Ex_Libris

Great story. =)

I'm on Victory. I adjust my playing style based on the group I'm with.

I'll start off with RP, even when Looking for teams and such (referring to seeing ads in newspapers,etc)

When I get in the group, I play my character and she's so real to me, that I don't get the "oh, jeez, another RPer" feeling from the other team members. I do think that most have no clue I'm really a guy, until It ell them. Granted, the occasional clue slips out.

I guess it depends on how people respond within the first 10 minutes of me being around that group. Usually though, my groups tend to be great. =D

Same.

However, a group of friends and I use TeamSpeak and we don't RP, but we have fun talking bout the adventure. Granted, those who we pickup that don't get the teamspeak are often left to wonder why we're so quiet. =D

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Lovin' it! Can't wait to read the rest.

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Wow... I started reading on page 3, not knowing it wasn't page 1. It makes a good "pickup story" trying to discern everythign that's going on. You're bringing in characters from the beginning (after I went back to page 1) and it's intriguing.

Perhaps reread it starting just from Page 3.. and let the past develop through dialog instead of just covering it all on a timeline type event. It has me on the edge of my seat though. =) More MOre MORE!

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RP4tehwin!!!!11!!eleven!!!!!11!!1!

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too much caffeine?

Winsany is more of an idle, walk around, hey that doesn't look right, kinda person. She doesn't advertise, but she doesn't mind sticking her nose in the bidness. However - because of her love of magic and her goddess, she would certainly be susceptable to doing what she /thinks/ is right, but may not be right to the rest of the populace. (ie: typical superhero turned supervillian on ideals thing)

Hi! Winsany, again. 2nd time caller. <giggles>

Since you don't know where Tania went, and it's possible she's in another dimension, do you think perhaps she's going to be slightly peeved if she ever finds her way out, and holds a very severe grudge against you? I mean, you /are/ in her body afterall.

((this is such a fun story! =D I'm envious of the opportunitys you have with this one. ))

Looking for players that might be interested in creating a themed character. Not a supergroup, just a group of 5-7 experienced players that follow a theme. So far I have only myself so have room for 4-6 more. I'd like ages 18 and older if I can.

What theme? I was thinking along the lines of Robotic Mercenaries. An all robot group that will although be heroes, play like Mercenaries. When City of Villains comes out all of us will most likely be 50+, and people will have atleast heard of us. At this point we can be hired to PK Villains that have been griefing Heroes.

This isn't one of those things that is going to last a week and then everyone stops, I have every intention on carrying this through and making it one of the Elite groups in all of CoH. I have spent atleast 12 hours nailing out every detail of this and i'm all but waiting for applicants. No casual players please, although I do respect casual players for having lives and such, this is a project for those such as myself that can devote hours upon hours every day.

Alright, if you're still interested PM me with any questions you may have, or if you want in. I of course will have a few questions for you also, to make sure you're fit for the job, and please don't be upset if I reject you... as I said i'm looking for the perfect people, and although you may be good, you're probably just not what i'm looking for in a player. And only 4-6 will be accepted, possibly 7 if I see another that can't be passed up.

I have characters on various servers, and no server has been set as of yet for such a project. I have a 50 scrapper on Victory, 44 controller on Gaurdian, 39 controller on Virtue, and atleast 1 level 20+ character on every server except Infinity and Champion.

I will be accepting applicants until Sunday.

can anyone pm me and send me a link to a good bind for fly/hover? im kinda new and id really appreciate nto having to read though all 50 pages to find it

I have both stealth and hover, and I often use them together. It seems to make a notable improvement in the number of hits that miss me.

I'm assuming that their effect is cumulative, please correct me if I'm wrong. But more importantly, does anyone know which of the two is more effective, or are they both equally effectve at defense?

Changed my Profile in a major way.
Now chapters on an ongoing story.
I'm already up to chapter 12

12 The Asylum

I like to roleplay that my character is really me, becasue my real life sucks soo much, i have to rp in videogames to keep myself from going off the deep end. RP4tehwin!!!!11!!eleven!!!!!11!!1!

Hey all I tried making a superspeed movement bind to help cut down on end cost but I can't get it to work. Here's what I put in to try and do it.

/bind w "+forward$$powexec_name super speed"

it would turn superspeed on and off but not move me forward. Does anyone know what I'm doing wrong? Thanks ahead of time

I would have to say for Kid Oblivion, he's just a kid working on bein' a real honest ta goodness Hero. Sure he finally registered (took 5 times! bureaucracies... sheesh) but he still doesn't have the conviction, the confidence, the... something else that makes the real heroes like the Statesmen a Hero. Hell, he still doesn't even know whether he's commin' or goin', but some day, he'll be a hero!

HI! Love the show, first time caller. Name's Winsany, I'm an ice witch. As a witch, I look more to magic than technology to allow me to protect the citizens of Paragon. Seeing as how there were two of you, and now are one, what happened to your assistants spirit? Did she die? or does she live with you in your head?

Thanks, and I'll take my answer off the air."

Ex Machina is looking for new memebers. We are a supergroup that encourages roleplay amongst our members. Nothing too heavy, but at least some in character chat and some light storytelling amongst ourselves. We are looking for those with a "mechanical" theme. Robots, cyborgs, etc. We prefer that you have a description/background in your character bio, and have a good background story.

If anyone is interested contact Clockwork-Rebel or Belle Tane on Pinnacle.

Thanks Filidecht, I couldn't have said it better myself

Some additional binds which might help some people, but aren't related to SoD:

If you want to setup mouselook so it's on all the time sometimes, you can just map a key to ++mouse_look as well as through the in game interface. Just add this line to some key that is NOT configured by SoD:

lshift+rbutton "++mouse_look"

I normally use the Right mouse button for mouse-look-while-I-press, so it's intuitive if I want to make it sticky, to hold down shift and press (and release) the right mouse button. You'll remain in mouselook until you click on the right mouse button (with or without shift) again.

Similarly for Super Jumpers, I'd suggest adding this bind:

lshift+space "++up"

This allows you to press shift and the space bar (which I normally use for jump) so I will autojump without holding down the spacebar. If you're in autorun (SoD or otherwise), then you'll bounch your way across Paragon city even if you go get a snack.

SoD doesn't configure all your binds, just ones you want "on demand" or while moving. If you want to know more about binding in general, I suggest you check out the "Post your Binds Here" thread (in the same FAQ/User Guides Forum as this post) which has a LOT of good information on binds.

Gnarly

It's early in the morning, late for me now. The sun is just now peaking above the tall buildings of Kings Row, coloring the shields that most amazing violet color of the morning. Its orange gold light has started competing with the bluish flicker of the old TV set that has served as some light for me these past few hours. It's peaceful, warm, comforting. It tries to convince me that I can step out of this attic, go grab a doughnut and some chocolate milk, and just pretend nothing has happened. No! That's no good! I realized how bad that thought was just as soon as I put it down. It's late for me and my mind is demanding sleep, going on strike until I meet its demands. I have to figure out a way to stay awake though; I can't succumb to sleep. I am barely holding myself together as it is and if I lose consciousness, I'm afraid I'll never come back.

The sunlight has found Father lying in his cot. I almost wish it would disturb him, rouse him. Lying there in the golden light, he looks so peaceful, serene, almost saintly... except for the flies. I just can't keep them away and I really have tried. I just hope that when I bring the police here, they don't find out that I'm the one who killed him. I don't know what I would do if I did kill the old man. I hope they find that he died peacefully, painlessly. After all, there are no marks on him. It's the least he deserves for saving me.

I wish I knew more about the old man, what his name (names are so important!) was, what he did for a living, does he even have a real family? I've tried to find out more, but I haven't been able to find anything that would help to identify him in this small attic room, nothing that even seems personal to him. The only photograph that I have found is an over exposed and badly faded one of a white kid with a bad overbite and scratched up glasses. That's a far cry from the unusually tall emaciated ancient Indian man that Father happens to be. Besides, a strange painful twisting in my gut tells me that the photograph is probably of me. I feel a sick kind of apprehension just thinking about that picture and what may be beneath these leathers that I'm wearing. And now I can't stop thinking about it, like my tiered brain is trying to get some kind of revenge for not letting it rest. But I can't risk sleeping. The last time I woke-up, it was from the brink of oblivion and not from a dream!

I woke up feeling like I had fallen asleep while driving. Quick and sudden, a thrash and jerk to ward off some kind of imminent doom. Thoughts and knowledge that I had before waking ripped away from me in a panicked frenzy as I saw my legs start to vanish from sight! I thrashed and kicked, screaming with a voice that seemed only a whisper and tried to feel my legs, get them to come back. I rolled off of the cot that I had been lying on, struck the floor, and felt the sheet that I was now wrapped in pull through my leg. With that, my mind locked up in panic. I kicked again and again as if I was simply trying to wake up a limb that had gone to sleep. And that's when my palms began to slip through the floor. I felt the wood grain slide through the skin and meat of my palms and into the bones. Dust and dirt seemed to mingle with my blood as I tore my hands free of the floor and threw myself across the room. I saw my legs were again attached to me and solid and my hands were whole if not a little wounded from the splinters still embedded deep within them. With each breath I took, I calmed my self down a bit and focused on my entire body staying solid and connected.

I sat against that wall for several hours, too afraid to move or even think of anything but how solid my body was. I felt it waver several times when my thoughts drifted too far but each time it became a little easier to regain control. As I became more accustomed to my condition, I began taking stock of my situation. "What is going on?" was, of course, the first big question, but one I had hardly any way of answering without risking a fall through the floor again. The second question was much less risky to answer. To answer the "where am I?" all I had to do was look at something besides my legs.

After several quick glances away from my legs and then back again to make sure they were still there, I looked around this small attic room. Out of its single round broken window I could see the massive shields glowing in the dimming light of evening. Paragon City, at least I was still home. However, at that very thought, a slight panic griped me. All I could think of when I thought of home, beyond the cold facts of the city, was a bleak feeling and an image of a old couple sitting on a well worn orange couch illuminated by the flickering glow of a television set. I tried to bury the distress and stay calm as my eyes flitted across the overturned army cot that I had been sleeping in. A television tuned to static sitting atop a milk crate pulled my eye over to a naked old Indian man lying near a closed door. I almost lost my grip that I had maintained when I saw Father. I felt my body slip slightly before I was able to solidify it once more. I knew he was dead right when my eyes fell upon him though I still don't know how or why. I also felt an immediate draw to him, a need for him like a drawing mans need for a life raft. Before I realized what I was doing, I was crawling across the floor to him, feeling sorrow and gratitude wash through me. He had saved me, pulled me back from the brink of complete and total annihilation, saved me from the ocean of oblivion.

Concerns for my condition became much less urgent for me as I held the old man and cried as if I known him for my entire life. All I knew is he had saved me, delivered me from Oblivion and brought me back into the world. He was like a second father to me. I put him in the cot and covered him with the sheets and tried to keep the flies off of him as I held a vigil by his side. I don't know what I expected, maybe a chance to save him, or perhaps a miraculous reawakening, or just some answers. Nothing came, but I felt comfort being close to him. A part of me is terrified now of loosing sight of him, like his proximity is what is keeping me whole.

As I sat with Father through the night I tried to piece together what had happened to lead up to this, but found I couldn't form a clear and cohesive picture. Trying to remember my life before this night is like trying to remember a half-forgotten nightmare. It ends up being just a chaotic collection of feelings without reasons, images without names, and a sense of dread the deeper I look. I remember watching the world go by. I remained on the periphery, never got involved, never did anything, just watched, always watched. I remember a classroom full of students and a teacher who ignored me completely. I never did anything to draw attention to my self, never did anything worth remembering even for me. I remember a job shelving books in a deserted library, dark except from dim table lamps. It was always deserted except when two men in suits would chase me trying to take my picture. I remember being trapped in a green lit grocery store because the doors refused to open. Being arrested for having a fake ID by a massive cop and then being left in the patrol car for hours until I found a way to slip out. Grey cars with gray people in a colorless world. Streets filled with phantoms that blow by me and through me. Screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to hear me, but never being heard. Running home to find the house deserted and all the furniture cleared out. Isolated in a ghost world that turns less and less distinct by the moment. Panicking when I realize I don't have a name dissolving into nothingness my ego ceases to be and I am gone erased and noth...

and I almost lost my self again. I can't think about those things that led up to now. It breaks my concentration, calls oblivion to me. It's the same reason why I can't look beneath the leather and the mask. I'm not afraid of what I'll see but rather what I won't see. I'm existing on the edge, a hairs breath from nothingness. The only person who knew I existed is dead and now I think that my knowledge of my own existence is all that is keeping me from the void. I am real, I am here, I am living and this journal is proof! As long as my writing exists, then I must exist. I might be grasping at straws now, but maybe it's enough.

It's getting harder to keep up my concentration but the sun is fully up now. I will find a phone and call the police, let them know where Father is so he can receive a proper burial and if he has family, so they will know of his fate and sacrifice. I don't know what will become of me when I leave this room, but hopefully I will be able to hold myself together long enough to get the authorities here. And to who ever is reading this, Father saved me from nothingness and I think it cost him his life. Spread this around so others will know I exist and his sacrifice would not be in vein. My first name and life, for what ever it was worth, is gone. I guess I am now the kid of an unknown man and oblivion... I am Kid Oblivion.

Love this guide

Scimitar says, "Hmm, how will I kill some one next????" He thinks so hard his head blows up, destroying all of paragon city and killing everyone in the thread.

Have you tried The Sims Online, or There, and have found that you are just not having enough freedom? Well Second Life is the answer, this is a whole new 3-D virtual world in which you can create what ever you want, and ever progam them to do things. I higly reccomend it. You must be 18+ however.

Link: http://secondlife.com/ss/?u=4350cc13...bb4acc50c00255

Hi Blue Streak,

I don't have any prestige powers, but if you hover the mouse over the button that normally turns on this power in the game, then it should tell you the exact name which you need to use. From what others have posted about Presige Powers, I think it'd be more like your first try "Prestige Power Surge".

Enter the power name in place of Sprint, when the program prompts you for "Secondary Run Power".

Let me know how it goes,

Gnarly

Scimitar shows up some where else in the thread with a pair of Mac 10s. He quickly riddles everyone but him with bullets.

This is a link to my recent story at Creyindustries.com
Other chapters can be seen here Section-8
Hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 11 Body Count

Funny, it was the first time I had ever killed a man in cold blood. He was totally helpless, totally at my mercy…or lack thereof. I hear most men vomit and go into post-murder trauma after their first kill. Not I. It was a matter of necessity. I could have knocked the man out, but I was unwilling to take that risk. A man once said, “Dead men don’t come looking for vengeance.” It is this simple, cold fact that keeps me going, keeps me doing what I’m doing. In this life, there is no room for mistakes, and every time an enemy lives, that is a mistake. What kind of hero lives by this philosophy? Honestly, I don’t know. The only way to beat the monster is to become the monster. Ironic.

Mark stood in the alleyway of the Crey Industries building. He was now changed into street clothes, including jeans and a leather jacket. This time he had his long blonde hair pulled back into a pony tail, and still…he wore his sunglasses, even at night. The only other noticeable change was that he had stopped bleeding from his two gunshot wounds. Somehow he had managed to patch them up. The shots would have been enough to kill a normal man, but Mark was tough…and determined.

Mark stepped out of the alley and strolled confidently, despite a noticeable limp, toward the two security guards on duty. He knew that Crey would have cameras all over their building, so it didn’t make much sense to try and sneak in. Stealth wasn’t his style anyway, he decided. Furthermore, the irony was not lost on him that no less that a week ago, he had been in the exact opposite position, protecting Crey from infiltration.

He walked up silently, and came to a stop a few yards from the two guards. They didn’t seem pleased to see him, but it didn’t appear as if there were going to take any action to stop him either. He noted that both of these guards did carry guns however. An interesting change from a week ago.

“Mark, we have orders not to let you in.” said one in a solemn, almost sad voice.

“Really? Well I’ll give both of you a choice then, and a choice only because you are my friends,” Mark started, addressing the men he had formed such a tight bond with, even in just a week. “You can move out of my way and let me in, or I will kill you.”

“You know we can’t just let you in Mark,” started one.

“You’re going to have to make this look convincing,” the other chimed in, as he moved his hand away from his holster, crossed his arms over his chest and turned his back to Mark.

“Thanks, and I’m sorry guys.” Mark replied, honestly moved. That feeling lasted about two seconds before he hit the first one solidly in the back of the head…

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Five minutes later Mark was walking with a purpose to the hidden elevator on the ground floor of Crey Industries. He noted that it had never been as quiet as it was tonight. He hadn’t even seen another soul beyond the first two guards. Mark wasn’t stupid, everything in his body screamed trap. However, he had too much to lose tonight by just giving up, or retreating. He had no other choice than to meet that trap head on. He realized that this is exactly what Crey wanted him to do…a thought that did not sit well.

He found the ‘hidden’ elevator with little effort. It was a portion of the wall with boxes stacked up to conceal the elevator button, and rather poorly concealed at that. Still more evidence that suggested trap. Against his better judgment, he didn’t heed every warning in his body to turn back. He pressed the elevator button to go down, calmly stepped inside, and prepared himself for what he might find waiting below.

The elevator hummed and let off a soft “bing” when it has finally reached the basement Mark desired. As the doors creaked and began to open, he realized his heart was beating wildly. The elevator doors groaned open to reveal…nothing.

Everything was pitch black as far as Mark could see, and it wasn’t because of the sunglasses. He nervously stepped out into the basement, hoping his eyes would adjust. The door squealed shut behind him.

Then, he heard it. “So nice of you to join us Mr. Cannons” an oddly familiar voice called.

Mark called his sledgehammer to his hand and then spoke. “Turn on the lights and fight like a real man!” He called.

“Oh, there wont be much fighting” the voice cackled. “But lights, if you insist.”
With that, dim light cascaded down to grant the visibility Mark had wished for.
“On second thought, maybe the lights should have stayed off.” Mark thought to himself.

He found himself surrounded by two dozen assault team members. However, unlike the ones that had struck his house, these appeared to be cybernetically enhanced. Many had machine parts where limbs were supposed to be…most notably their arms. However, there were plenty more gruesome sights that would have chilled any normal man’s blood as well. Then again, I’m not normal. Lucky me.

Then Mark saw the owner of the strangely familiar voice. “Can’t say that it’s a pleasure Mr. Smith,” Mark replied calmly to the sleezy business executive from the day prior. However, he didn’t even look like the same man. He had metal plating on his face, complete with a new digital eye that no doubt had infrared and many other types of vision built in. He had one huge mechanical hand, obviously containing tremendous strength, if only by its sheer size alone. Finally, both of his legs had been replaced, leaving ‘newer, more advanced’ legs…which probably offered him incredible speed. “Gotta love that blasted Rikti technology” Mark thought to himself, rather annoyed.

“Take him.” Mr. Smith gave the command.

All of the cyborgs obeyed, as they began converging on Mark.

“Not without a fight” Mark whispered. With that he swung his hammer in a large arc, blasting away the first line of cyborgs. He then grabbed the next closest one, picked him high above his head, and heaved him toward a group of his friends. They all went sprawling. He realized his bullet wounds had reopened, but he didn’t have any time to take care of that now. He punched another in the face, then slammed yet another in the stomach with the butt of his hammer. However, as much as he struggled and as many as he struck down, the horde had now collapsed on him and by sheer numbers alone managed to subdue him.

Ten cyborgs kept him pinned to the ground. Mark writhed and jerked continuously, but to no avail. He stopped and looked up as he realized Mr. Smith was now standing before him.

“So, am I going to wind up like my friends?” Mark asked sarcastically, doing well to hide the tremor of fear in his voice.

“Oh no, we wouldn’t waste a good mutant like you on something so trivial. Your kind are so hard to come by. We’ve got something special planned for you.”

“Perfect.” Mark thought as they dragged him off, farther into the basement.

(PPS: OH <bleep> <&$%#^@> <BLEEP> <8383926>!!!! I CAN"T EDIT MY OTHER THING! CRAP!)