I just wrote an 850 word post and only got about 70-ish OM. I had rest points readied for the post, so I was expecting at least 100OM for my post. Did something go wrong, or was something updated that I didn't see?

Word Limit: None
Posts Per Player: 3
Time Limit: N/A
Random Elements: Off
Damage Meter: On

Setting: Spargus Arena/ Jak 3

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last thing that happened, Dusk had found that strange Grimm that released some kind of toxin. Now she's in this blank white world. Where was this place? She looked around at the giant statue like structure, also white, and the mob of passerbys and explosions and fighting from a distance.

The people of this world were strange in every world. Some just dressed funny, others were completely alien to her. Only one one person was on her mind though: Amber. The stupid faunus was going to pay, even if she had to tear something down. There were no civilizations anywhere nearby, but there were these giant gateways, or something, in the distance. That’s a better start than any presumably. She picked a random gate and started walking.

It was a lot further than it looked. The white canvas made perception a bit difficult to focus. It took at least two hours for her to walk from the statue to the aforementioned gateway. Though much closer it seemed more like a portal. A swirling pink vortex. Either way, the faunus steppes into the portal and the sea air hit her nose hard.

Scarecrow and Chara's horses darted past the gate that held the frozen fields, it was more like frozen Hell and death. This wouldn't be the first time Scarecrow  has retreated and it probably won't be the last, trouble seemed to always follow doctor everywhere he went, but that mainly dealt with his former high school bullies or the Batman which could be called a bully for justice.

"Stop!" The master of fear shouted as they got passed the  gate back into the white blank landscape truly it was a nexus of nothing and white. Fear Isn't an emotion Scarecrow shows a lot anymore. He could thank that for his overexposure to his fear toxin, but the landscape that surrounded him and his now partner in crime deeply disturbed him. It's not every day that you see a barren lifeless plan of existence.

As the horses came to a halt Scarecrow surveyed the land looking for other gates. There aren't a lot of things that can confuse the fear master, it's just his ego gets in his way from seeing bigger pictures surely though he could understand that the main way to travel in this world is through theses portal like gates.

Chara brought her horse close to Scarecrow's "Whats wrong?" she said with a confused look.

Scarecrow turned back to her not  bothering to conceal the look of madness in his and gave a large grin. "Oh there's nothing wrong, it's just that I don't know where exactly or what exactly am I going." Jonathan turned his horse towards Chara's and leaned down point at her. "You have been to this place before, what  you call, hmm the Pale Moors would you care to point at which gate over in the distance is the one we need to heading towards?"

Chara moved her horse "Nightmare" forward and pointed at a gate about a mile away to the right of them. From the distance they were from that gate, it was gray.

"There." She said blankly, "through that gate is where my castle is."

  Something tells me that this place we're about to go through is not very friendly... Eh, you have dealt with worse before Crane, but moors if our intellect is correct means we will be in some sort of grassland maybe a marsh or too... Marshes you fool that could mean BATS !!!

Scarecrow tightened his grip on his horse's reins and maneuvered the beast beside Chara and her horse.

"Alright to," he a gave a low sigh, "the Pale Moors."

With that being said they darted their horses in the direction of the grayish looking gate making a dust cloud in their path. After a good solid hour, they were near the gray gate. This gate was very different from the one Scarecrow entered, it was safe to say that at least a day passed when they were in that cave. The gate that laid in front of them had a stone like look all around it and moss patterned it, a low mist resonated out of its entryway.

Before they went through the gate Doctor Crane came to a stop soon after Chara did the same, she turned giving him a half confused and sneering look.

"Before we enter this new plane there is something I must address, we are now the Society of Supervillains and we are currently a small group, it would be smart to find people interested in joining our ranks. With that being said Ballad will be avenged and those Ashen Blades." He gave an ugly face at the sound of the bounty hunters name. " They will soon find out that we are a force to be reconded with, THEY WILL KNOW TERROR!" He gave a loud cackle at his own words. After his words, they proceeded through  the gate

Across the field stood a young girl, barely covered by a ragged, faded shawl. She could’ve been anyone’s poor daughter, if not for the claymore in her hands. Wielding the massive sword, almost as long as she was tall, effortlessly in one hand, she strolled towards a cliff in the distance. The ground around her was marred by deep craters and long furrows, a remnant of the battles had happened here. As she walked, outwardly calm, a band of warriors appeared at the top of the cliff.

“Priscilla,” hissed Clare, as she dove off the cliff, towards the girl. Anything else she had to say was swallowed by a mighty roar of rage. Clare landed nimbly as she brought her sword down in an overhead swing, smashing into the ground where Priscilla stood a moment before. The others warriors followed Clare’s lead and moved to surround the girl.

“At last, you have arrived,” stated Priscilla calmly, as she moved to parry and dodge her way through the multitude of strikes. “Let’s see if you can even scratch me.” Priscilla smiled smugly. “I’ll even hold back my power. I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

Hearing Priscilla’s taunts, Clare launched herself forward. She channeled all her power into her right arm. Her blade swung through the air, faster than the eye could track, again and again, striking blows that should’ve been lethal. And yet, despite the speed, each strike was parried effortlessly by Priscilla.

“Quicksword, huh? It’s been a while since I’ve seen that technique.” Priscilla spoke casually in between the blows. “You might have the power, but you’re too slow. Even slower than the original user. And you can only use it so many times in a day. Am I right?” Clare didn’t respond as she continued to press the attack, along with her teammates. “That’s some coordination you’ve got with your team. Fought together for years, haven’t you?” She laughed. “Too bad it won’t be enough.”

Clare ignored the demon who looked like a girl. She struck a relentless flurry of blows, mixing her swings with kicks and punches. To those who didn’t know Priscilla’s true nature, the outcome of the battle seemed obvious. Seven of this generation’s greatest warriors, one of who had nearly singlehandedly defeated the entire organization of warriors, against a single, ragged girl. And yet, as the girl deftly wove her way through the attacks from all around her, it was the warriors who were pushed back.

“Tired already? I’m disappointed. I had great hopes for you, you know?” Clare gritted her teeth as Priscilla’s words struck home. Her arm felt like lead weights and her swings felt as though they were moving through syrup. “What happened to your determination to kill me? Is this all you have to show for your years of training?” Clare lunged towards the girl again, preparing to slash with her quicksword again.

“Again? Didn’t you learn the -” Priscilla’s taunts were cut short by a figure streaking towards her from the left, moving fast enough to appear to leave afterimages in her wake. “Hmmm? A simultaneous attack?” She fell silent, busy dodging the concurrent attacks from both sides. Despite both warriors attacking with all their might, none of their hits connected with the lithe little girl.

“No way ...” muttered one of the warriors.

“Not bad. Not bad at all. A little further, and you might’ve actually grazed me.” The girl grinned widely. “Anyways, it’s been fun. Time to end this farce.” Hearing this, the warriors closed in with renewed vigor, seeing their last chances of victory slipping away. Priscilla began to transform. Her skin took on a grey tint and became scaly. From her forehead, a horn began to emerge. Bony wings, held together by a thin layer of membrane, sprouted from her back. Her arms became bony as well, and her hands turned into claws.

Momentarily distracted by her transformation and the renewed, almost desperate attacks from the warriors, Priscilla didn’t notice that Clare had slipped behind her until the cold steel of the claymore sliced through her right arm. Even as she dodged away, her right arm already began to reform. Within seconds, the monster, who was once Priscilla, had completely regenerated her arm.

“That won’t be enough to kill me,” laughed Priscilla. With that, she began to counterattack in earnest. In a matter of seconds, her attacks overwhelmed the defences of the warriors around her, inflicting deep gashes through their armor. Seeing her companions injured, Clare rushed forwards with powerful battlecry, placing all her might into a final strike.

“Always the same, charging in before you’re ready.” As Priscilla spoke, focused on Clare, a thrown claymore sailed through the air. “Let’s -” Thunk. Her eyes widened with confusion as she looked at the claymore that was lodged in her throat. For an instant, she was caught off guard. Though it was only an instant, in a close battle, it seemed like an eternity. Clare full advantage of the distraction as she dashed towards the undefended monster.

“Quicksword!” With a final, mighty swing, Clare’s sword tore through Priscilla’s body, slicing into it a moment before Priscilla brought her sword up to parry. She continued to swing, hacking the body into pieces before it could regenerate.

For a moment, everyone stood still, unable to believe their eyes. They stared at the former body of the strongest being in the land, needing to confirm that it was dead, for good. As the remnants of the former monster remained unmoving, the warriors broke into celebration.

“You need to rest. You’ve pushed yourself far beyond your limits today.” Clare felt a hand on her shoulder, guiding her towards the joyous group.

“I can still walk ...” Even as she mumbled, Clare felt her knees buckle, almost collapsing onto the ground. The world around her disappeared into a dark void.

A voice spoke from the darkness.

Quote:“My name is Omni. This is not the world you know.”

Stepping into the Pale Moors, Kelly emerged into a damp and ominous autumn night. The air smelled intensely of mold,  nighttime, and the sharp, melancholy scent of sodden decay.

The gate stood on a hill, in the middle of a thin copse of black and skeletal trees whose jagged branches evoked the ghoulish, emaciated fingers of long-dead giants. When the wind blew, they clawed at a crimson harvest moon that seemed to cover half the sky. Wispy streamers of mist coiled in this place like snakes, seeping through Kelly's clothing, condensing inside of his boots. Water beaded under his ponytail and ran down into his shirt, making the cotton feel clammy and cold. 

As the traveler's eyes grew accustomed to the moonlight, a world of shadows unfolded. Beyond his hilltop, broad, uneven acres of knee-high grasses rolled away to the horizon, the domain of thistles, and thorns. Spots of oily shimmer in the valleys suggested the presence of shallow pools, and scattered here and there across the moors were the shades of solitary trees and small groves. They got more frequent as they grew more distant, finally culminating in what looked like a scraggly fur blanket thrown over the far distant hills -  an actual forest, dense and threatening. 

Swirling around all of it was the mist. It gathered in the hollows. It rose along the overgrown paths and fallow fields to form thick banks of fog. It capered and danced with a life of its own, forming mad shapes that glowed red in the unnatural moonlight, jeering at the traveler from afar before resolving again into cold gray silence. 

Something huge flashed across the face of the moon far overhead, wings as large as a man booming as they caught the night air. Thin and reedy, a warbling inhuman scream echoed across the moors. 

Kelly filled his chest with chilled, musky air and let out a long breath, watching the little cloud it made. Here, even that small nimbus seemed somehow sinister and twisted. 

There were points of light as well, out there in the darkness, warm and lonely little pools of lantern-light and hearth-glow. They were few and far between, isolated farmsteads and tiny villages scattered across the moors, and looked small and defenseless against the looming specter of the red unknown. 

The traveler thought back to the maps he had seen during his research binge. Supposedly, provided he could avoid getting lost in one of the roving banks of fog, Darkshire wasn't far from here. 

He took out his spyglass and peered into the distance. 

...

There.

Nestled near the far forest, as though trying to avoid being seen, was a large, dark shape, with men holding torches moving along the top - the walls of a fortified town. If he moved quickly, Kelly estimated he could be there in under an hour, provided the journey was uneventful.

Sadly, that didn't seem likely. 

Far off in the distance, beyond the mist-shrouded forests and the rolling hills, something that must have been nothing short of colossal let loose a reverberating bellow of anger and mindless aggression, like a philharmonic string-section being played by a train-crash. In response to that hellish cacophony, a chorus of wolves took up the call, seemingly howling from every hill and vale. All around the traveler, things stirred in the dark, peering at him with curious, inhuman eyes. 

Not entirely unexpected. All those warnings in the database about not coming here at night weren't exactly ambiguous, after all. 

Should I camp here until morning? If anything came at me, I could just dive back into the Nexus. Of course, there would be nothing to stop it from following me... and I don't know how much time I have to spare. For all I know, Darkshire could come under attack at dawn.

The time factor was what clinched it. In order to err on the side of caution, it seemed he'd have to take a risk.  

Kelly sighed, then took a few minutes to summon himself a lantern. A flashlight probably would have been handier, and more nimble as a weapon if it came to it, but a heavy oil-lantern had other advantages. 

Besides, it seemed thematically appropriate. 

When he was done, cloaked in a little pool of light and strangely emboldened by the smell of burning lamp-oil, the traveler set off towards Darkshire, leaving vaporous swirls and eddies in the mist. 

Striding through a red, primordial darkness come alive with low, animal moans, Kelly resigned himself to a very long trip.

"The kindred known as Victor Hendy, aka Harlan Higgs, has been tried and found guilty of making pacts with demons and consorting with the Baali. Such a blatant betrayal of everything the Camarilla and this city stands for can only have one penalty." The Prince bowed his head, mugging for the entire court. Fucking foppish cunt. His throat whispered, sounding every one of his three hundred years as he pronounced the sentence. ".....death by sunrise."

Harlan rolled his eyes. "Roight, then. Can we get on with it? Don't want to be late, you're going to give me the Rotschreck with your fucking speeches. Hell, that'd be a worse punishment than the dawn, just chain me to a wall and practice your public spea- ungh!" The Sheriff's fist crashed into his jaw and he felt several teeth shatter. "Silence, autarkis filth. Your death is just another step closer to eliminating your bloodline for good. Thieves and tricksters. Good for nothing but chaos." 

Harlan opened his mouth again to quip, but the big Gangrel was faster and socked him again, sending blood and shattered dentin onto the con man's gray pinstripe suit. The Prince watched with a steely gaze as the Ravnos was hauled to his feet and dragged into the back room of the Court, which was a powder room. Harlan rolled his eyes internally. Fucking Toreador and their predilection for "high society". He was going to die on the roof of an art gallery.

His wrists ached, the big steel spikes going into them and holding him to the stout wooden cross firmly affixed. He felt weak, tired, sluggish. They'd drained him of blood, of life, of Vitae. He had nothing to fuel even the most insignificant apparition, an illusory knife to cut his bonds, a lighter to burn the rope. His goose was cooked. It all came down to this. He should have blown town months ago, but no; he had to get soft, get comfortable. He'd had to play his little games and spin the wheel like the raggedy man he was. Ah, well. You could only ride a hot streak for so long, and a hundred years was a pretty good life.

They wouldn't get their show. No begging or pleading for the fucking Elders to use as propaganda, no "lesson in humility". He'd face their judgement with a smile on his face and a song in his heart. "Oh Danny Boy, The pipes, the pipes are callin'..." He could see the red sun breaking through the ashen clouds, the first glint of daylight on the horizon. "From glen to glen, and down the mountain side....the summer's gone....and all the roses fallin' " He could hear Jimmy's voice in the back of his mind. "Taint so bad, kid. Least you didn't have your own childe suck your soul out through yer neck." Harlan cleared his throat and finished the verse as the first rays of sunlight started to sear his scalp, smoke rising from his head. "It's you, it's you...must go....and I must biiiii-"

Downstairs, The Prince watched the monitor with satisfaction as Harlan Higgs burst into flames and started burning.

Upstairs, Harlan felt the heat disappear from his scalp, and the sudden lack of metal spikes in his wrists. He still couldn't move, spread eagled like christ on the cross himself. But then, something white and indistinct slowly appeared in front of him. 

He swore. "Jaysus fookin' Chroist."

The being took definition, and opened an invisible mouth, gently shaking it's head.

"My name is Omni."

Can I please get a name change from Solomon Grundy to Harlan Higgs?

Thank you.

Character name: Harlan Higgs (aka Victor Hendy aka Carson Mild aka “Spades” Mahoney etc…)

Character source: Vampire the Masquerade OC

Character history: Born in New York City in 1918, Harlan was the parent of poor irish immigrants. His mother worked as a seamstress in a terrible conditioned sweatshop, while his father worked in a steel factory. With both parents working long and hard hours, it was no surprise that the young Harlan was often unsupervised and naturally curious, falling in with the scattered bands of similarly affected youth and street urchins. His parents provided the best they could, but the boy always had the gnawing pain of hunger and the looming threat of starvation hanging over his head. When his father was killed in an accident in 1926, he was stripped of a male mentor and a parent. His mother took to drinking, and began wasting away, the years of needlework finally making her fingers too stiff and pained to continue. To try and provide for her, Harlan began acting as a lookout or runner for the various crime families currently running liquor around the city. It didn't hurt that they often paid him well, allowing him to support his mother, and in general working for them was preferable to working in a dirty hot factory, where the overseers would beat those who didn't meet their quotas. He fell in with the liquor smuggling operations until the repeal of Prohibition in 1933, and by then he was a 15 year old wise guy. Having spent time in the speakeasies and private clubs during that time, he picked up on the various card games and gambling that went on inside. Falling in love with the sound of shuffling cards, tapping chips, and ice clinking in glasses, he paid more and more attention, until the underbosses noticed his affinity. They had him join a few games as a plant, and he would earn them even more money with his playing. Eventually, as the mobs branched out into more "legitimate" enterprises, they sent him to Atlantic City in 1939 to work some of the casinos. His connections kept him out of the draft, and he was able to take advantage of his situation by learning all he could. First as a busboy who'd slip around and butter up potential high rollers, then as a dealer, then to pit boss, then finally up the ladder until he was managing most of the gaming floor.

Unbeknownst to him, the higher ups of the crime family he was affiliated with were of the Giovanni clan, vampiric masters of necromancy and incest. Somewhat impressed with Harlan's natural aptitude for running a game and establishment, as well as his willingness to get his hands dirty in the name of profit, they decided to bring him into the family. In another twist, the Giovanni member that was dispatched to ghoul the young Harlan was in fact of the Ravnos clan, tricksters and vagrants of the highest order, who had been quietly swindling the casino out of quite a lot of money. In 1946, Jimmy Twitch, as he was known then, made his getaway with 50,000 dollars and the twenty eight year old Harlan. Escaping down south to Baltimore, the elder Ravnos Embraced his new protege and began teaching him about the world of Kindred vampires, their clan, and the finer points of hucksterism and the con. The young fledgling had already been introduced to the dirty tricks business while working in the casinos, and he enjoyed the subtler arts of confidence trickery and charisma. They always had a fair amount of money but never really saved it, spending it all on lavish creature comforts, investing in cons, and of course blowing it at the tables. They slipped through Camarilla and Sabbat outposts alike, never staying for too long, just long enough to bilk a portion of kine and cainites and then moving on. After about ten years of doing so, Jimmy and Harlan had had enough of the east coast and it's small time pickings, and decided to turn their attention to a new shining gem on the other side of the country: Las Vegas.

The city of sin was literally like a playground for the Ravnos, and not just those two. They met many of their fellow clan members while there, and stayed for almost the entirety of its heydey. Watching Sinatra and Newton sing their hearts out, amassing piles of chips on green felt, blowing it on women, wine, and merriment; the Deceivers could not have been happier. Without the looming threat of Camarilla princes over their heads, they treated the city like an overstocked pleasure cruise. The local anarchs were largely concerned with their own heady ideals of freedom and justice, although there had been more than a few times when groups of misinformed young vampires had attempted to pull one over on Harlan and his sire and rob them of their ill-gotten gains. These were dealt with, usually in such a fashion that the offending parties went home feeling vaguely smug and satisfied, although it was always Harlan wearing a grin at the end of it. Not to say that they didn't get their hands dirty, of course; but he considered these nights some of his best in his existence. Jimmy even had the audacity to become a semi-popular magician in the second tier casinos, delighting audiences with illusions that they could not believe were real while Harlan ran the grift in the back. Eventually the end of the golden age of the city showed, and they'd stayed for almost thirty years, no small amount of time for mortals. For Harlan and Jimmy, it was like the end of a 4 year college stint.
Returning to the east coast by 1983, they flitted around the southern states, plying their trade upon the unsuspecting hicks and bumpkins in Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and other places. New Orleans was another small favorite of Harlan's, and they stayed there for a couple years, hearing news of the beginnings of turmoil and strife between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. Although they tried, they couldn't avoid being drawn into some of the fighting and suffered their fair amount of wounds and beatings. They'd lost some of their edge while sitting in Vegas, and had streaks of luck, good and bad. Some of these ended up with a dunk in the river and the loss of their money, and some ended up with "them thar strangers taking a dirt nap in the swamp". Attempting to avoid the escalating conflict by traveling up and down the coast and finding shelter with the occasional clanmate, Harlan decided he wanted to return to his birth city and see how much had changed. Jimmy was initially reluctant, citing the Sabbat presence, but eventually relented, secretly wanting to test the two Deceivers again and maybe regain some of their sharpness.
The glitz and glamour of New York thrilled the Ravnos to no end, to see his once low and dirty city towering high above the skyline, lit with neon and broken dreams. It had the glitz of Vegas with the grit of Baltimore, and Harlan felt like he was the prodigal son returned. Taking a short stop to visit his family's graves (now faded and choked with weeds,  shoved in a corner of the acres wide cemetery), they immediately insinuated themselves in the celebrity culture and nightlife. It was almost like a 2nd heyday for them as the approaching millenia had the whole country on edge. There was a gnawing feeling though, that something was not quite right. Harlan was proven right the next year when one night he awoke to a ravenous feeling. Drifting in and out of lucidity, he remembered pain, walking, the smell of blood, and fantastic power emanating from his hands, forms and architecture shifting before him according to his whim, leaving buildings, cars, windows, people twisted or paralyzed with fear and wonder. The next time he fully regained consciousness was a few nights later, his very being suffused with an odd feeling that felt quite good- until he noticed his clothing and his surroundings. The room in the tenement they had been staying in was oddly proportioned, with furniture and fixtures sticking out of the wall at eerie angles, and the floor was covered with ash, blood, and an extremity or two. With a sinking feeling, he saw his sire's trademark hat laying tossed on its side, marked with blood and ash, the same that stained his clothing and face. Almost in a daze, Harlan stood up, his suit tattered and marked with bullet holes, stab wounds, and a knife in his leg. Picking up the hat, he realized what he had done, and pouring a half empty bottle of alcohol around the room- he started walking, leaving a burning wreck of a tenement behind him.
The wayward Ravnos wandered for years, living on the streets and sleeping in dumpsters, closets, abandoned buildings, anywhere he could find for one night. Eventually he made it to Philadelphia, where after stumbling into a Malkavian warren by mistake he heard of the fate of the city of Baltimore, it's emptiness and subsequent clearance. The news struck him from his fugue, his mind clearing on its way to his original sharpness. This was his chance. He could rebuild. He could atone for his sin. He could restore himself and his clan back to their glory days, the grinning ones who held all the cards. He could take advantage of the new arrivals, the uninformed....the marks. Making his way towards the city, conning people like he'd never grifted before, he arrived with a respectable amount of money, a brand new suit, and a grey bowler hat.

In Baltimore, Harlan had found a new kingdom in Ocean City, opening his popular casino Prohibition Alley. Business was booming, unlife was good, and the growing power of his influence had inspired a cultural renaissance towards classic Vegas attitudes and styles. It seemed like nothing could go wrong, the Camarilla in Baltimore barely bothering to check his power. Occupied with their own struggles, Harlan pulled several lovely schemes in their rites of succession and influenced the direction of the city.

However, the fear of the Baali and their demonic allies spurred a crusade against any and all outliers from Camarilla society, and Harlan was targeted as a nebulous and unknown quantity. Traveling to the city on a false invitation, Harlan was overwhelmed and taken prisoner. Tried as a demon worshipper and enemy of the Camarilla, he was restrained to a cross and left out on top of the city’s highest building to face the sunrise and his certain doom. Until Omni whisked him away and brought him to the Omniverse….

Physical Description:


Harlan is a man of average height, about 5’ 9”. Not overweight, but dense and cut, with a predatory posture. His countenance is far from what you’d call handsome, a nose that has been broken more than once, crooked, yellowing teeth, and a bit lumpy from repeated blows to the face. Not to mention his sallow, almost gray skin, although the man has an indescribable roguish charm to him. His short cropped black hair is almost always covered by a grey derby hat, and his dark brown eyes twinkle with mischief, a playful grin parting his lips.

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

Starting Proficiencies:
Ranged Proficiency (1000 OM)
Ranged Materialize Proficiency (600 OM)
Remote Control Proficiency (600 OM)

Starting Powers:
Obfuscate (Stealth) (1200 OM)

Starting Moves:


Colt Python (300 OM) - [Requires Ranged Proficiency]

This .357 caliber 6 shot revolver is Harlan's personal sidearm, used to extensive effect during his days in Vegas with his sire. It fires as fast as Harlan can pull the trigger, but the recoil and sheer size of the bullets spoil his aim if rapid fired. The power of the round is more than enough to stagger low DEF opponents.


Chimerstry - The signature power of the Ravnos bloodline, Chimerstry allows a Ravnos to use his imagination to its ultimate potential, shaping and creating illusions and objects out of pure dreamstuff, or Maya. In the Omniverse, there is no Maya, so Harlan has managed to adapt his powers to run off of Omnilium. Making solid objects that can interact with people for mere seconds before dissipating takes far less Omnilium than actually using a Prime’s creation abilities. The base form of Chimerstry is near effortless to utilize, and Harlan can create images, sounds, smells, noises, and other sensory phenomenon with barely any effort (Fodder Power, essentially). Offensive and Defensive uses of Chimerstry take a bit more concentration.

Chimerstry: Tendrils of Dream (300 OM) [Requires Ranged Proficiency, Ranged Materialize, Remote Control]
By concentrating for up to ten seconds, Harlan can materialize any type of “tendril” within range (chains, ropes, tentacles, plasma whips, etc). One coalesces into being every 2 seconds spent concentrating, so he can create a maximum of five. They are primarily meant to constrain and attack, and as such are difficult to break. He can manipulate them at range, but doing so takes a significant amount of focus and he may not use any other forms of Chimerstry while taking advantage of this power. The strength of the tendrils are dependent on how many there are, so one tendril would require an opponent to exceed twice Harlan’s ATK while all five would only require half his ATK to break (rounding up). If Harlan takes enough damage to break his concentration, the illusion shatters and release whatever they are holding. It takes a significant effort and energy drain to maintain the tendrils, so he cannot afford to waste a usage of them.

Chimerstry: Night Terrors (300 OM) [Requires Ranged Proficiency, Ranged Materialize]
With this power, Harlan creates a macabre projectile anywhere near himself or any opponent (typically burning skulls, eldritch fire, lightning, etc) and sends it flying at them. It takes a second for the projectile to appear, and then he can manually hurl it at the opponent. This requires him to actually aim and allows an opponent to dodge or deflect such an attack. If it hits, the opponent will experience the damage appropriate to the type of projectile, although different styles have no mechanical difference. A single projectile is based on his ATK strength, and creating one tires him enough that if he starts spamming them he will wear himself out.

Super Move: Chimerstry - Waking Nightmare (600 OM)

Harlan draws his own blood and uses it to fuel this application of Chimerstry. Weaving the Vitae into his illusions, he causes a whirling tornado of horror to form around the opponent, attacking them with shrieks, blood, illusionary weaponry, and phantasms of their deepest dreams, striking them and buffeting them about until it dissipates. It takes at least five seconds for him to draw blood and begin casting the vortex, but once cast around an opponent, it feeds off their pain and discomfort until it collapses, typically after ten seconds.



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

Where did you find us?

I'm Hiro Protagonist!

Even though Kelly had only been in Coruscant for a few days, leaving the city felt strange. There was a certain intuitive rhythm to the place, even as he moved between the various tiers, which he found almost comforting. He wouldn't say he liked it exactly, but as he fleshed out his strategy tree and the road to his immediate goals became clearer in his mind, the city, in all its diverse strangeness, was reduced to a challenging puzzle. 

Stepping back out into the stark, white, un-reality of the Nexus, Kelly was reminded of just how alien the Omniverse really was. 

The traveler didn't set out immediately for the Pale Moors - rather, he put some distance between himself and the Coruscant gate, then took several minutes to change back into his original outfit, switching Alan Mayhew's well-tailored pinstripes for Kelly MacAryn's practical jeans, cargo belt and blue sleeveless tee. This wasn't a job for his corporate contractor persona - he'd be going to Darkshire as himself.   

Whoever that is...

Once he'd summoned his old outfit and extracted his cast-offs, doing his very best not to be annoyed at the time it took to create a simple set of clothes, he spent another fifteen minutes fashioning a vehicle. Raw Omnilium flowed from his callused hands and swirled in prismatic streamers before finally coalescing into a shape large enough to ride.

When the summoning was finally done with, the traveler was the proud owner of a functional hover-bike. His creation was little more than a padded seat and handlebars attached to a weak, drum-shaped anti-gravity unit and some attitude jets. It had a hand-throttle, foot-brakes, and ran off an efficient little plasma-furnace. The whole thing was painted blue. It wasn't going to win him any prizes for style, but it would go fast, corner marginally better than a sack full of bricks, and get him to his destination. That was all he required.