I mean to start posting as Sans again, but I think I've run into a snag.

He's currently still in The Usual People with Unusual Talks thread within The Tangled Green, a thread I'm pretty sure has long since been abandoned. Given that Gaster, the only other character within the thread, is currently inactive, would it be okay if I just hop ship and make a new thread there?

Resting on a cot, feathered blankets soaking up the blood from his wounds, he awoke to pure light.

Clone Medical Corporal 10093-- known more as “Corporal Light” amongst his brothers-in-arms for the twin pairs of bulb-shaped lights taped to the sides of his plastoid helmet-- couldn’t help but feel confused regarding the whiteness surrounding him. It held an angelic glow bright enough to be noticable but dim enough to be almost soothing, heavenly. The glow stretched far into the distance, making mirages of horizons. It stretched far enough that the floor seemed to disappear into a sea of white plastic, a sea that held no darkness, no night.

Groggy, his mind still clouded from the effects of adrenaline, painkillers, and bacta, Corporal Light slid out from underneath the sheets of his medical cot. He stumbled to the ground, legs wobbling, pain from the burns and gashes on his chest looming over his body like a shadow. He brought an arm down to stabilize himself, fingers brushing against the plastoid texture of the endless whiteness before he pushed himself back up. As he rose, the pain fell; he stashed it into a locked chest and melted the key in a bright flame. His current location mattered more than his battered body did.

He looked around. Was this Heaven? Was this what some of his fellow clones called Heaven? They had told stories of golden gates, of waterfalls, of spirits and endless light. Was this what they had meant? If so, where were the others? The other brothers fallen to warfare? He could not have been alone. If he could make it to Heaven, surely his fellow clones could.

Wait, who did tell me those stories?

The sound of rushing water caught his attention. He turned around.

An opulent, white marble fountain sat at chest height a few feet behind the bloodied Galactic Republic medical cot. Small waterfalls flowed from the edges of circular discs that jutted out of the surface of the pool inside the fountain. Light walked closer, licking his parched, dry lips, his throat seeking rejuvenating liquid that hadn’t been preheated by a standard-issue Galactic Republic canteen.

He moved up to the edge of the fountain and stared into the pool. He saw nothing but the face of his brethren, albeit one still capable of managing a smile. Still, he could not help but search for his true face within the clear, life-saving liquid.

The worm of thirst slithering up his throat caused Light to abandon his search for his helmet for the time being. He brought a mouthful of water up to his lips and drank. It did wonders dulling the pain in his chest, steadying his wobble, and wettening his throat. Wherever and whatever this place was, at least it had the luxury of decent water. There were many soldiers, many battlefields, many worlds that didn’t have that. At least here, there was no blaster fire, no ash and smoke that consumed the air like swarms of locusts savaging crops. A perfect world as perfect and pristine as the Republic he had defended for so long. He wondered what the other clones would think of it, or at the very least the older brothers. He imagined they wouldn’t believe it, but what was there to not believe?  

He sat down along the edge of the fountain, his thirst quenched. With it quenched, he could focus on his immediate surroundings. He returned to the question that had continued nagging him since he had awoken from his slumber: where, exactly, was he? Also, where was his helmet?

He groaned, his face muscles twitching. He pressed his fingers to his temples and squeezed. He dared not close his eyes as he worked the dusty cogs of his rusted, drug-addled machine of a mind.

He looked up, the visions of the past hazy.

Then, like a switch, light transitioned to darkness.

The transition occurred so fast that Light felt whiplash from the sheer shock of it. The sudden encroachment of the dark sent his heart into conniptions and almost catapulted him out of the memory. It took all of his willpower to keep his concentration going. He pressed harder against his skull; his fingers dug into his tanned skin. He had felt the scorching pain of a blaster and the emotional torment of a fallen brother, but the anguish of darkness was something else. Any pain was better than darkness.

Then, he saw it. A tall white angel of a figure woven with soothing light and an enlarged, reassuring smile on its face. It held an orb of colorful incandescence in its outstretched hand. Its colors swirled in outlandish shapes and lines; it sparkled in a chaotic fashion and yet somehow contained enough order to maintain its form.

“This is Omnilium. It’s what ties the Omniverse together. Without it, you are nothing. With it, anything you desire can be yours."

With the figures words, it departed, along with the memory, along with the choking darkness. He returned to light.

Anything I desire…

He stared down at his hands. He continued staring, his mind drawing shapes around his fingers.

He felt something tug within, like someone had tied strings around his inner self and pulled on them to urge it into motion. His eyes remained wide open as an orb of Omnillium, in all of its colorful glory, rose from the depths of his palm. He stared into the colored lights as they melted back into his hand before suddenly zipping and twirling around his fingers. They were like ribbons floating through wind, like the ribbons of the festival of Tynion that flowed through the air in a storm of red and pink.

Minutes passed; it felt like hours to Light-- the flaring incandescence of Omnillium could truly dazzle. He could stare into its colors forever if he wanted to. But, as those minutes came to an end, so too did the ribbons of red and pink and the tugging feeling inside his gut. Only his orange-striped helmet remained as evidence of those sights and those feelings.

He brought the helmet up to his head where it belonged. It felt comfortable. He turned on the twin lights attached to his helmet as if adjusting a crown. Their lights burned brighter than the whiteness of the Nexus.

Seventeen glimpsed at the clock on his desk.  At some point, he had lost track of time, and it had become the early morning hours.

“Great,” he muttered to himself as slid the stack of unloved forms further into the dark recesses of his workspace.  They could give him shinier bling and fancier dress clothes, but there was no way in hell he was going to do all that administrative nonsense.  Requisitions forms?  Payroll modifications?  Leave applications?  There had to be people whose jobs were to deal with that crap.

The cyborg glimpsed at his computer screen and saw that the other player had already logged out of the game.  They had been on the verge of rage quitting just a short while ago, because the grand strategy game had turned against them.  All those subject peoples were aching for that sweet taste of freedom.

Saving the game, Seventeen resigned from the program and waited for his desktop to reappear.  There was an intra-office memo hovering in the right hand corner of the screen notifying him that there was a meeting tomorrow morning.  Trixie was going to be debriefing all of them on what their next mission would entail.  He’d tried to get some details from her when the idea first slipped her lips after their fancy ceremony, but she insisted on silence.  That usually meant one of two things:  They were either requisitioning a donut and pie shop or being sent to get shot at and stabbed some more.  

Looking over his shoulder, Seventeen noted that the bed was too far away.  He could teleport, sure, but that felt almost like cheating.  With a yawn, the man clicked off his computer monitor, set his head on the desk, and drifted to sleep.

The approach he had taken could possibly be what he had did wrong. If acting as a dictator had been the wrong approach so as to convince Primes to join ranks with him, Warren was not sure what the right approach was. After walking back to the gate of the Nexus, Warren had walked through it once more. Greeted once more by the pure white ugliness of the Nexus that some might consider beauty, Warren didn't know what he was going to do with himself, at present. His home had been invaded, and he had been unable to do squat to deal with that problem. In addition he had been scammed out of his Omnilium, and that was another bit of irritation for him. Perhaps he should rebrand - no. He was not going to rebrand himself as a good guy. While it may have more perks, he was going to stick true to who he was on the inside. The Quarterback of Chaos was unsure how he was going to deal with the numerous problems that he had to handle. One of these was a lack of a place to call home. 

This could be easily remedied. After all, Coruscant was a big place, and was bound to have some abandoned ship, or somewhere he could infiltrate to make his base. Having a home was the goal he had set in his mind, and he was going to have one. Yet he had been unable to find the person who looked like him that had some of the Storm Troopers want to blast him. His NFL-R was not repaired or functional to the level of usage that he wanted yet. In all actuality, he hadn't bothered to build a new one since Yandere had taken it from him originally. Sure this left him at a supreme disadvantage when it came to a fight, but he didn't ultimately care about that. Gear could be replaced. All he had to do was do his research on where he could build his eventual permanent home. Or at least, one he hoped would be permanent.

Calling Jenny. Please wait.

A ripple, at first, then a wave.

The sea was like a rippling blanket of azure. Squabbling seagulls flew overhead, harassing the beachgoers in their endless hunger. Gannets dive bombed the stretched surface of the sea, far out from shore. The horizon was edged with a silver tint, a cormorant flew into that place where the sun and water meet, its wings a blur of motion as he soon faded from sight. 

The slurpy slapping of the sea was muted, a metronomic murmur. The waves were merely snoozing, sluggish and slumbering in the midday sun. They dribbled up to the sands of the beaches, then shuddered and drizzled their sea spray onto its surface, whisking the stones before releasing. A current of cold electricity passed through the air and the wind whipped up. 

Sloshing, swollen to its confined depths, it’s cavernous bowels stirred, a growling from the fathoms. Suddenly, stone dashed sand teemed as the sea hissed, polished and lashed the pebbled before sloshing back. It hissed, slipped, dashed the sand and released. 

The echo of a raspy rumbling from the sea reached them, a tremulousness to fear. The waves licked at a cliff of a sheltered cove, then paused and pounced with malice at it’s ankle, slamming the rock before releasing, a rumour of its malevolence. The wind died down. The sea bubbled. Trembling, throbbing to its own rotten beat, its malicious soul stirred, a warning from the ages. Suddenly, rip-tide rolls heaved as the sea foamed, crashed and pounded the cliff-foot before sloshing back. It foamed and frothed, plunged down hard and pummelled the hated cliffs; it lathered and lacerated, bucked waves and buckled itself; it smacked and smashed, surging waves expunging its awful rage. 

Its hissy fit over, it swelled once more, juddered and was still. 

The clone inhaled deeply; humid, briny air flooded her nostrils. Her young companion giggled, atop her shoulder, finally home. 

“Alright, kid, it’s time to show me the way back, huh?” Laura spoke, addressing her partner. 

“Well, uh,” Cubone hesitated, “the quickest way back is through the city there,” he gestured widely down at Costa Del Sol before them, “but that’s where the men in white come from, Stormtroopers, I think they’re called.” 

Kinney sighed, her head hung dejectedly for a moment, “There’s nothing stopping us from wandering through, though, right?” 

“No, I guess not.” the Pokemon muttered, almost apprehensively. 

“No sense in hanging around then.” 23 spoke, rolling her shoulder. Cubone chortled, jostled around by the clone’s movements as she set off into the hubbub of the city that sprawled out in front of them. 

A deep, bassy thrum of music reverberated through the bustling streets of the city, drowned out by the chorus of happy tourists, static lined radio chatter and the quiet rumbling of a procession in a nearby district, the so-called Party District. Dotted in between the vibrant, colorful city wanderers, men dressed in white suits of armor, carrying black rifles, trudged the pavements, ever vigilant in their patrol. 

Kinney glanced around the busy street, muttering quietly to herself as she pushed her way into the crowd. She reached up and curled a hand around the Pokemon’s tiny calf, holding him in place as best she could. Cubone, quite happy in his perch, grinned to himself beneath his morbid mask and craned around the back of Laura’s head, peering into shop fronts and restaurants, wonder and intrigue ever present in the creature’s eyes. 

“What’s the plan, then?” Kinney inquired, “Which way do I need to head?” 

“Uh, to the coast,” Cubone began, “we’ll need to get a boat.. Cinnabar is a boat ride away. There might be a dock where we can borrow one.” The Pokemon raised it’s tiny hand, gesturing directly in front of them, to which the Clone nodded and continued to push her way through the crowd, pulling the attention of a couple of Stormtroopers as a tourist called out in anger at being pushed aside. Kinney groaned and decided to adopt a more tactful approach, slipping between tourists, rather than brute forcing her way through. 

The Clone weaved through the crowd, sidling her way through tourist and trooper alike.  She sighed to herself, crowds always had a way of setting her on edge, far from claustrophobic, but a very real sense of tension and uneasiness. She wrung her hands idly at her stomach, a vague grimace creeping across her features. Kinney huffed and pushed her way to the edge of the crowd, finding a little solace as she stood  in a small crevice between shops. 

“Miss! Miss! You look like you could use a break!” A little old woman approached the duo, a toothy grin plastered upon her wrinkled face. She reached up, a bundle of lei’s clutched in her clammy hands, one placed over Kinney’s head, the other twisted a couple of times and laid to rest upon Cubone’s shoulders. 

“There’s a spa, not far down the road, you could put your feet up, get a massage.. I’ll even get you a nice discount, huh? How’s that sound?” The woman rambled, despite the Clone’s silent protest in the form of wafting her hands around in whatever small space the woman had left between them. 

“We don’t have time!” Cuboned squeaked, “We’ve got to get back to Cinnabar as soon as we can, everyone’ll be out looking for me! But we can come back when we’re done, right?” The Pokemon’s tone grew helpful as he stared over at 23, gently swaying her to his train of thought. 

“We’ll see.. We’ve gotta get going though,” Kinney relented, shifted by the Pokemon’s demeanour, “We’ll be back in a couple days, I guess.” She nodded to the little old woman and set off, quickly, back into the crowd. Laura snorted a laugh, Cubone’s pluck was infectious, she couldn’t help but melt a little as the Pokemon decided their plans way ahead of time. She shook her head, smirking wryly as they joined the crowd again, quietly determined. 

Quote:1000 words done so far!

Quote:If you've been on the site for eight months, both of your characters are level 4 or higher, your combined Earned OM is 40,000 or more

Purchases for The Hunter go here.

Current post count: (your current post count, viewable on your profile)
Current Earned OM: (your current Earned OM, viewable next to your posts)
Current Spent OM: (total, viewable on your roster)
Buying: (whatever it is you want to buy). Cost: (the cost) OM.
New Spent OM: (your total Spent OM after the purchase)

All moves must be approved here before purchase.

Name: The Hunter
Spent OM: 4700
Proficiencies (1400): Ranged Proficiency (1000), Area Defense (400)
Powers (2400/8000): Master Acrobat (400), Advanced Enhanced Senses (2000)
Moves (900): Pistol: Rusty Sidearm(300), Crossbow(300),  Blank(300)
Super Moves ():
Transformations (): 
Assists (0): 
Items (): 
Artefacts: None
Consumed OM (0): (for consumed items or OM permanently lost from respecs, etc)
Bases (0):
Unlocks (): 
Base stats: 
ATK: 4
DEF: 2
SPD: 2
TEC: 2

CHARACTER NAME: Colo

CHARACTER SOURCE: Original

CHARACTER HISTORY: Tales of "The End" didn't begin with neighbors turning on neighbors or heavenly wrath raining from the sky. Nay, it began with one of nature's gift; A Tree. The Tree took on an ominous, glowing chartreuse color and whittled all life around it. Tribes gathered from all over the continent to prevent the supposed inevitable. Combined Armies destroyed the landscape in an attempt to impede the oncoming disaster but all failed.

PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: Colo is built like every other member of her species; long and skinny. She stands at a diminutive height of 120 centimeters (3'11"). She has an elongated torso with short tan fur covering her body making her closely resemble an earthly animal; the ferret. Parting Colo's black hair kept in a ponytail is parted by furry ears sitting atop her head. Her face is round and chubby with a nigh perpetual soft smile. Colo's eyes are wide and ovalish in shape. 
[spoiler]
Artwork by Nuclear Wasabi
[/spoiler]

STATS:
ATK: 2
DEF: 2
SPD: 2
TEC: 4

STARTING PROFICIENCIES: Physical Strength (1,000 OM), Range Proficiency (1,000 OM)

STARTING POWERS: Master Acrobat (400 OM), Super Jumping (300 OM), Burst Movement (800 OM)

STARTING MOVES:

Taldo [1,200 OM. Requires Physical Strength]: Taldo the heroic sword with multiple forms. Taldo is wielded by the greatest champion from the tribes scattered throughout the planet. Its warrior must be fierce, honorable, and powerful. So it comes as a surprise that Colo wields such a weapon. The champion whilst wielding the sword can imbue it with Fighting Spirit by charging it for five seconds for more damage.

• [1] Its base form is that of a 40 centimeter (1'37" feet) long one-handed Falchion with a black scabbard. The Falchion is balanced in both strength, defense, and speed making it ideal for any combat situation. Its flawless blade is 33 centimeters (1'09" feet) long and made from refined steel. Taldo's hilt is made from wood gathered from an age old Treant with leather bound around it to ease the Colo's grip. 
  
  
• [2] Its second form is that of a 100 centimeter (3'3" feet) long two-handed Zweihander. The Zweihander is a much more offensive sword and requires Colo to utilize both hands to properly swing it. Its overbearing weight and size leads to a steep decrease in speed. The hilt's length is 15 centimeters (6 inches) and made from the same Treant wood covered with leather as Taldo's base form. 
  
  
• [3] Taldo's third form is that of a 50 centimeter (1'76" feet) long one-handed Rapier. The Rapier is much more light weight than Taldo's previous forms. Its speed is superb while its offensive and defensive capabilities are lacking. The hilt is once again 15 centimeters (6 inches) and made from the same material as the previous sword forms.