Kobold King

That seems like a good idea to me. The post is really awesome, but it's a bit of a game-changer. Perhaps we need to set up clearer guidelines for what is and isn't permitted by Vondra's government. I'll try to get on that tomorrow--it's 1:00 A.M. here, and I'm about to pass out.

0.o 0.0 No. Vondra will not let him get away with this. Epics thinking themselves above the law, killing whomever they please... yikes. Reader basically just signed his own death warrant. He'd better be really good at talking his way out of trouble. Yikes. That was not one of Reader's more well-informed decisions.

Probably, but only a few. They're pretty paranoid about leaving the entrances to the city unguarded. Even if some of the guards were sent to help the outpost, there'd still be sentries present at the checkpoints.

I'm torn between answering "too much" and "not enough." EDIT: At 5, 000 points I began my illustrious career as a Worldhopper.

And we can call it "What Else Happened in Portland." Um... thanks? Usually I'd feel hesitant about people building up audience expectations about how evil this guy is... but in this case, his actions are truly despicable enough to warrant it. Yes. There are checkpoints and watchtowers all over the place. And each of these checkpoints is guarded by heavily armed men with anti-aircraft weaponry. Arsenal's outfitted all the entrance points with state-of-the-art defense technology, and by that I mean a whole lot of guns.

I've seen very little pattern in mine. I think my highest-ranking posts are the newest Backtrack POV and the post where Aldo tells the Tennessee Sibyl story. Posts from The Dalles are garnering more upvotes, however, so I suspect Voidus is on to something with his theory. Maybe after the CorpseMaker war we should do a time skip and start a new thread, just so new members will be more likely to read and upvote enjoy our posts. Samantha Trattner. Probably my favorite character to write, but also the one I seem to enjoy inflicting pain on the most. She really needs a happy ending. Though a happy ending may come at a price, with an unstable necromancer going to visit her mother... I liked the church massacre scene. It was dreadful, but in a good way. If that makes sense.

"There does seem to be some misunderstanding on your part," Lucentia said gravely. "While I am here to collect my brother and I doubt that he´ll leave this place until matters are settled, I do not intend to claim a place in your empire. It is yours and we may collaborate as equals but do not presume that I´ll serve under you, understood?” Oh, Lucentia, Lightwards thought, setting his jaw. I'm going to have to kill you. He didn't say it aloud, of course. He merely met her stone-cold gaze, and put his hands behind his back just as she did. "Of course," he told her with a forced smile. "You hardly seem like one to take orders. Though it's quite a shame--you could be a great asset to this cause. Perhaps someday you will see things... my way." He certainly hoped so. In due time he'd be forced to bring down those distant threats on the horizon; not only CorpseMaker, but Altermind, Funtimes, and now Lucentia. The list of the Empire's enemies was longer than the list of its loyalists. Pushing the thought of finding Lucentia's weakness to the back of his mind, he instead smiled more widely and snapped his fingers. "Tailor," he called to the shop's back room. "Bring Queen Lucentia the finest dresses you have on stock." The sound of shuffling feet confirmed the tailor understood his orders, so Lightwards turned back to the diamond queen. "As for Nighthound," he explained firmly, "I get the impression that he is a man whose loyalty must be bought, not earned. And while your diamonds are certainly exquisite, I suspect that my saurian Warriors are more to his taste." His smile grew a little more sincere, flashing teeth. "I believe I could outbid you for Nighthound any day, Lucentia." The attempt at decent conversation didn't go over very well. Ray flinched at the question, turning her head with a sharp glare. Sam felt a sudden queasy feeling in the bottom of her stomach--Ray's ear. It had been savaged. Now properly in view, she could see the way it had been torn; her earlobe was completely missing, replaced with a mass of scabby tissue. Her ear was red; it was revolting; it would quite probably be scarred. Nighthound was the slontziest slontze to plague Portland for a great many years. “How do you think it treated me?" Ray demanded bitterly, her fists clenched and her eyes flashing. "It didn't wrap me in a nice and fuzzy blanket that much is sparking sure and don´t call me Rachel.” Sam winced slightly at the response. "Sorry," she muttered grudgingly. "I didn't mean--" For the first time, it occurred to her that she may have been a touch insensitive. Pushing down her misgivings, she tried to imagine that she wasn't talking to an Epic; she tried to imagine herself speaking to any decent person who'd run afoul of Nighthound. She tried to think of something to say that would be in the slightest comforting. Yeah, real sorry you're a psychotic Epic's personal pet. Hope he doesn't put you in a sleazy dress or start breaking off fingers or something. She kept her mouth shut to avoid making things worse; the small jungle clearing started to become quite awkward before Revolution stepped forward. "We're sorry," Revolution said softly. She stepped close to Ray, looking at her with very large and sad eyes. "We really are. There's nothing we can do to help you... but I swear I will pray for you every time I see you. And if you need to talk to anyone... if he gets too bad... well, you can talk to us." Sam looked from Ray to Revolution awkwardly. The last thing she wanted to do was have heart-to-heart therapy sessions with an Epic, but... She caught another glimpse of Ray's ear, and nodded with a gulp. "Yeah. What she said." Elizabeth Trattner baked cupcakes. It helped--the working. Helped keep her mind busy. Helped keep her from worrying too much. She cracked eggs into a bowl and took a glance at her recipe. Bakeries in Portland were largely a relic of another world. A world with flour-laden supermarkets and thousands of hungry bread lovers. But with Calamity came a whole new environment for small businesses. Elizabeth poured another cup of sugar into the bowl, frowning over the recipe. She was running low on sugar--she'd have to restock soon. It was no longer a simple matter of running to the nearest Walmart and grabbing a bag, but there were still ways of getting the right ingredients--if you knew where to look. Epics could squash out a great many things, but they'd never quite done away with entrepreneurial spirit. Goods were still made in rural areas across the States, and a lot of those goods made their way into more developed territories. She had a friend who smuggled groceries out of Thoughttown and into the pantries of downtown Portlanders. She poured the last of her sugar into the bowl and began mixing. No... restocking would be easy. She could barter for new ingredients. And, as she rather morbidly found herself thinking, there wouldn't be a starving teenager with a sweet tooth in the house to diminish the finished batch. Sniffing slightly, Elizabeth began putting the batter into the molds, throwing herself into her work. She tried not to think about how Samantha would usually help with this part--she certainly didn't think about what was likely happening to her now. A friend of hers had seen the new Epics' speech in the old playground. Dinosaurs had risen. Trees had become pancakes. People had died. And a girl who fit Sam's description had been taken from the crowd, whisked away by a cannibalistic new Epic. Elizabeth slid the cupcakes into the oven, doing her best to focus on the baking. Her last surviving daughter had likely been slaughtered already. Or she'd been tortured and maimed by the madman who rode dinosaurs. Or she was an undead servant to the man who called himself Emperor. She didn't need to think about such things. Not yet. She turned the oven's dial and leaned against a wall, letting out a tired sigh. There was a knocking on the door. Elizabeth found herself racing to the door with her heart racing, only to stop short just outside of it. Sam wouldn't knock. She'd barge in complaining about the weather, or with a new update on how drunk Chicago Joe had gotten himself. "Who is it?" she called cautiously. Her hands went to a drawer in the hallway, pulling out a small pistol. "It's me," a voice said from the other side of the door. "It's Pamela." Elizabeth hurriedly stashed away the pistol and opened the door, greeting her friend. Pamela Tithers was a tall, moderately wrinkled woman with a determinedly plain appearance. She gave Elizabeth a deeply sympathetic glance, then held up a bag of sugar. "My husband just got this from Thoughttown," she explained cautiously. "Figured you could always use sugar." "That's right," Elizabeth said with a forced smile. "Always." Pamela gave a smile of her own, before dropping her voice. "Are you alright?" she asked softly. "Have you seen...?" Elizabeth shook her head. "Want to talk about it?" "No," Elizabeth replied, her voice cracking a little. "But... but you'd best come inside anyway." The other woman nodded in understanding and stepped inside. Elizabeth glanced out the door, at the empty streets of downtown Portland. "I'm not expecting anyone else today," she whispered to herself. With a ragged sigh, she closed the door and retreated into the house.

If he can, I'd like to keep him as far away from Upgrade as possible for most of the RP. Or else he could simply pop through history and assassinate Milton Towren, Thomas Cardinal, and whoever Funtimes was before they got their powers. (Just a small observation: my last Dalles post has eight upvotes. Eight! I mean... wow. I've written much better posts that scarcely got a solid two upvotes. I'm not quite sure what's so lovable about Backtrack being The Woobie. )

The number-one anticipated character from the RP's history. Makes sense. Is time immutable for him--i.e., could he change events that have already happened?

(I agree that it isn't necessary--you've done an excellent job of establishing what Nathan's life was like pre-Funtimes. Still though, if you wanted to write up a flashback as a Question thread extra, I wouldn't complain. ) I had a similar reaction. So, um... what happens if Timeport travels to a point in time before Calamity's appearance?

We should have a Traumatic Backstory contest! (As a great man1 once said, keep your villains in pain, but make your heros' lives a whirling vortex of emotional agony. ) *1 That would be me. Off topic, but I immediately searched for "pet velociraptor" when you posted that. Through a tangled path of strange Google searches, I ultimately stumbled across this insanity. I have no idea what to think of it.

Thanks. I try hard to give my characters Emotionally Scarring™ backstories. But yeah. As she herself would say, "Epics are homicidal slontzes. Every sparking one of them." I'll start posting her flashbacks really soon. And my next post, which should be posted sometime in the next hour or so, has a viewpoint from Sam's mother. I will point out though that living, thinking dinosaurs are not good soldier material. Sources: Wes' charmingly puppy-like mind.

I've ended up doing that loads of times. Through this I've learned that Lightwards' style doesn't suit Funtimes at all, and Backtrack looks utterly ridiculous in MV's armbands.

...I genuinely hadn't considered the double meaning of "Green" in this context. But now I simply can't stop laughing at it. Koschei's face at the end is priceless.

That would work fine, but I'm not sure it will be necessary. I have Lightwards' and Sam's responses planned out, and I'll be posting right after lunch.

Good. Though personally I have difficulty with the comic creator's text options--I use Microsoft Paint to add speech bubbles and dialogue. I'll bump up Slaughterhouse's priority.

Awesome. And good luck. In the spirit of full disclosure and inter-ponifier cooperation, I've posted an updated list of pony codes on my "Epics of Oregon" post. Everypony I've thus made is on there, from Lightwards to Jingleberry, Revolution to Earl Greyback. They're all there should you need them.

When you're in General Zoi's pony creator, save the pony image without the background. There should be an "Add Image to Library" option on the right-hand side of the SSCS6000; using this option, you should be able to upload the OC images and add them to whatever background you choose.

If any of Brandon Sanderson's books are ever filmed, I predict vast swaths of the forum devoted entirely to criticizing the director's vision of the setting, characters, and treatment of the plot.

When Nighthound finally kicks the canon bucket, I'm putting a link to the killing post in my signature as "And Then Nighthound Finally Died." As Voidus said, a lot has happened in Oregon so far. Also we've got a lot of plans for night and the next day, but I don't think anyone has much of importance to do for the rest of this day. Is there anything happening in The Dalles that will take a few more in-game hours? And TwiLyght, how's the SSCS6000 behaving now?

To the best of my knowledge, there is no tutorial for the program. I've also had a lot of difficulty with it; have you tried running it in an incognito browsing tab? For some reason that's the only way I've thus far gotten it to work.

I definitely support you in this. Er... yes. I have a lot of work to do.

Welcome! I'm really digging your profile picture. There can really never be enough thylacine aficionados.

That would be a neat twist, I suppose. Personally, I'm inclined to think there are many varieties of Voidbringer, and parshmen/Parshendi are merely one breed. Also... I hate to be "that guy" of old, but isn't this title a little... spoiler-y?

Reader really was a slontze. "She's in charge?" Reader asked, pointing at MV. "Well, it makes sense. You've never been good at being in charge, have you Steven? Your life's work, torn down by vandals and trolls. You're just a sad little king of a sad little hill..." Backtrack winced at the remark, then directed a surly glare at the portly man in the suit. "Megan," Reader was saying. "Do you think that these soldiers standing at the door would just let you, quote, 'riddle my body with sharp pointy things'? They'd end you before you'd even have a chance. And you wouldn't want your blood getting all over Steven's pretty pink sunglasses, would you? No." She thinks they're pretty? Before Backtrack could glean much comfort from the revelation, the twins carried on their verbal assault. A verbal assault which they dragged into the physical realm, destroying one of Reader's fine wine goblets with a well-coordinated use of their powers. A well-coordinated use of their powers which almost got them killed. No sooner had they destroyed the goblet then a number of soldiers stormed into the office, all with aimed guns and angry expressions. Backtrack resisted the urge to run towards the nearest window and jump out, instead forcing himself to listen to their continued sparring match. The twins, surprisingly, were holding their own. Reader was relentless in launching his snide references at them, but they took each one in stride and met him word for word. Somewhat alarmingly, Reader showed no signs of weariness from their troublesome nature. As a point of fact, his wide smile seemed to say that he was enjoying this. Enjoying wearing them down far more than any sane human being should. "No more funny business," Reader said smiling. "Tell me everything you know about the Dalles. Why are you here? And if you don't comply, I'll have Richard over there shoot both of you. And Steven, of course. And you may think you are invincible, but I'm sure you wouldn't want me to see you without a stitch on, now would you?" Backtrack had been sitting in a position of somewhat terrified amusement with the twins' stubbornness--now that their refusal to cooperate might end up getting him shot, the vaguely amused side of him died with a strangled cry. He forced himself to tilt his sunglasses forward, drilling into Reader's far-too knowing eyes. "Hold it right there, buster," he said firmly. "No one makes crude references about seeing them naked but me." That had sounded far more heroic in his head. Instead of dwelling on it, he decided to do the one thing he could do in this situation: try to sound way cooler than he actually was. "For your information, wise guy," he said with what he hoped was a sneer, "We came to The Dalles as part of a very important mission. We were sent by--" Lightwards needed a moniker. If Reader's boss had an awesome 'Deathless' moniker, then he needed to make sure his boss had one too. "Lightwards the Green," he said with a smile, thinking of the professor's unique hat. "We were sent by Lightwards the Green, the newest and most powerful necromancer in all of Oregon. He's immortal, he can control dinosaurs, and... uh, he can fly." That last part was sort of true, since Lightwards lived in a floating building and all. He directed a glance at the twins, then glared at Reader. "Does that tell you everything you need to know, you alcoholic... uh, meanieface?" He'd heard the word from Funtimes in one of the scenes he'd watched while tracking Lightwards. It had sounded kind of menacing when she said it. Hoping he had sounded sufficiently firm--but not too firm--Backtrack sat back in his seat and let the sweat accumulate on his brow. Please don't kill us please don't kill us please don't kill us...