A question relating to "A.N.N.A" and the Dataverse

Considering the fact that "A.N.N.A" is a microchip, dirrectly conectected to Desmans systems, and th systems are conected directly to his Detaverse device, would A.N.N.A herself be able to post in the dataverse?

Help! I've fallen into mobile mode and I can't get up!

I changed the theme to mobile because I didn't know how to get back to it on my phone. Then I got on my computer and now it's stuck everywhere. How do I change themes in the mobile theme?

It was worrying. The amount of reports he was receiving, lately, about the increasing number of sightings and recorded attacks that were reaching him. Perpetrated by individuals and creatures baring alarmingly similar traces to the darkness that he been present in that organization from his home.

Stood in his lab, before a control console and a bank of monitors occupying nearly the entirety of the wall he faced, he read over incoming reports and messages from his scouts and aides. Confirming sightings or the remains after an attack, confirmation of delivering messages and contacting various individuals who he had scouted personally that might be of help, passing on the news to anyone who might have inadvertantly been attacked, or come across the scene of an attack. Notes about reports made regarding the dangers of the dark substances left behind after such attacks.

But there was no sense worrying over that now. He had a project to finish, which was very nearly done. Something that should be of assistance in tracking and combating the darkness that Nebula was brewing in the Omniverse for anyone who answered the call to assist. In short order, he finished glancing over the remainder of  the reports, filing them away in both data and memory, before turning toward the more pressing matter.

He whirled around, striding away from his computers and retrieving an unmarked folder from a table, and into an elevator. It was a short ride, only a few seconds, up to a higher floor, at what most would call 'ground level' of Tier 2. It was the main floor of his lab, where anyone who was to come by and heed the warnings and requests for assistance of his aides would arrive.

Doctor Regal paced wearily, but swiftly through the halls, to the main lobby of the structure. He paused to leave directions with the robotic clerk there, to be passed on to the rest of the staff, of what was to come. Anyone who came in seeking an audience with him was to be directed to his work lab and meeting room in the back of the floor.

And then he was off again, moving swiftly. He flicked through the folder, looking over the papers and notes contained within. The formula for reinforcing the natural regenerative abilities and structural integrity inherent in all Primes, and for tracking down the particular darkness that Nebula's resources exuded. Powerful, imperfect formula, that likely wouldn't hold for very long.

He snapped the folder shut, reaching his work lab, and setting to work on inputting the programs and formula into the fruit of his research into opposing Nebula.

Hopefully it would be long enough, however.

Quote:This is the 'official' IC thread to start the saga. If you have the intention of visiting Dr. Regal to obtain further information about the situation, or to ask him any personal questions, make your way here. This thread will be open for such purposes until March 4th, at which point things will progress onward.

Nep is coming back when I can have a third character. But I think, with a new take on Mami, I'm willing to go back to her. Without further ado, let's... a-do it.

Character Name: Mami Tomoe

Character Source: Puella Magi Madoka Magica plus shenanigans

Character History: https://wiki.puella-magi.net/Mami_Tomoe

The events of Madoka Magica follow through as normal… but interference from a certain somebody down the line renders the timeline Mami experienced as her reality nonexistent the moment after

[spoiler]having her head bitten off by Charlotte. The person who erased Mami’s timeline would be Homura Akemi after stealing Madoka’s power. She, in rewriting the universe to be as she desires, ends up making a mistake (and this is where the alternate universe stuff starts to come in) and completely erases Mami from existence in her home universe.[/spoiler]

Mami being brought over to the Omniverse ends up effectively ‘merging’ the past Omniverse Mami and this one, at least in the way of memories. However, thanks to the interference from the aforementioned certain somebody, Mami’s memory is out of her reach. Because of this, a large amount of her abilities are suppressed or entirely cut away.

She further gains a foggy idea of what happens in her timeline (and others), though this memory is suppressed with her other ones.

Physical Description: Mami stands at about five feet and two inches tall. She, given her curvier build and what muscle she’s built on it, is approximately one hundred thirty pounds.

[spoiler][/spoiler]

Stats: (+1 DEF, +1 SPD for 3000 OM)
ATK: 2
Mami’s actually pretty strong, all things considered. Gotta be to handle Witch hunting all on your own.
DEF: 3
Through a combination of her Soul Gem making the human body’s limits more lenient and sheer force of will, Mami doesn’t go down easy.
SPD: 3
Though not superhumanly so, Mami’s reflexes are very impressive and she can move pretty fast, even compared to other Puella Magi. It’s not unheard of for other Primes to outclass her, though.
TEC: 4
Experience is Mami’s strong point. It’s hard to face her with something she doesn’t know how to handle.

Proficiencies (3400): Physical Strength (1000), Ranged (1000), Area Shield (400), Debuff (1000)

Powers (700): Basic Super Jumping (300), Master Acrobat (400)

Moves (1800):
Master Sword (900)
Uses Physical Strength
An ornate longsword imbued with the power to repel evil… but it’s not exactly in any state to do that right now. Its shining, silvery blade and winged purple hilt combine to make about a meter-long sword. Its grip only provides for one hand, so its effectiveness is not increased by using it in two. Unfortunately, in the Omniverse, the Master Sword doesn’t really have any leg-up over other swords in the way of damage output or swing speed, and is in fact a little behind most swords when it comes to sheer, raw power. This is mostly because Mami’s lack of experience is being covered for by it. The Master Sword cannot be broken by natural means, leaving only disarming as an option for parting Mami from her weapon.

With the right timing and application of force, it can be used to deflect projectiles, particularly larger or slower ones. While the Master Sword can deflect more powerful projectiles than Mami’s ribbons, the potential margin of error thanks to timing and the thin edge of the blade makes it a much riskier bet.

The Master Sword can also be used to cut through darkness, and will glow in the presence of it as well as in the presence of evil Mami can recognize as such.

Ribbons (900)
Uses Ranged, Area Shield, Debuff
Bright yellowish ribbons a few inches wide and just thin enough to make you feel silly when you’re wrapped up in them. They can be manipulated in a variety of ways, such as creating small, simple or plushy objects. Using this method allows Mami to create incidental weapons out of ribbons, such as quarterstaves and rapiers, though they are just incidental weapons, and are ultimately only as effective as breaking a tree branch off a nearby tree.

A singular, very long ribbon can also be shot upward and twirled, demanding Mami remain completely still and focus on twirling it around her, allowing her to clear minor obstacles around her (like fog) or deflect weak projectiles (like low-caliber bullets and weaker blaster fire). The dome she creates from twirling the ribbon around her is half a sphere with a twelve-foot diameter.

Ribbons can also be shot from Mami’s sleeves and used like grappling hooks, so long as the arm she’s using has its hand free to grab at the ribbon. The ribbon may be as long as she likes, though her ribbons are likely to tear if they're much longer than her current Super Jumping ability (or 100 meters, if she has Flight). She may draw herself toward and away from a ribbon she’s using at just below her current SPD, or she can just use it to swing.

She can also use it to grab people and objects. Grabbing a hold on things with ribbons tends to be a simple ‘grab and pull’ affair, and cannot be controlled past pulling the ribbon back or cutting it off if Mami is too physically weak to pull what she’s trying to pull toward her. Cutting it off before a strong enough opponent weaponizes the tether against her, though, requires equal or superior speed and aim... or she's going to be a ball and chain for a few seconds, at least. This can be used to grab hold of a limb or weapon, most obviously, rendering either one significantly more difficult to use as she tugs away at it. Mami may, as with other uses, only use a ribbon in this fashion with an otherwise unoccupied hand and arm - she may not, for instance, restrain both arms of a target using a free arm and an arm occupied by the Master Sword. Ranged weapons, however, become more effective until they’re pried away by merit of being pulled toward their target. If Mami disarms a target of their weapon in this way, she may draw the weapon to herself and use it as an incidental weapon - if it takes ammunition, however, she cannot reload it. This can also be used to take advantage of the environment from a distance - for instance, wrapping a ribbon around a boulder and pulling it toward Mami to trigger an avalanche, forcing both herself and her enemy to retreat.

Lastly, she can give just about anything a quick tap and almost instantly gift-wrap it. This is entirely flavour, and only applies to people for comedic effect or if they’ve already been defeated by Mami.

Total Spent: 8900/8935.55

(For my/your convenience, gonna show my work: 12871-5000 = 7871.1 / 2 = 3935.55 + 5000 = 8935.55. Preeeetty sure I calculated it right.)

I'm wondering if there's a ruling on this that I missed. So there was this situation where some small explosives went off in a post taking place in Ambrosia (not a base raid or anything, it's mostly an accident) and I kind of felt obligated at the time to write a post where guards come in to investigate it. It was only after I already posted that I considered that it might have been bad of me to impede on their thread like that (I kind of blame the 3 am-ness of the time, but yeah, I should have known better.)

I'll definitely delete the post if they object to it since they were not really attacking the city or anything, but for future reference, what's the stance on this? I mean, at least something as loud as an explosion or a gun going off that would attract guards, or something like someone commiting crimes in broad daylight. Would I be justified in jumping in like that or would that be a breach in OOC rules?

Okay so..

With 1000 OM and 1 SP per turn you get to boost your stats (Power-Up)
2000 OM you get to change stats completely (Alternate Form)
Or for 1000 OM and 1 SP per turn you get to change AND boost them. (Powered-Up Form).

Since a Powered-Up Form essentially combines the benefits of both things, why is it the exact same price as only one of those things? What do you guys think?

Posting link to rules for quick access: http://omniverse-rpg.com/assistsandtrans...formations

Harlan dusted off his suitcoat and straightened his hat as he walked away from the large, metallic arch into Coruscant proper. It certainly was an incredible place, especially compared to those old black and white sci-fi movies he’d been fond of in the 60’s. Nevertheless, he’d just been inspected, detected, rejected, infected, injected, and selected by the Empire Peace Division’s prime registry unit stationed just inside the gate. It had been a simple matter to subtly alter his facial features and bodily structure to be different from his default appearance but just similar enough to pass a photo ID. He’d given them one of his myriad aliases, “Victor Hendy”, and using that name again made him feel sharper. Even though it had been the name he’d “died” under, that was the best thing about this Omniverse. No one had ever heard of Vic Hendy, or Melvin Schraeder, or Spades Mahoney, or Carson Mild. He had the feeling that it was a game ripe for some involved cons.


A brochure was foisted upon him as he wandered away from the gate, pulling his hat brim low to guard against the squeaky clean shininess of what he read about as Tier 1. Those white soldiers were everywhere. Far too present for the con man’s liking. He sat down on a bench, flipping the brochure open and read about the different tiers. Tiers 2 and 3 were advertised as convenient and luxurious locations for those who had jobs further up. Tier 4 was barely given a paragraph, aside from something called “F-Zero Racing”. Harlan felt the ancient curse of his blood stir at that, the compulsion of his Beast to gamble and risk and win and lose. Such was the blood burden laid on the Ravnos by their Antediluvian. He would definitely have to pay a visit to the track.


Tier 5 and 6 got less than three sentences combined. In a lifetime of scamming and conning, Harlan knew that the less that was said about something, the more opportunities there were. And he had the feeling that someplace this nice could only be built upon massive human resources. Had to be somewhere for the poor people to live and die. With that, he stood up from the bench, just as a group of stormtroopers approached on patrol and gave him a blank stare en masse. It was the universal stare of the lawman, constant throughout the multiverse. “Get moving, punk. I’m the big man around here and I can make your life severely inconvenienced with a word. I'm the big dick around here, and you better believe it.” Harlan just imagined the words in his head, having heard some variation of them in every city he’d been in.


Before he got the customary beating from the local law enforcement, the Kindred followed the brochure map to the nearest public elevator bank. Still, it was quite the walk. Every building gleamed with chrome and white plastic, security cameras mounted on every high corner. Citizens, tourists, working stiffs, and all sorts of snazzily dressed denizens flowed around him, occasionally being herded away from certain footpaths by the ever present stormtroopers. It took another ten minutes to get to the elevator bank, and another few suspicious blank glares from the identical troopers.


Tier 2 may as well have been the same as Tier 1, same glossy looks and omnipresent troopers. The patrols had thinned a bit though, which told the Ravnos he was on the right track. Another fifteen minute walk and elevator trip, and he could almost smell it. Heavily filtered, pulverized, and mixed with the antiseptic, lab formulated scent he’d smelled much more strongly on T1, but it was there. The real smell, the smell of a city. Smog, sweat, blood, trash, oil, energy, desperation, and sin. “Yess...that’s the ticket.” He mumbled to himself, traversing the third of the layers of the city. The further down you got, the less obvious the law enforcement. He’d already seen the odd collection of young people, wearing the loiterer’s cloak with confidence and the expectation that no one would bother them anytime soon. One more. He could taste the corruption on the filtered air, the pollution. It was his favorite scent, like a familiar cologne. It clung to him, to his clothes, to his demeanor. The smell of money and opportunity.


The smell of Tier 4. The Kindred stepped out of the elevator bank, streetlights winking on and off as he beheld a neon monstrosity lighting up an artificial night. There it was. No antiseptic smell here, no polished antibacterial facade to entice the tourists and assuage the wage slaves. His lacquered shoe crushed a soda can underfoot, the crunch echoing down the street as a breeze blew plastic bags down the road on their own commute. This felt much more like home. But yet….it still wasn’t enough. This was like the Las Vegas version of the real thing. Enough thrills to be found, but mostly sanitized, protected from the worst of the dregs of society. No, he was close, close enough to be comfortable...but that was it. Comfortable.


He’d been comfortable in Ocean City, comfortable playing his games with the courts of Baltimore and the endless procession of pompous Princes that thought they would be the ones to maintain the thin line between anarchy and order. Comfort had gotten him killed. Even if he was protected from Final Death here, for Omni’s amusement, comfort was....boring. He needed some wounds, to feel a blade twisting in his gut, to see the fear on a young punk’s face as the cut drew no blood and Harlan broke his wrist with a clenched fist. To smell the acrid scent of gunpowder and a cooling body, to run frantically for an empty dumpster as the sun burned his heels. To live, as much as an undead bastard like himself could. One more level down.

The elevators here were out of order, and by the looks of it, had been for some time. A shuttered, rickety public stairway was offered as an alternate route. The vibrant energy and the smell wafting up from it was exactly what he had been looking for. He felt like celebrating, a new hunting ground and metropolis ripe for the game and the thrill. As he stepped down what felt like endless flights of worn stairs, the Ravnos decided to test out Omni’s gift to all Primes. An illusory cigar was summoned within a few seconds, and while it smoked like real, the heat and the cloud of pungent fumes as real to anyone unfamiliar with the dream-constructs of Chimerstry, it was hollow to Harlan. Which was to be expected.

Really concentrating this time, using the same basic process as illusion casting, he drew it out. Poured the fuel into the idea of a cigar, the slowly dried leaves of rich tobacco, the essence of the deadly sun put to good use. Subtle notes as it was shredded and rolled, hints of oak and cherry and coffee and dirt. A room-clearer if there ever was one. Harlan Higgs liked cigars. They had a way of influencing social dynamics in a way that was respectful yet impish.

Just as he exited the stairwell, the cigar finished materializing in his hands. This one was real. Real enough to have just come right out of his old humidor. As he raised it to his thin, grey lips and bit the end off, he beheld the smoggy, hot, and intensely familiar sight of Tier 5. Allowing himself a small chuckle as he lit the end of his victory smoke with a momentary burst of flame, he walked off down the block with no real direction in mind...but forward. “I wanna be a part of it, New York. New York…” He sang softly to himself, a cloud of smoke marking his trail.

So it occurs to some of me that certain people on this site younger than myself (and thus not as fully immersed in the full history of internet content) may not be familiar with Dead Fantasy. It's a series of fight choreography between characters from Dead or Alive and Final Fantasy.

These video shorts were Monty Oum's pet project before Rooster Teeth hired him for the choreographed sequences of Red Vs. Blue and RWBY. You'll notice a certain familiar...theme in them.

Please for to enjoy, and leave your thoughts. Given the general theme of the Omniverse, I kind of feel it's really very topical for our little writing game here.

Emperor Palpatine scowled at the Stormtrooper.

"An orc?"

The soldier, bloodied and covered in the gore of his comrades, held back his sobbing. He was kneeling in front of Palpatine's throne, surrounded by Palpatine's advsiors. Through the bulletproof window in the back of the room, one could see starships busily flying in the skies of Coruscant.

"Y-yes, my lord," the Stormtrooper shuddered.

Palpatine sighed. "Oh, for- How could you let this happen?"

"W-we were on our scouting mission, my lord... In the Green. Keeping the elven Camelot-sympathizers at bay. He... We were at an elven camp. We expected heavy r-resistance, but there was no one there except for... him."

"The orc."

"Yes, my lord. First, we tried to intimidate him. I-I-I guess he thought that was a challenge, because then he... Then he..."

He gulped. "When he was finished ki... ki... killing everyone, he asked me why m-my men were there. I told h-him we were after the elves, and... My lord, he didn't know he was in the Omniverse."

Palpatine sighed. "Did this orc have a name?"

The Stormtrooper flinched. 

"Hellscream."

He bowed his head.

"Garrosh Hellscream."

Palpatine scowled. "And now your men are all dead?"

The Stormtrooper quivered. "Yes, my lord."

Palpatine lifted his arms and tensed his fingers, the sinewy tendons squeezing his bones. An arc of electricity fired from his fingertips, wrapping the soldier in twitching vines of energy. The Stormtrooper screamed as the lightning burned the skin under his suit, organs unable to cope with the shock. The advisors watched in horror as Emperor Palpatine cooked the Stormtrooper inside his own armor.

"Join them."

When Palpatine released him, smoke slipped through the cracks in the Stormtrooper's armor, filling the room with the scent of burnt meat.

"Find this Garrosh Hellscream," Palpatine smiled, "And see to it he gets a proper welcome to the Omniverse."

***

Garrosh laughed heartily. His muscles rippled violently as he wiped his opponent’s blood from his hands onto his face.

“Ohhh, I have missed this,” the orc growled, his slobbering jaw hanging in his ecstasy. “The taste of orcish blood.”

Shagrat fearfully rose to his knees. His trembling hands moved towards the serrated battleaxe rammed into his left shoulder. Unable to decide whether to grab the barbed handle or the sizzling blade, the slack-jawed Shagrat let his fingers hover over the axe in his shoulder. When he tried to move his hand, the glowing weapon shaved a shoulder joint, spurring Shagrat to howl in pain. The mithril mail he had stolen from the hobbit all those years ago trickled over his shaking legs, its magic having been violently crushed by Garrosh.

Garrosh had challenged Shagrat to a Mak'gora, an unarmed duel. At first, it seemed a fair fight, Shagrat nimbly dodging Garrosh's blows. But when Shagrat was pinned, he was forced to draw his blades to break free from Garrosh's choke-hold. Garrosh, infuriated by this transgression, drew Gorehowl. In comparison to Garrosh’s monstrous axe, Shagrat’s scimitars seemed little more than kitchen knives.

“P-please,” Shagrat gasped, “Y-y-you can have m-my tribe. I'll join your horde. Ju… Just p-please! D-don’t kill me!”

Garrosh’s smile faded. He furiously eyed the cowering members of Shagrat’s clan.

“This is your leader?” he growled, “This pathetic, sniveling cur… is your chief?”

Shagrat continued to tremble as Garrosh marched towards him. Each footstep shook the grimy ground. Shagrat managed to pull himself up by clinging to one of the pines nearby. Yet it was all for naught, for Garrosh inconsiderately yanked Gorehowl from Shagrat's shoulder. The hooks on the edge of the axe tore more flesh from Shagrat's shoulder, opening the wound considerably. Shagrat shrieked, an unbridled sound of pain and fear. Gore poured from the canyon by his neck.

"No," Garrosh rumbled, "I don't think so."

He deftly lifted Gorehowl above his head, crimson muscles rippling. Blood was dripping from the blade onto his back.

"You! Are not fit!" Garrosh howled, so that all might hear, "To join the HORDE!"

He effortlessly chopped Shagrat's head from its base. Shagrat's tribe watched his head hit the ground, listened as the impact made a "slosh" sound, almost like a bucket full of water. Mud and vegetation clung to his face as Garrosh unceremoniously kicked it away.

"I am recruiting," Garrosh snarled, "I seek strong orcish warriors to join me in my cause. Those who do not have the stomach for war, leave while you can."

The orc jammed the butt of Gorehowl into the ground as Shagrat's tribe cowered before him. Many of them started to shrink away, fearfully watching Garrosh. The bloody orc closed his eyes and waited for the unworthy to flee the place. The fearful but persistent few willing to face this monster, no more than two dozen warriors, watched to see what he would do next.

"It has come to my attention," Garrosh said, "that orcs are not respected in this... Omniverse. That we are simply barbaric tribes that do not concern anyone. But worst of all..."

Garrosh glowered at the tribe. "That there are orcs who would lie on their back so that humans and elves can scratch their bellies. That orcs in the Omniverse are cowards. I have heard that the superior arcane skills of Camelot and the swiftness of elves cast fear into our people. But let me ask you. How many of you still have your strength? Your homes? Your HONOR? How many of you still hold the respect of your own children?"

The orcs were silent. There was no sound but the dripping of blood from Shagrat's neck.

Garrosh laughed sadly. "None of you."

"I will have none of this!" he boomed, "We are not dogs that heel to such feeble races. We are slaves to NOTHING and NO ONE. And no longer will I tolerate this oppression of our people. Orcs must remember the glory of blades, and reclaim our lands! This forest, ha, this whole Omniverse, it is owed to us! But we have allowed the enemy to take it. And now, they corrupt everything we hold dear and treat us like brutes."

Some of the orcs seemed ready to attack Garrosh. He smirked.

"Do you not believe me? Then tell me. Who caused the Blight?"

The villagers scowled and turned to each other. Garrosh continued, "The Blight, which threatened this entire Verse, the Blight, a plague that reeked of corrosive magicks. The Blight that destroyed the orcish civilizations that prospered here. Well, I tell you, the Blight was a weapon! Its maker?"

Garrosh glared into the distance. "The elves."

He could hear some of the orcs behind him scoff.

"Where is your proof?" one of them grumbled.

Garrosh faced him, causing all of the orcs to either be on guard or to step back.

"Proof?" Garrosh growled, "How about the fact that the Blight raged through orcish territory, while it seemed to show mercy to the elves and their allies?"

Garrosh turned to address the whole clan.

"There is only one path here, friends. One path before our very way of life is poisoned by the humans and torn from our broken fingers. One path before diplomacy neuters our people. One path before the orc withers away into cowardice and shame. Just one path, friends."

The other orcs watched Garrosh pull Gorehowl from the earth, lifting the axe above his head. Dust and blood rained over Garrosh as his tusks clashed furiously. His voice was now fueled with the rage of every orc in the Green, a warcry that could shred mountains in its pure rage, an anger that could move worlds and devour kingdoms. These were words that all would learn to fear.

"LOK'TAR OGAR!" Garrosh hollered. 

The orc warriors, regardless of gender, age or class, lifted their various weapons. It did not matter that their shameful chief had been slaughtered before their very eyes. It did not matter that it was likely that every orc here would die at the hands of lesser beings. In fact, they expected no less. All twenty-two orcs felt the same rage that pumped in Garrosh's veins, and at this moment, all twenty-two orcs were a member of a natural force, a storm that would sweep across the universe in its cry for justice and vengeance. 

"VICTORY!" they cried, "OR DEATH!"

Garrosh smiled. He had vanquished many powerful foes by himself, and now he had a veritable army.

Now, he had the Horde.

From: Hgranger1@Omail.com

Subject: oHarmony

Content:

To Scarlet,

It will be a pleasure to make your acquaintance at 12:30 PM at the Issac Asimov Shopping Center in Costa Del Sol. I am quite looking forward to meeting you at the orange Julius machine outside of Blips and Chips, not least because I am looking forward to drinking the cold orange Julius you will have purchased for me. After a brief informal chit-chat I will either explain the rest of the days activities to you or I shall take my leave under a shaky pretense. I will recognize you by the pretty pink bow in your hair.

My warmest regards,

H. Granger.