye to the children, and accepting the slightly worried thanks of the parents, he decided to pay a visit to the elder of the camp. Inside the gates the Mystan scrap settlement was as much a maze, but of homes and abandoned merchant stalls. The hour was late, and most had retired to their homes, which resembled strangely high-tech shanties. In the middle, smoke billowed from a larger almost tepee esque building. He headed towards it, and with a brief word to the two guards outside, armed with lazer carbines that could blow a hole through an elephant, not that they had any, he was admitted inside.
Vordak said
Could somebody please tell me how much a bipedal being with the foot size of an average human can weigh before it starts sinking into soil?
As far as I can make out (from some very scant research) the average human male exerts roughly 100kpa when walking on the earth. Very weak soil can withstand around 300kpa, before you literally sink through it.
Hey, Skallagrim, can I design what the Mystans look like or were you planning to post a description.
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