"I will... Survive."

Slinging the remains of what was going to end the world over his shoulder, Vash walked across the desert plain, wind blowing right through is stony face.

He blinked, and feeling his shoulder without weight they opened to a pale void.

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:“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."

Quote:“That’s all you need to know right now. You’ll figure out the rest soon enough. I’ll be watching … and waiting.”

As he came out of the cave, the clothes he had been wearing were ripped and badly torn. Given they were the orange body suit he had worn upon arrival into the Omniverse as Warren hadn't been willing to create new clothes for himself, he didn't exactly mind them being torn up. However, it would present a bad example to some of his new found associates if he were to allow himself to be seen in the outfit he had on. In addition, it was drafty in certain parts of his body that there was no business for a draft to be in. As a result of all of these factors, Warren Zimmer decided that he needed a new outfit. It had to be something more elegant than the one he had worn before, he knew that much. Thus, he needed to think very carefully as to what he would wear for himself. Style was important, but so too was the material of the outfit. It had to be something breathable, but at the same time wearable by him and able to be used in a decent fight. 

"Sir, we found something," said one of the men that he had recruited, Justin. "Yes, what is it?" asked Warren Zimmer who had no patience for beating around the bush. Justin then produced a katana that seemed to have chains wrapped around it. It was purple, and gray much like the armor he had been accustom to wearing. Something about the sword did seem fitting for him, if he were to be honest. Sure he was more of a blaster type of guy normally, but after his humiliations lately, he needed to make sure that he could hold his own against all manner of opponents.  "An impressive weapon. A shame it reminds me of the blade that was possessed by that enemy of mine who you will not speak of in my presence," growled Warren Zimmer. Sure he may be nice to his men, but there were some things he would rather be able to forget. And the way he had been defeated and evicted from his old home was one of those things. Ultimately however he could not afford to forget, but would instead have to do something about it. Really the Quarterback of Chaos knew that he had a long way to go before he could even protect himself. Of course his lack of combat abilities that didn't involve advanced technology was a problem. Perhaps if he could relearn how to use Chaos Energy Charge Hands like he had been able to do initially, that might give him the edge that he needed. There were really a lot of techniques that one could say would be useful. Even better would be if he were able to calibrate his NFL-R to allow him to fly like it had back home. Yes, that would certainly be preferable over the current acrobatic skills he had to employ.

I'm give people general tips on improving their roster here. Just ask and I'll EVENTUALLY get to you. Whether you want tips on prettying it up, or just ideas on how to make it easier to peruse, I'll do what I can to help. Unless I get overwhelmed, then you might be waiting for awhile. I will also only critique the roster of the character you posted here with.

General tips from what I've seen thus far

1. Click "remove signature" at the bottom of your posts. A bulky roster is a roster no one wants to scroll through. 
   
2. Use Spoiler tags for lengthy descriptions and images, again to cut down bulk.
   
3. Split dissimilar items into different posts.
   
4. Include a Quick Jump menu on your first page, for ease of navigation.
   
5. Detailed descriptions are good, but try to use colors, bolding, underlining, or some other method to give out a "cliffnotes" on bulky descriptions by making the important parts "pop".
   
6. Look through the Roster on the site. This is a Grade-A tip. It lets you see things you like and things you don't like. A lot of my roster was built from things I enjoyed from Sasuke's, Luffy's, and Tearen's Rosters.
   

Name: Vash the Stampede
Spent OM: 4500
Consumed OM (0): (for consumed items or OM permanently lost from respecs, etc)
Proficiencies (2600): Physical Strength (1000), Ranged Attack Proficiency (1000), Area Attack Proficiency (600)
Powers (400/8000): Master Acrobat (400)
Moves (900): AGL Arms .45 Long Colt (300), Hand-Cannon (600), Projectile Deflection (300)
Super Moves (600): Ode to a priest (600)
Transformations (0):
Assists (0):
Items (0):
Artefacts: None
Bases (0):
Unlocks (0):
Base stats:
ATK:3
DEF:1
SPD:2
TEC:4


Additional information:

Vash the Stampede is a 5'10" humanoid with excessively spiky blonde hair. His skin color is pale with a mole just under the corner of his left eye. He wears a studded red trenchcoat and a pair of gloves, along with colored shades to surpass Ozzy Ozborne himself. the gloves are belted just below the wrist and have iron bands on the fingers. The coat's collar extends up to Vash's chin.

Vash is a natural pacifist, despite the many scars he is adorned with and the incredible power he wields, instead of outright killing his enemies he attemps to talk them down or trick them into situations they can't escape. Eventually though, he is forced to neutralize them non-lethally in many cases, and eventually he has been forced to kill.

Vash also retains much his childish nature even though he's lived almost 150 years. He uses this to his advantage in most situations. as he isn't percieved as much of a threat by most, he can take advantage of his enemies while they don't guard against him either in the form of words or a well-placed blow. It also is the source of his greatest flaws in that if he begins to trust someone it is easy to blindside him. Furthermore, he became an extreme flirt, creating corny lines and proclaiming his love almost immediately after seeing an attractive woman, which also gets him into trouble often as he does it even to taken woman. Though he does become incredibly serious should it be required.

Marisa looked at the gem with interest as she walked around Nippur with Victor. Marisa sighed as she put the gem away and looked around. The sun was slowly sinking below the rolling sand dunes of the verse and the ordinary magician was quiet as she walked around.

“So uh I gotta ask why a little thing like you decided to come all the way out here to help?” Victor tried to start a conversation and Marsia after a couple seconds of consideration spoke with a carefree tone in her voice. 

“Meh, I was bored and was hoping something really fun was going to happen like a giant incident life back home.” Marisa’s eyes shined with excitement as she smiled widely. It wasn’t a lie per say she told Victor but it wasn’t the whole truth either. “So I have to ask you . . . Do you believe that the things that go bump in the night are real?” She spoke as if she didn’t care about the outcome as she looked at the some of the houses that haven’t been taken.

Soon the two got a third as Alice finally found the love sign magician. “Marisa, where do you want these books?” Marisa sighed as she pulled out a white cloth blanket and put the books neatly into one stack and tied the cloth together before putting it on her broom to carry around with ease.

“So uh . . . can I ask your name?” Marisa decided that if she was going to be working with these people she should at least make a somewhat serious effort to learn their names.

Victor chuckled as he spoke with a pleased and joking undertone. “My name? Why its Victor Wolfe, little lady.”

Marisa nodded keeping that name in mind. The ordinary magician soon found a decrepit, two-story, cottage and smiled as she walked up to the old broken door and pushed it to the side with a bit of a struggle. Inside it to most people would be a major hazard but to Marisa it was perfect. “I’ll be taking this house. Honestly, this is all I actually need here.”

Marisa was leaving identifiable footprints as she walked through the settled dust and cobwebs. Victor was a bit surprised by the choice of a clearly dangerous house but quickly got over it as Marisa started to get to work sweeping the dust into a pile.

Marisa was muttering plans for the building being used for commercial uses or at least the front door area. Marisa stopped sweeping to go look up in the other areas of the house. In the back of the first floor, there was a kitchen area and a dining area by the design of the layout with a really small bathroom in one of the corners.

Marisa walked carefully up the stairs as Alice was busy on the lower floor. She reached the top of the steps to see a single hallway with a total of three rooms. Marisa walked to the closest door before opening it with trouble as the door’s hinges had long since rusted causing Marisa to sigh and just break down the door.

After a few times ramming into the door it slowly fell over before a loud crash could be heard throughout the house causing the others to jump but soon heard Marisa’s muffled voice followed by some coughing. “That was intentional! *Cough cough* I probably will have to do that a couple more times.”

Marisa looked in the room to find that it was most likely when the house was still being used a study. On first appearances, it was fairly small with a square window that opened outwards; there were a couple bookshelves on the right side of the wall filled to the brim with books of varying value and worth. Under the dirty window, there is an oak desk which looked like it was beautifully crafted once upon a time. As Marisa walked over to the desk she saw it had two drawers on each side and a place for a chair to be slid in. On the desk, there were ink stains and glass along with yellowed papers that had long since lost there to use and were unreadable to anyone

Marisa walked over to one of the shelves and pulled off a book flipping through it to find that the pages had been eaten by moths and other bugs. Marisa shook her head as she pulled each book out speedily checking for anything that might be useful and tossing everything else out.

It was a long, and tedious process as she put her whole attention span; into making sure she wasn’t tossing out any papers or things that might help her. As she was on her last couple books someone shook her shoulders and she screamed as orbs floated a few feet in the air, prepared to fire as she spun around floating and looking around before seeing that Victor had frightened her and was laughing.

Kirisame huffed in annoyance even though she probably would do the same thing and floated back down as the orbs floated . . . somewhere; heck nobody knew where she kept those orbs not even her. It was against all laws of common sense; that she never knew where they went when she wasn't using them for combat purposes.

"Please, don't do that." Marisa rubbed the bridge of her nose as she shook her head. The black-white witch put down a red leather book before picking up the last book from the shelves. It had the promise to be something interesting due to its purple cover with a magic circle on one of the covers.

Marisa opened the bookbinding and disappointingly closed the volume up before putting it with the rest of the books. The book was absolutely useless in any research or references. She picked up each book before dumping them out of the window with a sad look; for others to use as tender or whatever they want.

She got to her then went to check the other rooms. In one room it was a very plain small room as if it was for a child. Marisa shook her head as she went to the other room. In the last room in the upstairs, it was uneventful also with nothing of interest to the witch.

Soon she and Victor went downstairs to see surprisingly that Alice was busy with her dolls cleaning up the dust and stuff. It was to be honest a well-oiled machine like Alice had done this many times before. Victor had this slight nagging question in the back of his mind as Marisa didn't use her omnilium to just summon anything she would desire to help fix the house up.

"So Marisa why are you working your back off and renovating this house? It seems like any piece of land would be better than this old house."  Victor picked up one of the books from the sack and saw it was about alchemy. And the book underneath the white covered book was a book on different strands of mushrooms.

"Well, Victor a magician can't tell their methods to there madness." She talked with a knowing and cunning voice, and after that continuing to sweep and generally clean out the debris and dust from the house.

Purchases and Deductions for Vash the Stampede go here!

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All moves must be approved here before purchase.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

     Dexter blinked his way back to consciousness.  His bleary vision slipped in and out of focus, following a cord winding its way along the rough stone ceiling, ending at a dingy, flickering lightbulb directly above him.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

     He tried to lift his arms but found them bound tightly to the cold metal surface beneath him.  Both legs suffered from the same impediment.  Twisting his neck sent his shoulder into agonizing spasms, but Dexter could see the wound had been cleaned and bandaged.  A thin tube protruding from the back of his hand administered a clear liquid from a bag hanging from a metal stand beside the table.  Dexter recognized it as an IV.  The familiar technology brought him a measure of comfort.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

     Dexter surveyed the room, ignoring his aching shoulder.  Dozens of tables laden with scrap metal, gears, and the tools of invention were organized in neat rows, illuminated by the pale glow of an enormous bank of computer screens making up the far wall.  Most seemed to be linked to security cameras watching dirty, neon-painted alleyways and empty corridors, and a few displayed scrolling lines of code. 

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

     The sound of the IV was maddening.  Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Dexter’s mind wandered back to how he had ended up in this predicament, a question only his past could answer.  The first concrete memory he settled on was Omni, the grinning silhouette in the darkness.  Before that… only disparate images remained.  A flashlight.  A mirror.  The scent of apples.  An urgency tugged at him, a sense of something important lurking just beyond his awareness.

     It startled Dexter how readily he had come to accept the wonders and horrors of this place.  Perhaps it had to do with his new status as a Prime, some intrinsic understanding and acceptance of the realities of the Omniverse.  Dexter still had only a loose understanding of what that word meant: Prime.  He knew it had to do with the Omnilium—with the raw power that emanated from the swirling globe and rippled through the air, intoxicating Dexter.  In truth, he did feel more powerful, healthier, more confident.  Had he stood in the path of a laser blast before he found himself in this confounding realm, would he have survived?

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

     Discovering the secrets of the Omniverse would have to wait, Dexter found, as movement flashed across one of the computer screens, followed closely by the presence of two voices in his head, much like the conversation he suspected he had eavesdropped on at the gate.  

The first voice he recognized as Baxla’s.  I thought—

It’s not your job to think, the second voice—the petulant, screeching voice of a child—scolded.  My whole operation could be compromised, snot-brain.  And for what?

     Having a Prime on our side can be valuable, Baxla protested.  That’s why I went and got him.  We can’t send the HARPYs to retrieve the schematics and they can’t enter the Dataverse.

     Couldn’t you have found me a real Prime?  This newbie was laid low by a single stinking blaster pulse.  Everyone knows Stormtroopers can’t even aim.  This crud-muncher would be dead if it wasn’t for me.

     Dexter watched as the two figures made their way across the computer screen, approaching from the end of one of the long, dimly-lit corridors.  The owner of the high-pitched voice, somehow the leader of the two, came into focus as a bald-headed child, his short legs pumping to keep up with the older Baxla’s measured strides.  He wore a black suit and a pair of green goggles, thrusting a finger at Baxla as he continued his rant.

     It’s on you if we’re forced into hiding again, snot-brain!  We just made it back to the fourth tier.  I won’t go back down again.  I’ll feed you to your HARPY myself before I let that happen.

     Baxla appeared accustomed to the midget’s vitriol, his body language resigned but unafraid.  Fair enough.  And when he brings you the schematics, you’ll finally promote me to captain?

     If that crud-muncher brings me the schematics, you can take over the whole operation.  I won’t need it anymore.

Drip.  Drip.  Drip.  Drip.

     The pair reached the end of the corridor and moved beneath the camera, out of its field of view.  A moment later, the grinding and clanking of a heavy door being thrust open filled the room.  Dexter tried to crane his neck to see the visitors, but the pain made black dots dance in his vision and he leaned back with a groan.

     “Would you look at that,” the petulant voice said from somewhere behind him.  “The crud-muncher is already awake.”

     “I told you,” Baxla said, his tone smug.  “He’s strong.”

     “Where am I?” Dexter croaked, ignoring the exchange.  “What is this place?”

     His answer came in the form of an enormous, segmented metal leg, clambering into view above him.  Three more of the spider-like appendages, each taller than Dexter by at least a head, followed, the bald child suspended between them.  The legs seemed to originate from a pack on the child’s back, but whether they moved independently, or the child controlled them somehow, Dexter couldn’t say.

     The sharp tips of the spider legs dug firmly into the ceiling, finding a hold, and the legs began to straighten, lowering the bald child until he was facing Dexter, except that he was upside down.  He squinted at Dexter through the green-tinted goggles, a wide, maniacal grin plastered across his face.

     “Welcome to the land of the living, pit-sniffer,” he giggled.  “How’d you sleep?”

     “Where am I?” Dexter repeated, curling his toes to suppress any outward sign of fear.

     “This is Gizmo Labs,” the kid replied.  “I’m Gizmo.”

     “You’re in Coruscant,” Baxla interjected.  “I’m sorry you were hurt.  I couldn’t let the Stormtroopers get their hands on you.”  The pilot walked into view.  He stood about Dexter’s height, with straight hair the color of straw and placid eyes like still water.

     Dexter couldn’t dispute the sincerity in Baxla’s tone, but still he felt anger flare up in him.  “You killed them,” he snarled, squirming in his bonds.  “It seems to me they might have been preferable captors.”

     Baxla heaved a sigh.  “You have a lot to learn about the Omniverse, kid.  Lesson one: The Empire is your enemy, always.”

     “Why should I trust you?”  To emphasize his point, Dexter rolled his eyes toward the thick straps binding his wrists and ankles to the table.

     “They were just to make sure you didn’t reopen the wound,” Baxla said, and he began to undo the straps.  “Stay still till I get the IV out.”

     Dexter obeyed, no more convinced of his captors’ trustworthiness.  He grimaced as Baxla pulled the needle from the back of his hand, a drop of blood falling free and splashing on his skin.  He brought his hands together and rubbed his chafed wrists.  His ankles were free next, and he scooched back into a sitting position.

     Gizmo still hung comically from the ceiling, regarding Dexter with the same wide grin still splayed across his youthful features.  “This booger-picker is right, Prime, and I don’t say that often.  The Empire needs as many of you stinking Primes as possible, so they can stay in power.  As much as I hate saying it, we’re actually the good guys in this fight.”

     Baxla nodded his agreement.  “Look, I don’t expect you to trust us right away.  Understanding the ins and outs of this place takes time.  We’re not your captors.  You’re free to leave any time you want.  That’s already more than the Empire will give you when they get their hands on you.”

     Dexter did not betray his knowledge of Baxla and Gizmo’s conversation, which he had now all but confirmed was secret information.  His thoughts returned to the swirling ball of Omnilium.  Somehow, it seemed he could listen in to conversations that were out of earshot.  He knew as well that Baxla shared his gift, able to speak directly into Dexter’s mind when HARPY found him by the fountain, even though Baxla himself was in another universe entirely.  Either that, or it was some function of HARPY itself.  The implications of the technology made Dexter’s head hurt.

     Whatever his newfound ability was, Dexter knew his run-in with the HARPY was not a chance encounter.  And he knew as well that Baxla and Gizmo had not brought him here out of any sense of altruism.  They needed a Prime to retrieve some schematics.  Dexter filed the damning information away, recognizing its value as leverage.

     Despite knowing Baxla and Gizmo’s secret, Dexter suspected the safest option was to stay at Gizmo Labs, at least for as long as it took to make sense of his burgeoning ability.

     “If I stay,” he began tentatively, making a mental note when the pair’s expressions brightened, “what’s in it for me?”

     Gizmo giggled and rubbed his hands together, seeming excited by the prospect, but it was Baxla who answered.  “Security.  Comradery.  Maybe even some excitement.  As a fresh Prime I bet you have a million questions.  We can help each other.”

     Oh, he’ll help all right.  Gizmo’s voice invaded Dexter’s mind.  Whether that pit-sniffer wants to or not.  

     Dexter fought to remain impassive, keeping his eyes locked on Baxla and a faint smile plastered across his face.  “Okay then.  I’ll stay, for now.”

     “Awesome!” Baxla exclaimed.  “Come with me.  Let’s get you fed and I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”

     They left bald, unusual Gizmo hanging from the ceiling, his hands still absentmindedly rubbing together.  Dexter followed behind Baxla silently, and the pilot seemed content to leave the young Prime to process the day’s events.

     Of one thing, and only one thing, Dexter was certain: it was a hell of a lot to process.

Quote:End of arc

Everything… going up in flames.

Was that the last thing he could remember?

Deep, ragged breaths heaved his chest up and down. Something foul and pestilent peppered his lungs, breaking him at the waist with an onslaught of hacking coughs. His fingers dug into the soft, cottony fabric of his yellow polo shirt, tugging it so hard and clinging to it so desperately that one might have mistaken it for his last thread of life.

He dangled on that thread for what seemed like eons. Air explored his body but couldn’t seem to settle on which destination needed it the most. Neurons misfired one after the other in his brain. His sight clouded with fades reminiscent of the cheesy transitions in old movies. His ears rung, like church bells.

Where were they taking him?

And why were they taking him? ‘Take no prisoners’—they always styled themselves that way. Shoot first, ask questions later. ‘Who talks first?’ wasn’t a question anyone had to worry about, because when it came right down to it… no one talked. Not a whisper. Not a breath. No air at all.

He was suffocating. First, on himself—or whatever sharp, pointy objects swirled in his lungs, mixed with the oxygen that now had to jockey for its place—and then on a plastic tube, shoved down his throat, ostensibly to save his life. Well, if that was the goal, it was determined to make him deeply uncomfortable first. He wrapped his pale, weak fingers around it and tugged, but before he could muster enough strength to yank it out of his esophagus, the coldest hand he’d ever encountered tightly grasped his wrist. Even through his blurred senses he could hear the squeaking of the doctor’s slick, shiny black rubber gloves as she wrestled his hand away from the device.

“Calm the fuck down,” she barked at him through her surgical mask—also black, like pretty much her entire grim outfit—and slammed his hand onto the operating table. “Your breathing’s almost stable if you’d fucking settle.”

He heaved, his chest becoming a mountain as his legs stiffened from the severe pain that jolted downward from his hips. Was this what it felt like to be almost stable? He suddenly found himself thanking the gods he’d been unconscious through the worst of it.

As he seized on the table, the doctor’s eyes rolled as dramatically as they could roll and she turned to someone else, unseen.

“Children,” she shook her head, “They’re the fucking worst.”

Perhaps it was the seizure. Perhaps it was the fact he couldn’t breathe. Perhaps it was the severe drop in self-confidence he experienced because of how much this woman already didn’t like him. Whatever it was, those words were the last he heard before he fell soundly unconscious again.

As of this post, all the rules are up, sans the Artefact pool.

As I made amendments/clarifications/modifications to the existing Rules pages, I will post here to keep a log for everyone (and myself, as well).