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If someone had wandered the forests of Camelot, and if that someone had left the path and come to a nameless river near the edge of the verse, they may have been greeted by the sight of Karil bathing in a pool that had formed at the foot of a little waterfall.
But nobody strays from the beaten paths of the forests of Camelot, because they fear the predators.

The wolpertinger had her clothes on as she stood beneath the waterfall and allowed the cold water to splash onto her, so that they would be washed at the same time as herself. What had once been white linen and light leather was now all dark brown, its fibre having changed its color a little more each time that Karil had walked through the foliage, rolled around in a pit of mud to camouflage her light fur, dug her claws and teeth into the carcass of a hunted prey or hidden in a hollow tree or burrow when running from a predator that was even bigger than her. The green and blue, the red, brown and black and many more colors present in the forest had left their marks on her clothes, and with time layer upon layer of color had mixed with the others and tainted the clothes until no amount of water could clean it off anymore. Not that Karil minded. The dark brown allowed her to vanish into the forest much better than the bright white of her fur which gave her location away to any predator or potential prey from miles away. Similarly the smell of dirt, moss, trees, berries and many other 'forest' smells obscured her own scent, in the event that she had to sneak up on a prey downwind.

Some poor devil who had been killed and robbed blind had been laying there, rotting by the wayside of a path that Karil had scouted on a day where she was feeling particularly bold. She had picked up the smell of blood, found the remains of a caravan and the dead horse, and the body not laying far away. She had not understood what had happened and could not make sense of the feathered sticks in the corpse's chest and the horse's neck, but she understood that they were the cause of death. And when dead you didn't need clothes, or anything else for that matter, so Karil had taken the dead man's trousers, his shirt and his jacket, and put them on in the same way that he had worn them. The jacket swiftly was discarded again because of the metal buttons on it that glimmered in the sunlight and had a strong smell, and because it was thick and hot. Karil's furcoat was already providing her with more than enough heat. But the shirt and the trousers had stayed, and Karil had made them hers.

Now they were a near-indispensable asset. They weren't always comfortable but because they held smells and their color so well Karil had become able to take on hunts that would otherwise have failed, and she had comfortably escaped situations that would otherwise have turned out much hairier.

Her bath done, Karil stepped to the edge of the water and sunk her body into the foul-smelling mixture that had washed up at its shore: mud, sand, half-composted branches, leaves and small plants, insects and one or two larger carcasses. With her own smell mostly neutralized by the water, this swampy paste seeped into her fur and clothes and completely suppressed it, while at the same time making her blend in more with the forest. It was time to hunt.

Two pheasants ate on a tiny clearing, gobbling up insects and wild berries from a bush and blissfully unaware of the predator until she was right behind them. Neither had the time to feel pain or fear as she snapped both necks at the same time. She ensured that they were dead and, hearing neither heartbeat nor breath, proceeded to strip them of their feathery suit, gut them with her claws, and dig into one of them, while wrapping the other into a big leaf. Lunch was served, dinner was taken care of too.

If someone had wandered the forests of Camelot, and if that someone had left the path and come to a tiny clearing near the edge of the verse, they may have been greeted by the sight of a stag-horned wolf wearing a shirt and trousers, devouring the raw meat of a bird and smelling worse than a compost heap.
But nobody strays from the beaten paths of the forests of Camelot, because they fear the predators.

Character name: Fate Testarossa

Character source: Magical Girl Lyrical Nanoha

Character history:

Despite how human she may look, Fate is actually an artificial life form made by the mage, Presea, to replace her late daughter, Alicia. Eventually, though, Presea would find that no matter how much she looked or acted like her daughter, Fate would never be able to take her place. This led the woman to feel disgust for the young blonde girl, to the point of physically abusing her almost in a daily basis.

After a long investigation, though, Presea found a way to revive Alicia, with the use of the extremely advanced technology at the lost kingdom of Al-Hazard. However, to reach that place, she had to use a handful of special magic crystals known as the Log Seeds, so she sent her creation, Fate, to catch them for her, the latter accepting with the false hope of that, if she succeeded, her "mother" would finally accept her.

During her journey, however, and with the help of a friend named Nanoha, Fate understood the wrong of Presea's way and decided to face her creator, alongside Nanoha, in order to stop her schemes and also to free herself from that woman's grasp. During the battle though, Presea, in her desperation, decided to use the Log Seeds she had in her possession to open the gate to Al-Hazard, only to rip a rift in the space-time that not only sucked the magician in, but also Fate as well, sending both to different places: Presea to somewhere unknown, and Fate... To the Omniverse.

Physical Description:



Stats:
ATK: 2
DEF: 1
SPD: 4
TEC: 3

Starting Proficiencies: Physical Strength (1000), Ranged Proficiency (1000), Area Attack Proficiency (600)

Starting Powers: Burst Movement (800)

Starting Moves:

Bardiche (300) - Physical Strength

This is Fate's magical device and also main weapon for close combat situations. Strangely enough, Bardiche resembles more an small scythe rather than a true berdiche, but that's because the device isn't in its base form, but in an alternate one named Scythe Form, that is more suited to the close combat. Its low weight allows Fate to wield it with ease and perform quick, low-powered slashes with great skill. Bardiche's yellow energy blade is made of very condensed electric-type mana and it measures almost 2 feet long, while the silver-made and also colored shaft is roughly 4 feet long.

Photon Lancer (600) - Ranged Proficiency

After a brief casting, lasting 4 seconds without any action and 7 if she does it while moving, four spheres made of electric-type mana appear hovering barely a feet above Fate's current position, and follow her wherever she moves, then they're fired at a fast pace against a single target, one at a time with a wait of less than a second between. When they hit, whether it's the target or anything else, they produce a low-powered explosion which total diameter is no longer than a feet. These spheres don't go infinitely though, because once they distance themselves for more than 6 feet from their point of origin, they will disappear immediately.

Arc Saber (600) - Ranged Proficiency, Area Attack Proficiency

Fate swings her signature weapon, sending an spinning blade of energy against a single target that goes as fast as an arrow, though it shrinks as it travels. The sharp projectile is shape like a crescent and it has a length of 2 feet, losing an inch per every inch it distances from its original point of origin. Its power can be compared to a direct slash from Bardiche, but a bit weaker.
However, that's not all to this move. Before the swing, Fate can opt to charge energy on Bardiche's blade for 5 seconds, which she has to spend doing absolutely nothing, then she does the swing and a bigger spinning blade flies at its target. This time, the crescent's shape becomes two times as big (4 feet) and the shrinking is half than in the non-charged version. Its power receives a noticeable increase as well, while its speed remains mostly the same, if not a little bit slower.

I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct. I do.

Where did you find us? Amber told me about the site, and it looked like fun, so I decided to join.

Hi Omniverse!

I know some of us do this as a hobby while others of us want to pursue writing professionally. That said I think everyone likes to improve the quality of their writing and the only way I've found to improve is through practice.

Basically I'm asking if anybody would be interested in doing weekly, bi-weekly, or monthly writing exercises. I'd post a prompt or a constraint that could be as simple as "tell me the story of a blind baker" or something more abstract such as "write a story without using the letter 'e'" I'm a firm believer that restriction breeds creativity and this would give you an opportunity to tetest your writing chops.

Naturally this wouldn't gain you any OM or anything IC, but I think it would be fun to see people write non-overse stuff.

Kelly's first impression of the Green was dominated by the sharp, soft scent of wet vegetation. The quiet, insistent patter of water dripping from one leaf to another, and from there to the sodden earth, was the only sound int he world. It had rained recently, probably quite hard, and the sky remained bruised and angry, threatening at any moment to launch a fresh meteorological tantrum.

The gate opened onto a broad clearing furnished with a dense carpet of ankle-high ferns. Fluffy fronds and little spiral shoots presenting every shade of verdant hue lay beaten down by the recent storm, flexible and unbroken, but momentarily subdued. 

Beyond the ferns lay the forest, a wall of tangled trunks and creeping ivy, brown and black and gray among the omnipresent green. Oaks stood shoulder-to-shoulder with walnuts and elms, and even a few maple trees, battling the green stems and choking grasp of lesser flora. It crowded around the edges of the clearing, younger, smaller growth filling the gaps between the mighty, gnarled trunks of the older trees, sending probing limbs out into the overcast clearing as though eager to see what fresh fool had emerged from the Nexus gate. 

The Tangled Green, more than any other 'verse Kelly had been to so far, was alive. For the moment it was quiet, stunned in the wake of the storm, but it didn't feel empty; It felt patient - as though at any moment it could rise to sudden action. Standing before the gate, the psychic's higher senses only reached to the edge of the clearing, but even in that limited sphere there hid an entire ecosystem.  Leaving aside the abundance of ferns, already beginning to stir as their springy stems recovered from the battering rain, there were snakes, insects, small mammals huddled beneath the soil. He could see their thermal signatures, taste their kirlian glow, feel the subtle radio-spectrum pressures of the their simple neurology. They were like little stars, surprisingly complex, shining softly among the fractal fronds of their tiny, fern-based cosmos. 

Kelly increased his neural clock-speed and spared a long moment to appreciate them. The denizens that lurked within the woods wouldn't be nearly so benign.  

And that's without even accounting for whatever defenses Nebula may have prepared...      

Snapping back into a the normal flow of events, Kelly walked the perimeter of the clearing, plucking leafy sticks and stems from the brush, weaving them into his hair and looping them through his belt. Dirt and plant-matter stained his fingers, and the smell of sap and fresh chlorophyll wafted from the organic elements of his disguise.  

In most places, the undergrowth was so dense as to be impenetrable without a machete, and even then progress would be laughably slow. Even at the edge of his extrasensory perceptions, few clear inroads presented themselves. There was a single well-worn hiking trail - probably the main route to the verse's interior - and a few smaller footpaths paths, nearly entirely eclipsed by the encroaching vegetation. 

The traveler considered the treetops, but even a cursory examination, in any spectrum, showed the canopy wasn't dense enough here to make a viable alternative route. He'd have to wait to make use of it until he was further into the forest, where the trees were older, and the perpetual arboreal twilight for which the Tangled Green was known set in in earnest. 

But which way to go? I can't just wander at random.

Kelly checked his liberator aide, fiddling with the settings and studying the hi-tech guantlet's little display for any sign of Nebula activity, any indication of the direction in which their stronghold might lie. 

... Hn. Nothing. Well, I was told that the range was a little short. I guess I'll just have to head for the center of the 'verse and work outward from there. 

The psychic recalled the database entry on the Green he'd memorized all those months ago, at Fort AMBR. 

If nothing else, I'll eventually run into the Ninjas or the Elves. If I haven't found anything by then, they might be able to point me in the right direction. All else failing, I'll call Doctor Regal and ask him exactly where he's been sending his scouts - but I don't think that will be necessary. 

He chose one of the lesser paths, wending off through the trees towards the west. Every step of the way branches clawed at his arms and clothing, though a cursory psychokinetic effort kept them from his face. He parted the green just enough - like a prophet's understudy. Still, it was tough going, even for someone with a frame as lean and wiry as his - his height, combined with the simple rules of physical proportion, meant that his broad, angular shoulders presented a prime target for grasping greenery. The psychic soon accumulated an impressive collection of scrapes. He held his quarterstaff close, and keeping it from getting tangled was a minor nuisance.  

Kelly grimaced, the predatory slopes of his face reduced to stark suggestions by camouflage and the deepening gloom.

I've got the feeling this is the kind of problem that's likely to come to me.  

  

Read at your risk.

[spoiler]I lay in the filth and muck, an evening drizzle cooling my skin underneath the layers of loose clothing I have to wear. I wonder if I should just end it all; if this existence was even worth continuing. But I'm a coward... No matter how bad it is, and it IS bad, I just cannot imagine killing myself. A shiver runs through me and I hope that's not just a side-effect of my condition. The buildings around me stare down with vacant eyes, judging me... calling me a monster. And they're right.

I can no longer remember how long I've lived like this, but I remember when it started. I was just a boy then, left alone in the world. I don't know what became of my parents, all I know is that the alleys of the city were my home. I lived as best I could, scrounging for leftovers in the trash left by those more fortunate than I and avoiding the drunkards and bullies, the police and the soldiers. I learned that lesson quickly, from one too many nights spent curled fetally in the mud and wondering if I would die.

One morning, after a particularly debilitating beating the night before which had rendered me unconscious, I awoke to the sound of buzzing and a sharp pain in my side. Horror filled me when I saw them... the maggots and flies feasting on my rent flesh. Weakly, I tried to smash them, to rid myself of the infestation. But as my hand came down, the maggots squirmed deeper inside me and the flies buzzed away. Unfortunately, these were only the first. More vermin arrived after that, in a near constant stream it seemed. They ate away at my body and every day was filled with excrutiating pain. All I could do was huddle in the darkness of the alleys and wait for it to all be over.

As the host grew, they began to speak to me, telling me that it's alright. That I'm part of something greater now. That they're my family and they love me. I can still feel them... squirming around inside me. Feeding off of my body and replacing what they've eaten with something else. My left eye is no longer my own... instead a trap-door spider has made it its nest and placed a facsimile over the empty socket. Pores in my skin release swarms of gnats and biting insects, the occasional centipede moving from one to another as well. I feel their eggs hatching and the maggots writhing within. But... at least it doesn't hurt anymore.[/spoiler]

Character name: Dane Regan

Character source: Original (although the name from the Star Wars: KOTOR random name generator)

Character history: Dane grew up through the transition of two periods. The domain of the demon king, and the demon's demise. In the former, mankind and the majority of races were united against the threat of the demon king. A strong and powerful being in raw strength, skill, and magic.

During his childhood, Dane wanted to avoid fighting; he saw himself as a young genius so invested many sleepless nights understanding the mathematics, physics, and magic of his world. Regardless of his academic efforts, he was still forced to train in the art of the sword and shield. He was sent to the castle of his home region where he had to practice the monotony of combat drills. When possible he defied them. In class he would suck up to instructors, but when participating in a training duel he'd break the established techniques and form his own. His footwork, attacks, and defensive methods were therefore erratic and unpredictable allowing him to win more with luck at first rather than skill.

Given years of polishing techniques, listening, and reading, he made it to young adulthood, ready to be a knight. Regardless of his lack of affinity with magic (primarily due to a lack of mana), he still studied out of choice on the theoretical side, and learnt to use it discretely to enhance the speed of his attacks. When bringing this up with one of the leading knights teaching him, most were aware of the possibility for such a technique to be used, but commented that dedicating resources to teach those magically weak to do so was simply not worth the time, and honing their blades was more worthwhile.

Very shortly after Dane's first deployment to a border village, the war ended. This frustrated Dane, his life had been taken away from him all for nothing. He'd trained relentlessly to secure his survival on the front lines, developing techniques of his own. Time he could have used to improve technology. Being dismissed from service, Dane returned to his hometown before travelling onward.

From there, he attempted to secure an academic future at the capitol but was hand-waved. It seemed the prestige of the many institutions refused to acknowledge a "country soldier" had his ability. It would be bad for their images.

Over the next years he witnessed alliances breaking as kingdoms turned on each other. Adopting an outwards "it's not my problem" attitude, he invested time into research, and fighting. Pursuing various tasks of his choice, he helped the populace closest to him by eliminating highway robbers, synthesising medicine, and handing over plans for more efficient methods of harvesting and the like. Over the course of this time he became a legend of sorts. He travelled throughout the land using the skills he had to make a difference, though the overall effect was unnoticed rumours did spread. Some said he slayed an army of barbarian raiders. Others said he could cure all diseases. Neither were remotely true.

(This is very summarised. If anything though, Dane cares little about his past and more about his future. Really, his personality matters more in my opinion)

A brief summary of how he mostly acts: Egotistical, “Split” personality, manipulative, self proclaimed strategical genius, and seems like a lucky shit (often because he acted like his method was unplanned). Likes maths, logic, and rational thinking + arguments. Somewhat amoral. Mostly aromantic, and doesn’t care for anything in that department - but still likes hugs and physical contact from anyone he's on a friendly basis with. Can easily lie, fake a role, bluff, bluff bluffing, etc. Somewhat traumatic experience with neck being touched. Is jumpy when being touched by unknown sources, but is usually perceptive enough for this not to happen. Cares how people act, and why they act as they do. Doesn’t care much for emotions. Argues with himself and enjoys it when others are antagonistic towards him. Will try to fit himself in with those around him when their assistance is needed, or he likes them.

The "split" personality refers to how Dane talks to himself in his head as if there are multiple copies of him (there aren't). He does this impulsively. He could probably almost be classed as a psychopath in some cases, because his main motive for helping is because he has little better to do and he will happily use lethal force on anyone who starts violence. As in, "I have these skills, why not use them?". Of course, he has a very good self control and is slow to show anger.

Physical Description: Dane has dark blonde hair bordering on brown. He tends to wait too long between cutting it, often over a year, so the length can vary from an inch to just starting to go down his shoulders. Conversely, his beard is kept shaven because he finds the hairs a nuisance. He has dark green/brown eyes, fair eyebrows (in colour and size), and a mostly well rounded face with a somewhat pointy chin.

He's about average height for a human male (5'7" / 1.7m), has lightly tanned (but still mostly pale) skin, and has a body shape tending towards being slim (but definitely not underweight). He's fit, so will happily run multiple miles, but his body is mostly built for short bursts of speed: his muscles are therefore well toned but not large. So he can get by by shifting his body-weight to generate power in his attacks.

He doesn't take much care in his appearance (besides anything that is covered by general hygiene), so his clothes are often thrown together from what's available to him and his hair is very rarely combed. Hence, he'll opt to wear any practical attire that happens to be sold in the area with little preference on colours. Although, for decals and stitched images he will choose something with a tiger or dragon simply because it looks cool.

Dane's "usual" outfit at home consisted of an orange shirt with a stained tiger pattern and dull beige/brown trousers (seemingly unfitting for Knight or academic). Despite his usual rational outlook, he'll avoid wearing armour where possible because it's uncomfortable. But when required, light armour made of leather or a hard but light metal is chosen.

Stats:
ATK: 1
DEF: 1
SPD: 3
TEC: 5

Starting Proficiencies:
1000 - Physical Strength

Starting Powers:

Starting Moves:
600 - Shield:
Someone's up in your face? Someone threw a knife at you? Someones trying to hit you with a big scary axe? Use a shield! Dane bashes his opponent in the face with his round shield, attempting to knock them back. The shield is made from a mix of wood, leather, and metals and is about 2ft wide. Dane can also use it to block an attack with less risk to his person, though he does need to repair it occationally.

300 - Longsword:
Want to hit the guy back? You have a sword! Dane attacks his opponent with a one or two-handed strike using his Medieval style Longsword (he has to drop his shield to use both hands).

300 - Shortsword:
Has a use similar to his Longsword, except he primarily uses it to attack weak spots and poke through his opponent's guard. Using this two handed is unwieldy, and its smaller size means it is generally weaker. For speed it is outclassed by a rapier, and strength by his Longsword. While Dane does not practice with the former, he is proficient at using this as it fits a balance between the two. Furthermore, he rarely replaces his shield with the weapon when he feels the need for a solid guard is lower, such as when fighting a slow opponent, allowing him to effectively dual wield.

600 - Tier 1 Super Move - Magic Enhancement:
Dane uses his footwork and limited magic to supplement his attack in both strength and speed. Dane uses it to guide his arm(s) towards their intended target(s) - such as a weakpoint or gap in the opponents guard - and strikes as swiftly and often as possible. There is no visible effect from this besides Dane seeming to attack much harder and faster than usual, sometimes causing his blade(s) to blur in the air.

I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct.
I read the Rules of Conduct.

Where did you find us?
I think I was googling something about how to do something in a game I was playing to get that 100% completion. And this was on the 2nd page for some reason, so I checked it out. I've been scouting about for almost a week now.

Harry Potter floated a few feet above the waters of The Vasty Deep on his surfboard, trying to clear his head. All morning he could hear a familiar whisper in the back of his mind, but it was not until mid-afternoon that he heard the telepathic voice of Tom Riddle.

"Hello, Harry," said Tom, somewhere in the Pale Moors. "We have a problem."

***

Jeremy the Blue Melee Minion was alone in his dark apartment in Costa Del Sol, drinking. His bright blue hair was pulled back behind his ears, and he held a bloody rag to his swollen face.

He did not notice his door creak open, or the shadowy figure that stepped inside.

***

"I investigated some rumors," continued Tom. "That a grave had been defiled." Tom hesitated. "My muggle father's grave."

Harry's blood went cold.

"When I arrived," Tom said, his voice dull. "I was ambushed."

***

Jeremy snored lightly in his chair as the figure crept closer and produced a wand.

***

"We dueled," said Tom. "She was amazing. I was better, but she was...amazing. Better than anything I had ever heard about her."

A surge of righteous anger from Harry. Tom seemed to humble somewhat.

"I won, but she got a piece of me. Literally; she took a few fingers, grabbed them, and fled," said Tom neutrally.

***

Jeremy opened his eyes.

"Imperio," said a voice lazily.

Jeremy straightened up.

***

"It must have been her, Harry," Tom said earnestly. "I've never met her, but I've heard of her. It MUST have been."

Harry nodded. It must have been her. And it must have been Harry who created her, subconsciously.

"She only needs one more thing now, Harry, and she knows how to get it."

***

"Hello little soldier," said the husky voice. "Get up and get your weapon."

Jeremy rose jerkily to his feet and grabbed his sword form his scabbard. He had a glassy look to his blue eyes.

"I need you to find someone for me," the voice urged.

***

"Bloody right she does," said Harry, his bright green eyes narrowed. He sits on his surfboard, and begins to Summon something.

"Harry," echoed Tom's telepathic voice. "Harry, don't do this. I'm warning you so you DON'T fall into her trap. The risk is too high; your blood is all she needs to complete the ritual and unleash Voldemort upon the Omniverse."

A Firebolt coalesced out of OM into Harry's hands, the racing broom as light and aerodynamic as he remembered. He jumped on angrily, abandoning the comfortable yet slow surfboard.

"The risk is high enough with HER loose in the Omniverse!" Harry says and he pushes Tom from his mind and takes off.

***

"Yeah, no problem," came the slurred response from the Jeremy the Blue Melee Minion. "Who you looking for?"

Bellatrix Lestrange smiled.

"Marla."

Arle stood before an incredibly tall tower topped by bulbous purple domes and a floating ring broken up by rather jagged looking crystals up near the tallest spire. It took her breath away, and also raised about a dozen questions about what exactly she was looking at. The towers of Arle's world were far more humble for the most part, simple heavy stone towers that stretched a few floors at most. There were a handful of towers belonging to powerful wizards and lords that stretched higher, but they still retained their humble, almost medieval nature. Your ability to use magic to solve everyday problems was limited if you were a normal mage like Arle. Indefinitely suspending huge objects in the air was a miraculous feet that Arle didn't quite grasp the mechanics of in particular. This entire city was just one big mystery to her in that regard. Magic in her world was simply an entirely different beast, metabolized by individuals rather than pulled from the world around them. There was a pretty strict limit to how much magic an individual had at their disposal as a result and using it all up was an unpleasant experience. This understandably discouraged magicians from using magic that drained their mana over time by design and, even if they did have a theoretically massive supply of mana, lifting something this incredibly massive would be an incredible feet just by scale alone.

This was just one of many questions sitting idly in the back of Arle's mind as she entered the violet citadel and meandered her way to the grand library. The pearly white walls had given way to the inside of spire that seemed to stretch up into infinity, nearly every inch lined with books of various ages. Arle was mystified. How... did one retrieve the books? Most of them were too high for her, at least until she retrieved her ribbit boots--and a part of her suspected no one would appreciate her jumping around in a library. A librarian in a purple rope stopped what she was doing to briefly acknowledge Arle's presence, ever vigilent in her duty to make sure the library was treated with the respect it deserved. The mage also looked a bit lost in the endless sea of books, having a great deal of difficulty figuring out where to start. There weren't even categories! The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she got. Did they use magic to keep track of their books as well? How was she supposed to get in on that knowledge if she didn't  even know how to access it yet? Somewhat overwhelmed, Arle hesitantly approached one of the walls and began scanning it for a vaguely helpful looking book. She hadn't thought up any better ideas, unfortunately, and it showed in the lack of results her search was producing.