Illidan took another sniff of the musty breeze, his eyeless gaze creeping up and down the walls of his castle from the highest tower. His castle.
 
The ferocious Poe River tore past the front gates of his fortress, its churning waters providing a natural defence against a siege. The stones of the castle itself were worn, cracked and thick with lichen, but they held; a fortifying magic brimmed within the walls, protecting it from falling apart. Shafts of light would often penetrate the rooms of the stronghold where roofing tiles or stones had fallen free. Shattered windows held dusty glass fragments on their sills, letting the stale wind waft through his hallways.
 
There would be time to restore Poenari Castle to its former glory, and time was all Illidan had.
 
The winds curled through his silken black hair as he leaned against a crenellation of the tower. A few weeks had passed since the siege on Darkshire, and his body had healed well. He ran a hand down his naked stomach, his coarse fingers finding the raised scar tissue from a slew of strikes he suffered at the hands of that plagued knight and the cowled warrior. There were many potent foes in this Omniverse, and now the night elf had a measure of what to expect.
 
While some of Illidan's forces expressed disappointment at their perceived failure to take Darkshire, the demon hunter did not share it. Conquering that middling human farmland would have bolstered his position and progressed his plans further along, but ultimately, that was always a bonus. The true goal of satisfying Cornelius White and his sycophantic ghost army had been achieved; their combined might had toppled Darkshire's walls and slain hundreds of their defenders, cementing Illidan's name in the minds of the Pale Moors' inhabitants. And when Archimonde, his mindless but vicious demonic hound, came bounding home from the battle, full to the brim with necromancer energy in his stomach, Illidan knew that White and his spectres had seen their fatal conclusion.
 
With them gone, Poenari Castle was his for the taking. Finally, with a base of power, Illidan could begin stretching his influence over the Moors.
 
He watched his forces milling about in the courtyard. The night elf hadn't given them orders for almost a week, so they continued carrying out their last received commands; guard the castle. Since Darkshire were still licking their wounds, it was deeply unlikely that they would mount a retaliation strike, at least not yet. There was little to task them with in the meantime, since most of them looked ill-suited to castle repairs. The zombies could barely keep a straight gait let alone hammer a nail. The werewolves could be used for heavy lifting, but few of their kind maintained a lucid frame of mind, and they would no doubt stop in the middle of their task to hunt down a rabbit.
 
Illidan's long ears pricked as footsteps sounded from behind. His magic sight already knew who approached him, and he turned.
 
"Lord Illidan," Regis said in his drab tone. "You're looking well."
 
"Indeed," the demon hunter said. "The air might be musty here, but there's something ... bracing about it."
 
"Or perhaps your recent victory has reinvigorated your constitution."
 
"Victory often does." Illidan folded his arms over his chest. "What have you come to see me about?"
 
"My lord, your forces grow restless. Watching the castle is not providing them with enough stimulation." Regis yawned, and Illidan briefly considered that the necromancer's perpetual dismal state might be due to sleep deprivation. "They are increasingly difficult to control."
 
"So in other words, they are bored and they think that insubordination would be exciting," Illidan said in a low tone.
 
"I am only here to offer my counsel to you, my lord. Such things must be considered."
 
The night elf stared out over the battlements. Two werewolves savaged each other in the courtyard as a ring of thrill-seeking onlookers cheered on the carnage.
 
"A castle cannot be held unless there is an army to hold it," Illidan said. "If you cannot keep these filthy creatures in order, then the castle is undefended. If the castle is taken away from me, I promise you Regis that you will be the first to die for your failures."
 
"I apologise, my lord," Regis said in a tone that made his indifference clear. "Count Dracula's beasts are not used to being caged. Marching in an army is the first form of structure that many of them have ever experienced before."
 
Regis had a point. Few of the surviving members of his army had any official training. Most lived by the rule of strength; whoever was strongest made the rules. Yet since Illidan hadn't given new rules to follow in some time, the mindless creatures took that to mean that they were out from under the night elf's yoke.
 
Illidan climbed atop the battlement wall. "Perhaps they need a reminder of who is in charge here."
 
The night elf jumped and plummeted towards the ground. A thick shroud of black smoke encircled him as he fell, and blew out as he slammed into a landing. The fight club stopped abruptly as the creatures took notice of the winged demon that approached them on goat legs. They cleared a path as Illidan strolled into the centre where the werewolves looked uncertainly at him.
 
"What is this?" Illidan said, his voice deep. "Why are you fighting?"
 
The werewolves held silent for a moment, but one broke under the night elf demon's blazing gaze. "Just some sport, my lord. There's not much to do."
 
"Not much to do?" Illidan repeated in his evil voice. "You're holding this castle for the great Illidan Stormrage, officer of Count Dracula! What is of more importance than that?!"
 
The other werewolf arched his back and bared salivating jaws. "We are werewolves! It is in our instinct to hunt and fight, not pretend that a pile of rubble is worth more than our shit! We want action! We want to feel our blood boil!"
 
Illidan turned his head slowly, lips parted to reveal his needle teeth. "You want to feel your blood boil, do you?"
 
He seized the werewolf by the throat, stabbing his long claws into the furry skin. With one thick arm, Stormrage forced him to his knees. The werewolf's eyes bulged, mouth agape, spluttering for air, claws ripping at its throat. The night elf demon pressed down as the werewolf pushed up with its legs, but the man-wolf could not break his hell-forged strength. A green light hugged the outline of Illidan's hand, and the werewolf's back went rigid.
 
Illidan lifted his head and took in the crowd of his forces that watched in macabre fascination. None dared lift a finger in aid of Stormrage's quarry, not even the werewolf that had tussled with him moments ago.
 
"It has come to my attention that some of you think that guarding your lord's castle is a waste of your precious time," Illidan said, glowering. The werewolf beneath his grasp gurgled as a sickly emerald light spilled from its open maw. "Let me make one thing clear. Your time is worthless. The reason these Pale Moors are still not under Count Dracula's command is because you brainless scum cannot muster the discipline to march in a straight line!"
 
The werewolf shuddered under Illidan's power. The eerie green hue poured from the man-wolf's nostrils and edged his yellowed eyeballs. "If you don't desire to end up on the end of a human's sword or crushed underfoot by Count Dracula himself, you will learn to follow commands, whether you like them or not!"
 
Eyes, widened on all but the most stoic of his army, shifted between Illidan's gnarled grimace and the werewolf's shaking body. The night elf demon hoisted the werewolf in the air with one arm as his quarry convulsed. "Or else you might just get what you asked for."
 
The werewolf exploded in a ball of green flame, blinding the courtyard with its luminance. As the fires turned to smoke, Illidan stood holding a blackened skeleton. He dropped it and it crumbled to ash as it collapsed on the pebbled earth.
 
Giving the assembled one last death stare, Illidan arched his mighty wings and bolted into the air.
 
"A little brutal," Regis noted with half lidded eyes as Illidan landed on the tower balcony, his demonic features shedding into black smoke.
 
"Creatures without morals only respect strength. Or fear it. No matter how black one's soul is, no matter how they believe they cannot be bought, all is forgotten when their lives are threatened."
 
Regis met Illidan's gaze. "Do you believe I fear you, my lord?"
 
"I'm not convinced you feel much of anything, Regis," Illidan said.
 
"Lord Illidan, I follow you because I respect the work that you are doing for Count Dracula. In my years of service to him, he has never had an effective officer. No one among his servants has ever launched a siege on Darkshire on the scale that you have. No one has claimed power over anything since Count Dracula filled the void of Diablo's departure. Ronaldo was a vain, self important fool, and I was glad to see him die. It meant that someone with vision and the power to make that vision a reality had taken command."
 
Illidan paid notice to the head necromancer's words. In all the time he'd known him, this was the longest he'd ever spoken without stopping.
 
"There is no fear here, my lord," Regis said, placing his hands behind his back. "Perhaps Clawfang fears you, or perhaps he enjoys the position you have elevated him to. I don't know, so I won't speak on his behalf. Your army, if they didn't before, fears you now. But do you think that will make them loyal, or effective?"
 
Illidan scoffed. "There are few exceptional beings in existence, Regis. You may have intelligence and power and privilege, and you may work for a future not yet realised. But you are proscribing your worldview onto those wretches. They are simple and weak and couldn't hope to aspire to what we already have become, let alone what we strive for. They just want their lives to continue marching on with as little pain and as much profit as they can bear. I'd even claim that many of them would simply like to die, since so many are risen undead or cursed who'd prefer the silence of the grave. To that end, fear is their great motivator. Fear of pain, fear of loss, fear of death. It drives them to follow me."
 
"That may be so, my lord," Regis said. "But consider that fear and loyalty do not go hand-in-hand. You may only need fear today, but tomorrow ... if fear is abandoned, and there is no loyalty to take its place ... what will you have? How will you be pictured? Will they see you as a bright and shining beacon, a liberator of their kind? Or will they see that charred werewolf skeleton scattering to ashes on the wind?"
 
Illidan narrowed his eyes. Regis' point was hitting home harder than he would care to admit. The eldritch army was a means to an end; as a supporting force to Cornelius White and his gaggle of ghosts. Now that the ghosts were erased, the ragtag collection of spooky and monstrous horrors were all the night elf had under his command. If he couldn't maintain control of them and they abandoned his castle, how would he hold it against invaders, or repair it? Or worse; what if they found a new leader in their ranks, and rebelled against him? Illidan was hideously powerful, but their numbers would overwhelm him.
 
In truth, the night elf hadn't considered his next step. All his efforts had been focused on claiming Poenari Castle for his own. How short-sighted. What good was taking a castle if he hadn't thought of how he would hold it?
 
"Do you think their loyalties may be tested?"
 
Regis shook his head. "Not directly. Not by some charismatic leader. But tensions are rising. If you don't give them something for their dedication to you, for their time and skill, then why shouldn't they return to roaming the fogs, besetting unwary travellers?"
 
"Then what do you propose I do?" Illidan said. "None of them deserve a promotion. I don't need any more advisors."
 
"Have them run shifts to protect the castle, and let them leave the walls for hunts or whatever they wish to do. Give them order. So far, they've had the run of an empty and decaying castle and told to not let anyone in."
 
Illidan rubbed his chin. "So be it. Make the necessary preparations."
 
Regis bowed his head and walked away.
 
"Regis."
 
"Yes, my lord?"
 
"Send up Clawfang on your way down."
 
"As you will, Lord Illidan."
 
There was a time when subordinates did what he told them to do and anyone who disobeyed got their just treatment. Now he had to pander to their desires? This was ridiculous. Unfortunately, Regis' logic couldn't be ignored. It was sound advice, as bitter as it lay on his tongue, and he had to swallow it.
 
"You called for me, my lord?"
 
Illidan turned from the view of the dusty horizon to his muscular retainer Clawfang. His promotion, much like Regis', had been little to do with any observable skills and more to do with being in the right place at the right time. That, and Clawfang took joy in backhanding that prick Ronaldo.
 
"What do you think of our forces, Clawfang?"
 
The werewolf looked to the side. "Uh, good, I guess."
 
"No, I mean ... do you think they fear me?"
 
"Oh, yes my lord. After your demonstration before, no one is questioning who the boss is around here."
 
"As I would expect." Illidan strode closer to the werewolf. "But do they think I was too heavy-handed?"
 
"Oh, no one would question you, my lord."
 
Stormrage frowned and tilted his head. "Yes, but that's exactly what I'm concerned about. You haven't heard rumblings of discontent, or thought such things yourself with how I conduct my leadership of your people?"
 
Clawfang's red eyes widened. "No, my lord! I am faithful until the end! Everyone else is too, I swear!"
 
Illidan took a step back and sighed silently. The wit of Regis was not shared by Clawfang. "Very well, Clawfang. Regis is organising some structure into the ranks. As he is the head necromancer and my advisor, I would like to make you the commander of my army. Get them into shape, run some drills, that sort of thing."
 
"Oh, thank you my lord! But I haven't had any military training."
 
Illidan smiled wanly. "I trust you, Clawfang. You'll be fine. Regis can help you if you need him."
 
Clawfang nodded. "Yes, my lord. I'll do that right now."
 
Illidan turned back to the misty vista of the Pale Moors, the Poe River thrashing past. How had news of the assault on Darkshire been taken by Dracula? There had been no word from him at all, no messengers or birds to deliver communications. Had Dracula turned a blind eye to his dealings, simply satisfied to have bolstered his forces by one night elf and to have left it at that?
 
That didn't seem right. Dracula wasn't an idiot. Idiots rarely consolidate power over a vacant land when the previous leader vanishes. So what was he doing? Building his own army for an attack? Preparing some super weapon?
 
Or was he readying to seize Illidan himself and punish him for his failure at Darkshire?
 
Surrounded on all sides by potential enemies, but none of them are certain threats. Illidan balled his fists. His dry throat made swallowing laborious. There were no illusions about who he could trust; always and forever, he could only trust himself. Yet variables kept cropping up like weeds. Were his forces growing weary of serving under him? Was Dracula an ignorant lord or spying on him all along?
 
As his gaze settled on the raging river, he realised something. No one in this world could be trusted.
 
Illidan strode back into the castle, winding down the stairs. He trudged throughout the whole castle, bounding over the walls and to the banks of the wild Poe River. Sitting, he folded his legs and placed open palms in the space before him. He closed his eyes and focused.
 
A few hours passed, and Illidan took stock of his efforts. Out of the water slithered a serpentine creature, body lined with pale blue scales. Four spindly arms hung from her sides. Snakes writhed from her scalp, hissing at the night elf. Her red eyes fell knowingly on him.
 
"Lord Illidan," the snake woman murmured. "It has been too long."
 
Stormrage stood. "It has indeed, Lady Vashj. Much has changed since we last met. Let me bring you up to speed."

November and Aisha were safe. Both women were rapidly being prepared for total bacta submersion. Trixie sat in one of the emergency medical areas of her base in nothing but a blood-stained hospital gown. As she sat on the bench in the waiting room, a medical droid accompanied by a field medic were sewing up the puncture on her left leg and administering bacta. With a deep exhale Trixie calmed herself and rested her head against the wall. Before long her injuries began to glow with red light as they were burned away with the regenerative powers of the Underverse. She was winded, covered it blood, but physically able to charge the breach if required once more. 

Unfortunately for her that call came through and Veronica chimed in on the intercom. 

“Miss Zulenka. Nexus Gate Command is requesting a special operative to deal with an unruly Prime. As you were the only squad on standby it was forwarded to you.” 

“Seriously?” Trixie said, giving a pained sigh. 

“It is a direct order from Central Command, Miss Zulenka. I’m sorry.” Veronica’s voice was tired and she sounded sad. 

A sense of despair washed over Beatrix’s body as she got up from her seat. The medic who had been sewing her leg shut was already taking off his gloves. With a steady stride the redhead made her way into the armory showers to rinse off the blood and dirt that was caked to her body. The clear water running to the drain slowly turned red and then black as the grime was washed away. Within minutes of exiting the shower, the jaded Sith Warrior was combat ready and headed to the motor pool. With a guttural roar the assault transport ignited its engines and lifted Trixie off towards Tier 1 and the Coruscant Nexus Gate entrance. 

When this was over her and Diablo were going to have a nice long chat about burning the place to the ground.

We're about to throw down. I posted an "intro" thread to the fight already. Trixie can post one as well, if she'd like, before the Fight proper starts.

Rules:
No. of turns: 3
Word Limit: 1000
Time Limit between Posts:
1 week
Super Moves/Power-Ups/Powered-Up Forms/Assists: Off
Post by Post Damage: On

If Trixie would like to add or change anything, just let me know.

With a wet thud, the bioandroid let his victim fall to the dirt. The poor Saiyan boy had been no match for perfection; it had been an almost disappointingly easy kill. Gero's creation had expected more from the one who had destroyed Androids Seventeen and Eighteen. Still, he couldn't really complain. After all, he was about to solve that particular problem. Soon, the Androids, and perfection, would be in his grasp.


He looked to the technological marvel that the boy's mother had created. With it, he would return to a time before his birthright had been taken from him. His beak-like mouth broke into a wicked grin, but as he took a step towards the machine, something changed. There was a sensation like falling from an extreme height, his stomach leaping into his throat. The world around the bioandroid exploded into light and color, quickly fading to a deep black as the previous sensation left him. In the brief time it had taken him to put one foot in front of the other, the world he knew had vanished and the amalgamation was left floating in a void of pure midnight.


Shock filled the bioandroid, both at his new surroundings and at the inexplicability what had happened to him. It didn't take long for that shock to be replaced with rage, however. His blood boiled and he soundlessly screamed in rage and loss. In that pit, there existed only himself. So close to fulfilling his purpose, and... something took it all away from him. Perfection was forever beyond his grasp. Perhaps some God had known his intentions and whisked him away to another realm. Maybe he'd even been killed, improbable as that was. It didn't matter WHAT had happened. Only that he had been denied his birthright. And the universe had been denied its chance at true perfection.


Whether he waited there for only a few, mere seconds or an eternity, he didn't know. The passage of time in that place was impossible to measure, and his own rage prevented anything even remotely resembling rational thought. All he knew was that, suddenly, he was no longer alone in that dark expanse. A being of pure, white light appeared before the bioandroid, the contrast to its surroundings making it blinding to look at. He wanted to scream at it to return him, to rush forward and punish this being who had taken everything from him, but something held him firmly in place and the words would not form in his throat.


And while he struggled against this intractable power restraining him, the being began to speak. It gave its name as Omni and spoke of a new world. It spoke of how he had interested it. None of that concerned the bioandroid. He didn't care what the thing was or what it wanted with him. He just cared about achieving his perfect form and becoming the ultimate power in the universe. But it continued speaking, and suddenly his interest was piqued. This Omniverse, as it had named this world, was a place that could grant its denizens their wishes and desires.


He fixated on what it was saying now, feeling that somewhere in those words was the key to his destiny. Omni spoke on about a substance called Omnilium and that it was the key to giving him what he wanted. But that he would need more, much more, if he were to achieve true greatness. It spoke of others in this world who also sought out the pearlescent material, and that death itself was nothing to fear, so long as he continued to interest it. With a few parting words, the world around him changed and the being vanished.


He gave his new surroundings little more than a cursory glance before he returned his thoughts to what Omni had said to him. Omnilium... The Omniverse... it seemed like this Omni was rather full of itself. The amalgamation's Saiyan part could respect that. Pride was as much a part of him as it was of Vegeta, one of the Saiyans whose DNA was used to create him. But, more than that, it told him something very important: that this Omni was the most powerful being in this new world. Such an acknowledgment irked the bioandroid. But it also filled him with purpose.


He would play along with Omni's game... for now. He'd stay interesting, and while doing so, gather more strength. Omni had spoke of others in this world, and perhaps Seventeen and Eighteen were here already. But even if they weren't, he would use who was here to increase his own power. He'd been designed to extract biomass from organics and use it to bolster his power; it was possible this could also be used to extract Omnilium from them. There was only one way to find out. His slitted-eyes took in the area around him.


A white expanse stretched far and wide, blending seamlessly into the sky and making distance impossible to gauge. Behind the bioandroid, the concrete ruins of a fountain sprayed dirty water haphazardly skyward, the damage done to it making it impossible to tell what shape it originally had. And, barely visible at this distance, several shapes dotted the horizon, regularly spaced as he walked around the fountain. It was impossible to make a choice about which direction he should go first, and in the end all he could do was choose at random and begin his long trek towards whatever awaited him.




For once, it had been a quiet day at Coruscant's Nexus Gate. It had been a little while since the last New Prime attack and Trudeau was finally beginning to relax again. Why the arrivals always wanted to pick a fight with the Empire, he didn't know. He also didn't know why Dredd didn't station more soldiers at the gate to prevent this sort of thing. Maybe the Judge didn't want to scare away any potential allies... who knows? But the Guard Captain had been getting pretty tired of feeling like they were the Omniverse's punching bags.


Trudeau was just finishing up the last of his troop reviews when the radio crackled to life on his desk. A desperate voice came over the airwaves, the Captain recognizing the voice of Recruit Jones, a recent replacement on detail at the Nexus Gate. As the boy spoke, his superior's chest tightened and a headache pulsed at his temples.

“Goddammit... Not again.”

Character name:
Batman

Character source:
Injustice, gods amongst men comic


Character history:
DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU INTEND TO READ THE INJUSTICE COMIC!!!!
[spoiler]
After a long fight against the tyranic superman and his followers Batman can think of only one way to end superman's reign. Trap him in another dimension. Even though it succeeds, everyone near the explosion was sent there aswell. However at the end of the injustice comics Batman doesn't get transported to the same dimension as the other members of the justice league, instead he ends up in the omniverse.[/spoiler]

Physical Description: (originals only)
[spoiler][/spoiler]


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

Starting Proficiencies:

Ranged Proficiency – 1000 OM
Physical Strength – 1000 OM

Starting Powers:

Master Acrobat – 400 OM
Insight – 1600 OM
First stat increase SPD ( 1000 OM )

Starting Moves:
Batarang (300 OM)
A small shuriken like projectile in the shape of the traditional batman logo. Batman is able to throw these with great accuracy over a distance of 60 feet. They cut the victim, low to medium damage. Each Batarang has the following size:
7.375 (7 3/8) inches by 2.25 inches.
Batman can throw 3 batarangs at the same time yet it takes about 3 seconds to prepare the move ( grabbing the batarangs from his armor and the correct  position within his hands). Hè carries 12 with him at all time, hè has to resummon the batarangs out of combat.

Grappling gun (300 OM)
A handgun sized pistol which doesn't shoot bullets but a grappling hook. It has a maximum range of 100ft and the cable can carry up to 330LBS of weight. Once attached to its target Batman can use the gun to pull himself up or a pull whatever is attached towards him. The cable travels the full 100ft in 2 seconds, retracting the cable takes double.

Gauntlets (300 OM)
Both gloves are equipped with razor-sharp gauntlets. Six small knife like extensions can be found upon each gauntlet. During his hand to hand combat moves Batman able to cut his opponent with these blades. Each blade is shaped in the form of a hook about and has a total length of 3inch.

Batcape/glider (300 OM)
Batman is able to use his cape as a glider by running a small electric current through the cape. It doesnt allow him to fly, simply glide.


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

Where did you find us?
Already on the site



6200 OM used

Om calculated :
8984.55 - 5000= 3984.55 / 2
3984.55 / 2= 1992.28
5000+1992.28=  6992.28 OM to spend on this character
792.28 om unspenned

When I leave the village of Holmwood, it is not in ruins. Smoke and flame fail to billow from nonexistent piles of pulverized rubble wherein not one stone stands squarely upon another. The many trees which shroud the streets in shade haven't been reduced to blackened stumps, and the scent of burned wood, charred brick and roasting flesh does not hang heavy in the air. The three-story inn at the center of town isn't a broken stone shell full of crushed bones and crackling fires. The wells are not choked with corpses. The tiny, tragic lights of drifting embers are conspicuously absent, and no twisting yellow clouds of sulfurous vapor rise upon the breeze. 

The sense of dread, of weeping anger and futility revealed - the tingling epiphany of true value amid the chaos of loss and the desolation of an entire population doesn't linger upon my muse!

Nobody has been killed. Everything is 'fine'. Some of the villagers have even followed me to the edge of town to wave goodbye.  

The only thing - the only thing! - that keeps me from immediately turning around, ascending, and rectifying this utter travesty is the cloying lure of grander things. By allowing this village to survive now, it will be all the more satisfying when I obliterate it later - when I ravage the entire duchy of Harnburg in a single glorious day, luxuriating in the singular thrill of annihilation as its unique web of relationships, locations and lives is shorn from the world. 

I've decided that it's important that it should be daytime when I finally do the deed. Preferably before noon. The disruption of the people's routines will be vital, the rhythm of their existence falling into a final chaos before its snuffed out forever! The question is, when I begin, should I start at the fringes and work inward towards the castle, or destroy the center first, and work outward towards the fringe? One method or the other won't have any affect on the broad outcome, but in my vast and considerable experience the process will be quite different. 

If I attack the castle, destroy the center of authority, it will effectively stun the rest of the duchy. People will huddle in their homes, or attempt to flee the polity- some may even succeed. If I start on the fringe, however, destroying the farms, and then the towns, they will flee to the castle, gathering together in what they think of as a place of safety.  

It's the difference between the terror of the individual, scared and alone as their world collapses around them and everything they thought was true is revealed as a lie in the face of my glory, versus the terror of the masses: numbers without safety, fermenting (a word with both precision and a certain narrow versatility) in each other's fear as inevitable doom descends upon them, shining gold in a traitorous, burning sky!  

I think it will have to be the castle, first. The entire point of this, after all, the whole reason why Holmwood remains intact, is to cultivate the unique substance of the individual, to savor the interconnected diversity of each location and victim's personal apocalypse, and its weight as a part of the whole.

I continue to muse on the subject as I make my way further down the valley, glinting in the afternoon sun. The  worn and pitted road wends its way down the valley, between fallow fields bounded by moss-covered stone walls, vast expanses of newly-sprouted crops, fields off cattle and grazing sheep. Some of the land remains wild, stretches of briar and tangled bracken, meadowland like that I encountered on the slopes, or small stands of trees separating one field from another.   

The verdant vitality of it all excites me. This land is rich and healthy, and I can't resist ravaging it, at least a little bit. Passing through a copse of cedar I unleash a storm of leaping lightning, cackling as shards of wood and embers fly, filling the air with pungent smoke. With a creak and a groan a tree crashes to the ground, sending small furry creatures scurrying for safety. I try to blast them too, but my bolts arc wide, succeeding only in setting some bushes on fire. Only slightly annoyed, I continue on my way. 

It had been raining that day. He'd remembered the sensation of wet clothes as he entered Midgar. Yet, when he stepped over the threshold, he did not find himself where he'd wanted to end up. It was dark and, on top of that, he was now dry. Unable to speak the blonde frantically looked around, scanning the scene for any speck of light that might be in the area.

Quote:My name is Omni. This is not the world you know. This is the Omniverse. You interest me, so I have made you part of it. The Omniverse is a place that reflects the wishes of those who are part of it. But! There are rules. I will explain them only once, so listen carefully.

Quote:This is Omnilium. It's what ties the Omniverse together. Without it, you are nothing. With it, anything you desire can be yours. But you will need more than this. If you desire it enough, you will find it. You will find that using it comes naturally. Just think of what you desire most.


You will not be alone in the Omniverse. There are others. Of course, they, too desire Omnilium. Do not fear death. For as long as you interest me, you will be reborn.


That's all you need to know right now. You'll figure out the rest soon enough. I'll be watching, and waiting.

So, I was thinking of making a character that is a Pokemon trainer. The only problem is that she would probably have 0-2 moves that she actually does on her own. Her moveset would be her Pokemon doing moves/actions.

Is this alright, to have mostly/only creatures come out, do a move, and go away again?

Or could they be secondaries, but they can only attack with purchased moves, one at a time, and with Blue controlling when they attack and their target?


I know this crosses into assist territory and definitely into super moves but I want to know if a dumbed-down, cheaper alternative is possible.


Thanks, and I'm sorry if this was mentioned somewhere I didn't notice.

Many of you are wondering, why am I writing this? It is for those of us out there who are cut from a different moral cloth than is the normal of the Omniverse. We are the ones who prefer to reign, and not the heroic types that infest the Omniverse. To better help perspective villains I have written this guide in villainy to list some helpful do's and don'ts as it were for the people to read. However that is what I shall post up here for next week. For now, here is the introduction. 

Welp since our team is starting to expand, I decided to make a OOC discussion thread for us to talk about our quest. I'm excited for this team. :-D

Welcome one and all!