Blue_Drache

In some RP stories, some authors tie it to the Hero ID, some as a patch, some as a gadget in the belt, some as woven into the suit, some as an implantable bio-chip.

Possibilities are limited only by your imagination.

Generic:
/bind "enter" "afk <message here>$$startchat"
/bind "backspace" "afk <message here>$$autoreply"

My Specific binds:
/bind "enter" "afk Typing ...$$startchat"
/bind "backspace" "afk Private Chat$$autoreply"

[[Smoke some frop for me]]

My view on this is: Role Play is a consensual act and should be FUN. If you do not wish to intereact with that person, OR it is no longer fun for you or anyone else involved, then find another group or re-roll.

(( "The waking Life is but a dream, but it is dreams for that we live." - Unknown
"All men of action are dreamers." - James G. Huneker ))



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Surf. Rolling in gently. Chattering with its eternal voice to the shore.
Seagulls. Yelling stridently at each other over some morsel washed in by the waves.
Wind. Kissing the leaves of the scrub bush that Gregory had crawled to, rustling softly as the breeze meandered in from the water. On that breeze, the smell of meat roasting over an open fire maddened the senses of the sleeping tempest survivor.

Gregory awoke suddenly, clawing upwards from his unconsiousness, staring at his unfamiliar surroundings. From where he was now sitting, the beach appeared bare and empty to the limits of his vision, curving away with the shape of the island. Trees gave way to scrub and sand and finally to the ocean itself. The horizon, devoid of any definition save the flat line of the ocean, offered a clear view of Apollo’s Chariot as it followed its path to the underworld.

“What the….???” Gregory thought with a start. He blinked, rubbed his eyes and looked again at the sky. There was no change. A muscular man stood in a golden chariot, holding the reins to four firey steeds. These horses were spirited, to be sure, but also literally on fire, the light from them reflecting off of the polished gold of the trailing carriage.

“Ok, you’ve completely lost it. Grade A bonkers,” Greg muttered.

“On the contrary, my dear friend, I would beg to differ!” a male voice called from his right.

It had been morning when he'd taken his newly christened boat for her maiden voyage. He'd planned on sailing out a couple of miles, to test her seaworthieness. Always a careful man, he'd kept the shore in sight on the western horizon. A light land breeze assisted him on his way out with the ebbing tide.

A freak storm had blown in without warning from the West, pushing his small craft out farther than it had ever been meant to travel. The sea had been merciless in its attempt to claim Gregory for its own. The howling wind shrieking and wailing with the lungs of the mothers who had ever lost their sons at sea. The small craft had never meant to take on a storm of this magnitude and was quickly swamped, pitching Gregory into the roiling waves.

For an unknown ammount of time, Gregory was battered about by the storm. The rain pelted his skin as he traveled up and down on the swells, fighting to tread water and survive. Jagged arcs of lightning were thrown down from the clouds as thunder fought to be heard over the wind and blowing foam. Eventually, exaustion played its heavy toll on the man....with his last bit of strength, he whispered "I'm sorry...." before slipping beneath the waves.

***

"Ungh...." Greg groand, rolling over to his back on the wet sand. "What happened?" he thought as he cracked his eyes open to a late afternoon sky. Every muscle in his body felt bruised and drained. His stomach still roiled from when he'd vomited up the salt water before collapsing above the high tide line. He couldn't even remember crawling out of the waves, or how he'd gotten here, or even how long he'd lain there, but judging by the mild sunburn on his now bare back, it'd had been some 2 hours since he'd landed and probably 6 hours since he'd left home.

Getting weakly to his knees, he crawled toward the line of scrub and bushes away from the beach, barely making it into the shade before collapsing again into a feotal position, and blissfull unconsiousness.

((Posting my Origin story here for anyone to read. I've compiled it the main sources inside the Whitmoore Thread))

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Amazingly, Greece was relatively untouched by the Rikti invasion. With so few economical interests for the Rikti to control the country was largely ignored. There were a few exploratory incursions, but most of the damage was confined to other Mediterranian countries. Some may even say that there had been other "divine" intervention that steered away the decending ships, but who could really know for sure? After the monkeys were beaten back, life continued on as it had for thousands of years.


While not wealthy, the Nikolidias family had lead a comfortable life on the shores of the Spartan province of Greece. A small vinyard, a grove of olive trees, a small copse of hardwoods, and access to the sea was all that Georgos Nikolidias needed. He met and married Atina Polopolis in the new spring of 1980. She died ten months later giving birth to Gregory.

Gregory had been sailing his whole life, making runs around the Agean Sea with his father. Learning how to read the waves, clouds, sun, and stars was his life from the time he could run a line up the jib. The major routes that his father's merchant company had owned were as ingrained into his memory as the calouses on his hands. Trade goods from Naxos to Melos, Aegina to Thera, Paros to Athens, and Cythera to Rhodes flowed under his father's watchful eye and stewardship. Olive oil, timber, gold and silver, iron ore, bauxite, live goods and even the occasional passenger or family.

There was even time for schooling and instruction. Especially during the more turbulant winter months. Entranced by the bedtime stories that his father would tell him, Gregory learned how to sketch and draw plans to build scale, one person crafts of the great ships of Troy and Sparta. Drinking in the lore of his homeland, he built a model of the ship of Jason of Iolcus and named it "The Beta Argo"

It was not difficult to find the lumber for the boat. A recent wind storm had blown down several hardwoods near the shore. Gregory took an axe, trimmed the limbs off, and then sectioned them with an old buck saw. Using his neighbor's draft team, he was able to manipulate the heavy timbers closer to the beach. Then he set about barking the wood, curing it and then cutting it up to make his ship.

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((OOC: I am NOT a shipbuilder, I am also decidedly not Greek, but I do know a thing or two about mythology. ))

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Character Name: 'Ouzo

Origin Story: Character Introduction Pt. 1
Character Introduction Pt. 2
Theme Song(s): Probably anything by Yanni.

Why those songs? They're both Greek.

Backstory Posts: None
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*Manage you insps as the drop.
I dont mean pop them the moment they drop, but if they are useless in regards to what you are fighting, dont dump them, use them or pass them to a team mate. You/they get a buff for a while, and space is left open for those nicer much more needed insps. Nothing worse than looking at your tray only to find you've collected nothing but yellows, you have no lucks, and the boss is up next.

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On the contrary, all yellows is a wonderful thing. Eating a couple of them before the boss fight will help your high damage count and your holds stick. I'm always irritated when I haven't been able to pickup at least a couple during the course of a mission.

Speaking of insps: On my Ice/Ice I generally load out with 10 total slots at this time. Two (2) heals, one (1) wake, and either seven (7) CaBs or six (6) cabs and one (1) luck. I worry about other insps as they trickle in. I eat CaBs like christmas candy, so I tend to load out a little heavy on them. I generally give up red pills to the scrappers, because I'm running Tactics. If the boss needs to come down in a hurry, then I'll rage out. Nothing more fun than seeing your damage hit triple digits on a purple boss.

The boxer's creed. "STICK AND MOVE....STICK AND MOVE" applies very well to my style of play. Just don't move into that pile of un-aggroed mobs hiding around the corner or you're going to find out what the carpet smells like (trust me, the Warwolves haven't been housebroken yet). The only stationary blaster is a dead one.

RANGE ... RANGE ... RANGE. I can't preach that enough to the blasters that hit our pick up groups. The healer is spending more time concentrating on the blaster that thinks he's a tank than healing the group. In my opinion, the blaster's primary function is RANGED DAMAGE. Defenders and Controllers are squishie too, so make it your mission to protect the squishies.

Typical layout in a good PUG - The tanks are at the bottom of the mob dog-pile, the scrappers are around the outer edge of the pile, the defenders and controllers have the middle position, (healing, crowd control, debuffing, buffing, etc), and the blasters are in the BACK ROW, within range of the Defender/Controller throwing damage around like it's going out of style. If a mob breaks away, make it your mission to take out the runners if it doesn't pull you out of position.

I'll add more if I can think of it.

Apartment: 314
Name: Gregory Nikiolidas, "'Ouzo"
Current Location: Task Force Scion
Storyteller: BlueDrache
Summary: Base powerset: Broadsword//Fast Reflexes//Superspeed. Carries the Broadsword of Jason and has become an avatar for the god Mercury.

A: Who cares.

Q: Is it OK to make pointless repeats and copies of other threads on this board?

let me answer that for you.

NO.

The original stupid question thread is still going strong with over 1000 posts. If you want in on it, GO THERE.

I can't believe how much of a Troll and a waste of bandwidth you actually are.

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Einstien gives this thread a heart attack and it dies. Hey guys this thread is getting old I am starting it fresh in the Kill Thread 3.0 be there or die from lameness!

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Off Topic:
And what exactly do you think is going to happen to the third incarnation of it?

It's also going to die of lameness. Faster than this one did.

Let's just keep resurrecting this one, instead of making YAPT (Yet Another Pointless Thread), and wasting bandwidth and server space.

On Topic:
Donald McRonald wakes up in a hospital, strapped to the bed and attached to several machines and an IV. He's helpless, he's vunerable, he's not alone......

Meanwhile, on the room TV, a space-alien spills it's acid blood on a soldier. "GAME OVER MAN!!!" the soldier shouts, dying.

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Question 1: What's your favorite color (remember, I'm referring to your hero(es).

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Youko holds her arms out and looks at her white robe, grinning. "Hmm... That would probably be white."

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The Bar-Fly: Is white a colour? Or is it simply the "null set" of colours? Conversly, is black a colour, or merely the union of all?

Bar-Fly sleeps mainly on rooftops and his diet is probably better not discussed in polite company, over dinner, or at all really. He's still wondering why the Vhazilok smell like "Chanel No. 5". Currently looking into the "Housing for Heros" project.

'Ouzo is a recent immagrant and immediately signed up for the "H4H" project and currently resides at the Whitmoore Apartments. Although his family owns a shipping company in Greece, his stipend is enough to keep food in the fridge and grain in his home-made copper still while he's here seeking his purpose.

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Eike: "Yeah. What she said. Bully." Folds arms and pokes out tongue at Bar Fly.

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*sigh with a shrug* Sorry, 'bout that kid.

The Bar-Fly = Jonathan Grey (Rad/Rad Defender): An (now) ex-alcoholic trash truck driver. Found a magical totem on the top of a trash can. Set it on his dashboard. Got into a wreck with a tanker truck in Skyway City that was hauling biogenic and radioactive chemicals destined for illegal disposal in the sewer network. The magical artefact broke during the impact and fused itself, the chemicals, and several flies into Jon's body. Currently doesn't understand why the Vhazilok smell like "Chanel No. 5"

'Ouzo = Gregory Nikiolidias (BS/Inv Scrapper): A recent immigrant from the country of Greece. Carries the "Broadsword of Jason" and is infused with the power of Hermes. Sent to Paragon City to discover his true purpose on the "Isle of the Bull."

Cinca de Maya (Blaster, I don't remember the powerset): Not well developed yet. Hispanic female blaster with a red, white and green costume, yellow bird emblem on chest. Created on the 5th of May (hence the name). More or less, a name reservation at this time.

Liquide Air (Ice/Ice Blaster): There's a compressed gas company in our area called "Air Liquide" that supplies hospitals, welding supply houses, and other companies with liquid Oxygen, Nitrogen, Carbon Dioxide and other industrial gasses. The name's a basic ripoff. No background yet.

The B.F.G.D (SS/Inv Tank): "The Big Friggin' Green Dude" - He's big. He's green. You figure it out. He's one of my clown-around characters.

and finally....

Donald McRonald (FF/Mind Control Controller): Convinces enemies to buy his unhealthy fried foods, thereby giving them heart attacks, road rage, obesity, and disobediant children. Yes, he's another "clown" around character.

[ QUOTE ]
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Question 1: What's your favorite color

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Eike: "Uuuummmm... I likkkeeeeee... red... no wait... ummmm... green is nice..." Plays with tail nervously. "...but so is blue... uuummmmmm... oh oh oh oh... I know I like violate because it is the colour of my big sisters hair." Nods confidently in his choice.

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The Bar-Fly: Pardon me, but did I hear you correctly? What kind of colour is "violate" anyway?

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Question 1: What's your favorite color (remember, I'm referring to your hero(es).

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The Bar-Fly: "Uh..... Greens. Usually about the colour of the algae found in the sewers."

'Ouzo: "Is alcohol a colour?"

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Einstein's mediocre grammar and spelling takes the form of a hideous monster that eats all his graham crackers. The graham cracker remains reanimate as the undead, and after Fred gets shot to death by a frightened citizien, the rest of them go on strike, asking for more Living Dead Snack rights. Nobody knows what they're going on strike FROM, so nobody notices.

Immortal respawns, and pwnz nubz til they die.

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Donald McRonald opens up his laptop and sends a virus to Einstein's spellchecker. The virus was unable to do anything, as the spellchecker was already dead. Donald screams in frustration and throws the laptop across the room, into a vat of french fry grease. The computer dies. Donald slips on a small puddle of grease made by the splashing and sputtering computer and breaks his neck.

Donald respawns with his resturaunt next to the Wahco Tahco. Getting a sudden idea, he borrows a vat of refried beans, makes a Dan Quayle Potatoe Cannon(c), and starts launching boiling globs of beans at Immortal. Immortal, hearing the "thud" and "splat" of a few misses, faces into a scalding volley as it catches him square in the forehead, disfiguring him from the nose up.

"Must finish him!!!", shouts Donald as he stuffs the launcher with a new load of beans and a double charge of propellant. As he sparks the ignitor, the propellant splits the potatoe cannon open bleching flame in Donald's face. Donald drowns on his own bodily fluids as blisters form in his lungs from the accidental inhalation of fire.

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OMaGosh!ilikemadethisclawsregenFOTMscrapnamed7337w olverineofdoomthenfollowedtheGo.Hunt.KillSkuls.Gui deandIneversawanyskuls
canyouplscritiquemybuildcauseicantfindthesearchbut tonthatslikebythemainindexlinkorbebotheredtohitali nkinsomeonessighalf
thetimeohandidontknowhowtosavemoneyoncarinsurancee ithercanyoupostaguidetothat?!one!!!

(aagh! - I've been jerk hacked!)

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who let the gnome out of Krynn?

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Sorry, it was me. *points to his Location under avatar*

A man with white skin and red clown makeup, dressed in his baggy, yellow costume, shakes his red afro. "Tisk tisk," he says. "This is no way to kill anyone!!" He turns around and grabs a rifle. After Shooting the Mad Cowman (humanely) in the head, he proceedes to gut, skin, butcher and then grind the meat into patties.

"Here!!! Have a delicious, deep fried (Elvis style) triple quarter pounder with bacon and extra cheese, and a super duper order of golden fried arched fries with an ice-cold caffiene laden Jumpstart Cola!"

Immortal and Experiment are unable to resist the delicious odor, and begin to stuff their faces with the food. Half way through, each gets a sharp pain in their left arms as their cardiac arteries clog.

Donald McRonald cackles in evil glee, watching his subjects turn purple, clenching their left hands in pain as each has a massive coranary and dies.

I might suggest scrapper then, since he's a martial artist.

Katana/Inv would seem to fit well, or you can just go for bare fist and inv.

the real name I leave up to you.... (maybe Larry?) but the hero name... Hmm.... "Bio-Mech", "5 of 8", "Cogswerth", "Heavy Gear", "(The) Rage Machine"?

SG name: "The Bio-Mechanicals"