Lieutenant Davion Calrime, Imperial Officer of Coruscant's Empire Peace Division, sat behind his desk, slouched in his chair, still wearing the breastplate that came with his uniform, even here in their own barracks, in what should have been a safe haven in the midst of the lawless abyss that was Tier Five...

In fairness, it had been under a week since their base had been attacked, so perhaps it wasn't really all that surprising that the squad might not have thought of it as being some impenetrable bastion... though Davion being the man he was, he would've worn that armour anyway, even had he been sitting safe and secure in the Emperor's own chambers. Having been promoted all the way up from the ranks of the stormtroopers, the lieutenant was never totally comfortable without a suit of armour on... which, since the uniform of an Imperial Officer did not, in fact, include a full set of armour, meant that it had been a while since he had felt properly at ease. Still, he'd at least removed his helmet, so that was some progress; perhaps one of these days he might end up getting over this strange quirk of his.

Opposite the desk, the 'elites' were lounging around the room. They were the best of his squad; seven stormtroopers who'd been with him for at least as far back as the beginning of their latest deployment to this tier, and even further back than that in most of their cases, as well as two former gangsters, one of whom was a Prime.

Davion was tired. Takanomiya Hijiri had abandoned them, fleeing to Omni-knows-where after Brandon Windvale – an elven stormtrooper who served as the squad's tech expert – had disobeyed him during a fight and gunned down some helpless women... to be fair to the Prime, the girls had been barely worthy of being considered a threat and according to Imperial laws the maximum punishment for insubordination was death, so no one up above would have so much as batted an eyelid if the corporal had gone ahead and executed the elf on the spot... so perhaps they should all be grateful that the rabbit-guy hadn't decided to take that course of action.

Still, it was hard to feel anything besides annoyance. Not only had he fucked off without a word, leaving them potentially vulnerable to more attacks from the Northside Wolfpack – or any other gang, for that matter – but he had also left them with the mess of covering up for him... after all that he had done for them up to this point, none of them had liked the idea of reporting the truth to the uncaring bureaucracy up on Tier One. The Battle Rabbit would have been labelled 'AWOL' in an instant, then court-martialed the moment he showed his face, when he did finally turn up once more.

Perhaps another squad would have considered that punishment justified by his having abandoned them in this way, but he'd be no use to them dead... or off in another Verse somewhere, once he'd respawned at the Nexus. If they really wanted to make this plan of theirs a success, they'd need the support of as many Primes as possible; turning Northside from a lawless gangland into a proper, respectable neighbourhood would be no easy task, after all. As such, it was imperative that the Empire not discover – and punish him for – his transgressions. Luckily, between Davion's claims to have sent him off on a mission to weaken the gangs' grasp on the tier (or the northern part of it, at least) and the many connections, allies and blackmail victims of Michelle Andreas – a telepathic lieutenant stationed on Tier One, who supported their grand objective – they were able to keep the truth hidden from prying eyes.

They'd lost a valuable asset, but they were far from done. Davion had taken the liberty of actually promoting Kroll vor Iechtelsteir to the rank of sergeant. He had never liked that man's ridiculous habit of pretending to be an NCO despite not having any real rank, and he'd hated his decision to recruit new troops without the Empire's official seal of approval even more... but as he had had no luck at all in dissuading him from either of those ideas, and that lunatic Michelle was now apparently on board with them to boot... well, he didn't see much point in continuing to resist.

On top of that, Sarah Watt and Kevin Fischer – both former members of the Wolfpack themselves – had been invited into the ranks of Kroll's 'elite' stormtroopers... the little group who had taken to going around without ever wearing their helmets, despite this being against Imperial regulations, just because they thought it made them look cool, or some such nonsense. All the extra training they had been doing with Sarah and Hijiri (which Davion had found out about only in the aftermath of the attack on their barracks) had amounted to little in the end; they themselves had achieved almost nothing against the Prime who had overtaken the barracks, and so after the Battle Rabbit had been struck down, it had fallen to the werewolf woman to save them all from the wrath of 'Shotgun Steve'.

She alone of everyone in the room had removed more than just her helmet; for some reason, that woman had a serious aversion to shoes, and so her uniform ended at the knee-pads, with her legs and feet being bare below that point. She had been made a corporal; the same rank as Hijiri prior to his disappearance. In fact, they all had. He had mass-promoted every one of Kroll's Elites. It may have seemed foolish... no, absurd, even... not to mention being a rather questionable use of his power – he was still only a lieutenant, after all – but if the Empire was intent on hanging them out to dry, well, he just might have to take some liberties in order to keep things ticking along down here.

No matter what those politicians and civil servants thought about all this, he and his squad were still fully committed to the idea of protecting their district; they were assigned to guard Northside and so that is what they would do. To that end, they had been recruiting... and it had been going well. Perhaps even too well.

“This can't be right.” he said at last, shaking his head as he peered down at the papers before him; a report handed in by Kroll, “These figures have got to be wrong.”

“No.” the pale man's tone and expression were smug as he casually brushed several strands of his chin-length white hair out of his eyes... why that man didn't either tie his hair back or just get it cut Davion simply couldn't understand; it made him look like some sort of failed applicant for a spot in a boy band, “They're completely accurate. There's been a lot of interest. More than we expected, even... it seems that there are plenty of people around who would like the chance at a well paid job that also allows them to keep their families safe... provided that job doesn't involve going through years of indoctrination under the guise of learning.”

Davion was silent for a few moments, then gave a grunt of acknowledgement. He and his squad had been working shifts down here of Tier Five long enough to have picked up on the fact that the Empire wasn't quite so benign as all the propaganda which they'd had shoved down their throats at the academy made it out to be, but as they'd seen with the latest, final and now entirely deceased batch of recruits to be sent down to reinforce their squad, the majority of stormtroopers were not so fond of... outside the box thinking.

“Alright. Okay. So.” his voice was tight suddenly, controlled, yet obviously on the verge of breaking, “We have all these new recruits. Far too many of them for us to hope to be able to pay, since Takanomiya didn't bother to leave behind a single credit when he buggered off, and we've now spent every scrap of Omnilium we had – including our food money – to summon uniforms and weapons for these untrained amateurs, and more are still showing up every day... and we no longer have any support from the upper tiers to count on, and we've barely even been screening these people, so half of them are probably gang members themselves... where's the good news here Sergeant Iechtelsteir?”

It wasn't Kroll who responded, though, but Brandon, who sat on the armrest of a large, leather chair, a tablet-shaped Mobile Dataverse Device in his arms, “The good news comes from Lieutenant Andreas, sir.”

Davion froze for a moment, before slumping slightly in his seat, a soft groan rising in his throat. That woman had always given him the creeps... even before he'd found out that she'd mindraped her ex-boyfriend into a coma one time. Across the room, Trevor Dodson – said ex-boyfriend – perked up slightly at the mention of her name, turning away from the shelves he'd been dusting to peer over at the elf. Davion knew that Trevor had, in the past, been bullied into doing a lot of their chores for the other, less cowardly, members of the squad... yet now that he was a corporal, there was no reason why he couldn't have passed those tasks onto someone lower ranked than him. It seemed to have become some sort of coping mechanism, though, something he needed to be able to handle what was going on down here, to keep his mind off all the death he had witnessed...

“You know my policy on this, Windvale; if Andreas is the one saying it then it's always bad news... but come on then, out with it. What's the story?”

“We have the location of another NSW outpost. For our sakes,” here the technophile's emerald green eyes darted over to Kroll for a fraction of a second. The pale guy had been the one to bring Michelle in on their little plot with no explanation or excuse, so when Brandon said 'for our sakes', Davion knew that what he actually meant was 'at Kroll's behest'. That man, once a proud member of some small planet's nobility in days gone by, had always been dangerous enough for his ambition alone. Him having the support of this psychic psycho certainly wasn't going to improve matters, “she's been expanding her network downwards, beyond just the first couple tiers. It's slow going, of course, since it's such a delicate business, but she's managed to establish a 'contact' in Tier Four, who seems to have been doing business with some sort of minor faction within the NSW.”

“Hmm...” he knew the tone that Brandon used when he said the word 'contact'. Some of Michelle's allies were bribed, some were blackmailed, whilst others were tricked or simply scared into compliance. He didn't know the full extent of her mental powers, but he couldn't deny that she seemed to have a real gift for manipulation, “and so you think it would be a good idea to take these untrained recruits in there, huh? You really think we should just storm the place?”

“Well... yes. I don't see that we have much of a choice. We need money desperately and they should have plenty of illegal goods which we can 'confiscate'. We can't afford any dissatisfaction within the ranks; like you said, some of these recruits may have been – or may still consider themselves – gang members. So on top of keeping them paid, we'd best also make it clear to everyone that we can fight these gangs, if we want all our newcomers staying in line. Hitting that other casino was a much more impressive feat than simply taking out a warehouse filled with supplies, and eliminating a member of their leadership – even if only temporarily, since he was a Prime – will have helped our reputation as well. We need to keep these things up, though; we can't afford to start slacking off now, especially not in light of the attack on our base. Yes, they may have taken worse losses from that than we ultimately did, but it won't seem that way if we start acting scared.”

The lieutenant sighed and shook his head, but then voiced an affirmative anyway, “Yeah, I suppose you're right. Fine. I guess we're attacking a... what is this place, anyway?”

“A casino disguised as a hardware store.” the elf informed him without so much as glancing down at the tablet he held.

“A... what? Why...? No, wait, don't answer that. I don't care. Another casino, then, I guess it is we're going after. But we can't take everyone; I won't leave this place unguarded again.”

“Oh? Well then why don't you-” Kroll began, a hint of smugness in his tone, though this time around his facial expression was utterly neutral.

“I'm going with the group attacking this base of theirs. No argument, no debate. I'm not sending our stormtroopers into a battle I won't fight myself.”

“Of course not, of course not.” although his visage remained perfectly respectful, that self-satisfied edge in his tone didn't so much as waver. He'd known Davion would say this and was fully prepared for it, “I'd suggest leaving Corporal Windvale in charge, along with Corporals Singh and Nash, and giving them a third of the recruits. Between them, those three should have no trouble keeping our brave volunteers in line, whilst also being competent enough to actually take charge of the defence of this place if need be.”

“Fine then,” the lieutenant sighed, leaning on his desk as he pushed back his chair and got to his feet, glancing across at Leon Nash and Priya Singh, who shared Brandon's armchair; Leon slouched casually on its seat, whilst Priya stood behind, leading on the back, “since you clearly had all this stuff thought out before you even came to me about it, why not. Let's just go with your plan.”

He picked up his officer's helmet and began fastening it on, “How soon do you want to head off?”

I wish ye who stumbled here to critique my writing, please!
Jab me, stab me, rip me to shreds.
Tell me what you like, what you don't, what you love, what you hate.
Be as vocal, or as unvocal as you want, I'll take anything in stride, be it rude, crude or prude!

Here be ze first thread, up for critique:
Of Knights and Kingdoms

I'll be posting my threads into this one in the future, in the hopes that someone might take a gander and throw a rose or a rock my way, either way.

Thank you in advance, you magnificent creatures.

"What," I ask, convinced that I must be mistaken about what I believe I've just heard, " Did you say to me?"


"I'm certain I expressed myself quite clearly," replies Chatterly, infuriatingly composed. Everything about him irritates me: from his black shirt fastened with stupid little gold hooks to his shiny black leather gloves, to his gray, slicked back hair and his pointed chin. "His Grace the Duke has barred you from entering the grounds of Harnburg Castle." 

We're sitting in the back room of a tavern in the town of Harnburg, a velvet-curtained wooden box with hardwood tables and leather chairs not one hundred meters from the outer walls of the edifice in question. The air reeks of the scented smoke from the oil-lamp on the wall, filthy woodwork and subtle poison. The lamp's flickering yellow flame sets radiant reflections rippling across my scales like liquid gold as I surge to my feet, knocking my chair to the ground. I'm literally trembling, my gleaming hands shaking as I lean forward, gripping the edge of the table so hard that the wood buckles and cracks beneath my clawed fingers.

That anyone would dare...!  

My first impulse is to kill Chatterly, and I very nearly act on it. Golden lightning sparks in my throat and races across my horns, buzzing against my scalp and setting my hair on-end. A writhing orange corona of cosmic power wreathes my forearms, and the corners of the table snap off and turn to ash in my hands, adding a puff of wood-smoke to the olfactory landscape. 

The only thing that stops me from tearing the Duke's agent apart is the cloying suspicion that that's exactly what the man is expecting me to try to do. I know he's been plotting against me; I know he knows what I am! He wouldn't deliver news like this without some manner of safety-net in place, and after my experience with Mothra I'm loathe to dismiss his potential as a threat.

If he showed even a hint of nervousness I'd probably slaughter him regardless, but he hasn't moved from his seat. Chatterly just sits there, watching me with what appears to be only mild interest!  

"What," I rumble, "Makes any of you think you can decide where I do and do not go? I'm not one of your pathetic human thugs, Chatterly! If I desire entry to Harnburg Castle, who is going to stop me? Cutter? Violent Angus? You?"

He just smiles. I grab the damaged table and flip it sidelong, the strength of my peerless golden arm sending it sailing through the curtains of our private booth, tearing them off their mounting as it bangs and bounces down the hall outside and into the tavern proper. There's a brief commotion of shouts, screams, and the sound of breaking furniture, followed by hushed conversation and a lot of groaning. Nobody seems eager to investigate. 

"You've also been invited to a formal party," Chatterly says, ignoring my question - and my outburst - completely. 

I stare at him in puzzled suspicion, the violent momentum of my enraged thoughts abruptly arrested by this sudden nonsense. The tides of power rolling across my body ebb and fizzle.

"... explain."  

He crosses his legs, folding his hands in his lap. His topmost boot begins to bob idly up and down as he leans back in his chair. "It's simple, my friend. Although the Duke has banned you from the castle - an edict which is, in fact, enforceable - that doesn't mean he wishes to terminate your employment. Far from it - a Gala is to be held in your honor at his Grace's country house."

I try to reconcile this information, outrage at the Duke's blasphemous presumption still pinwheeling across my thoughts. I can feel my hideous hominid countenance contort with the effort.  

"You were exiled from the castle for killing servants," Chatterly provides. "As I've told you previously, his Grace the Duke is not a fool; Even in the absence of evidence, your culpability was obvious. However your service to Harnburg has, in other respects, been exemplary. The next phase of our operations will bring you into a far more active role, and the Duke desires that your formal introduction to representatives of the other outerlying duchies should happen before then."

His tone is almost jovial.   

I turn the idea over in my mind. A gala. It's such a strange, bright little word, and such a bizarre concept: yet another aspect of mammalian social posturing. Humans insist on making elegant little games out of superiority and dominance, simple ideas which can be utterly mastered through overt displays of strength. 

... or so I thought. On Chatterly, it's rarely worked the way its supposed to, and I'm beginning to understand that the threat of strength concealed can be just as potent; That simple insight explains a lot about how these people behave.

You like having more people to play with, right? That was a rhetorical question, because having more people to write with is awesome. Do you also like OM? If the answer is 'yes', which OBVIOUSLY it is, then please vote for us on the following sites!

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Quote:

1.  Are there any ruined castles or other similar structures in the Tangled Green that one could lay claim to? 

2.  Can you say that the Verse has a mosquito problem, if you want, or not? 

3.  Speaking of the Tangled Green, would the natives of such try to get in the way of such a large scale construction effort, as say building a Fortress in the Tangled Green, as a base for two people to share? 

4.  Again relating to the Tangled Green, is there an Imperial Presence there? 

5. Again relating to the Tangled Green, is there a Camelot presence there? 

6. Is introducing new NPCs,  OC ones to the Verse allowed? 

Just covering all my bases, before Hecate and I build a base in the Tangled Green IC.

Not an easy/quick question, so it gets its own thread.

I'm planning to build my base in the Fields, and likely expand it to form a town (or even a city) eventually. The big problem is that the Frozen Fields are... well, cold. Which is a bit difficult to work with a town where everything is always covered in snow and ice. Is that something I will just have to "live with" if I insist on doing this in the Fields, or would any of the below solutions work?

-My favorite solution would be for Amaterasu to spend an enormous amount of Omnilium to create a miniature artificial sun above the city that creates an area of warmth contained by some sort of energy bubble, keeping the city in cool, but not sub-zero conditions. Things like running (not frozen) water, growing crops and fishing would be possible but not easy. I'd be happy to spend OM for a purchase not covered under the base rules for this (since a mini sun would be too much to be hand-waved), for an amount decided on by the staff. My suggestion would be 5000 OM, but obviously that's me.

-A "dome" along the lines of the Simpsons movie, which contains the heat of the Frozen Fields' natural sun, with similar effects to the artificial sun + bubble solution. There would be gates at the entrances for people to freely enter and exit. It doesn't necessarily have to be glass like in the movie, either - it could be a projected energy shield that absorbs and contains heat, but allows everything else to pass through. As for the miniature artificial sun I'd be willing to spend OM for a non-standard purchase to justify something like this.

-Amaterasu could find an area in the Frozen Fields that has mild volcanic activity, and build her base on top of that. Obviously this would be a little "too" convenient since a large area where the snow melts would be known by dwarves and trolls alike, and not remain unoccupied. Alternatively as for the other solutions, Amaterasu could spend a large amount of OM to fill an underground cave system with magma or heat crystals or something of the sort.

-The entire thing would be built underground or into a mountain, dwarf-style, using some form of ventilation system to keep fresh air flowing and relying on geothermal heat for warmth. The entrances are located at the surface level, perhaps in the form of some sort of large tower with elevators.


To be fully clear, all of these options are meant to be story fodder and in no way would make the base/town better defended against intruders in base assaults.

As Hecate stepped through the doorway not sure what to expect. Her senses were overwhelmed the moment she saw the bright green tree's, the exotic scent of the plant life sent a warm shiver up her spine. "It's like the forests of Vestura!... well minus the ice." she exclaimed with something that almost sounded like joy. She had never expected a connected world to be so close to another by something as simple as a door.

The humidity hit her, She had never experianced a climate quite like this, it seemed like a place where the plants and animals reigned supreme over the vast landscape.

Her ears could hear the wildlife, the calls of birds and the sounds of running water in the distance.
"Remarkable" she told herself as she stepped into the unknown world of The tangled Green.

A small urge befell Hecate as she explored the entryway to this forest, an urge to practice grasping at her spiritual powers, In such a place perhaps it would prove easier to focus.

(There is a grainy, cellphone quality picture of Darkshire from the ground attached. The tip of Clownpiece's hat is visible in the corner, presumably as Renko did not bother to crop it.)

Good morning/afternoon/whatever time you can consider it in Darkshire at any given point,

I'm here on behalf of a small group of primes currently in the Darkshire area. We are currently looking for a monster of any size, preferably large though open to negotiation, for the explicit purpose of murdering. Bonus if some form of bounty can be offered, though not required. Simply looking to "test our mettle" and "find something to do."

Warning: I won't be held responsible for any property damage caused by ensuing battle in the event it takes place within a dangerous distance to civilization. I have student loans to pay.

Contact me here or at rusami@omnimail.com with any offers or questions.

-Renko Usami

• do NOT contact me with unsolicited services or offers

Name: Crocodile
Spent OM: 10800
Consumed OM: 0
Proficiencies (4600): Physical Strength(1000), Ranged Proficiency(1000), Area Attack(600), Area Defense(400), Ranged Materialize(600), Debuff(1000)
Powers (4400/8000): Hive Mind(400), Disassemble(800), Foresight(1500), Advanced Enhanced Senses(1700)
Moves (1200): Hook(600), Sables(300), Suna Suna no Mi(300)
Super Moves (600): Ground Secco
Transformations (0):
Assists (0):
Items:
Artefacts: 
Bases:
Unlocks (0):
Base stats:
ATK: 2
DEF: 4
SPD: 2
TEC: 2