So, that'd be 5 posts?
simj22 Member
Fire Emblem Fanatic
STATUS: Where did you come from, where did you go, Kaneko-san? 9 yrs ago
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- simj22 9 yrs ago
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Where did you come from, where did you go, Kaneko-san?
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Bio
Worked as a licensed debt collector.
Currently a student, as old as I am.
Known for dry wit, trolling, being cancer, and general memelording. I will also challenge you to a pun fight if you think you're cool enough, because you're not. Fite me, u shitlord.
Currently a student, as old as I am.
Known for dry wit, trolling, being cancer, and general memelording. I will also challenge you to a pun fight if you think you're cool enough, because you're not. Fite me, u shitlord.
Most Recent Posts
I vote for Hiroshima.
But just like gravity, it gets stronger the closer it gets to the centre of the source.
What I really want to know is, how long will the Zero Graviga expy last? Because if it stays there for the whole time, I think we may have a problem with the balance beams.
What I really want to know is, how long will the Zero Graviga expy last? Because if it stays there for the whole time, I think we may have a problem with the balance beams.
What I believe transpired was that he created a black hole between both ships, and then dispersed that one, and created another one to drag the Sundancer away from the original ship. I believe the intent was to either snap or loosen the tethers the Hunters had on Sundancer.
Of course, I'm just guessing.
Of course, I'm just guessing.
> best of the best
> splatters one across the deck without retaliation
> splatters one across the deck without retaliation
ASSW's NAME:
Francisca
GENDER:
Unit identifies as female, and makes a note to remind people of it constantly. Its jokes about identifying as a tri-gendered pyrofoxkin, however, should not be taken seriously.
ARCANA:
The Tower
AGE:
377 days, 10 hours, 14 minutes, 22 seconds
ASSW's CIVILIAN MODE:
The unit's external appearance is that of an unassuming brunette. She is often seen wearing a blue track jacket and black streamlined leggings, complete with matching high-cuffed Converse sneakers. By all appearances, she is indistinguishable from her human peers with the exception of her stark teal eyes. Her complexion is warm, but apparently lacking exposure to sunlight, giving her a rather light skin shade.
Of course, the unit's anatomy differs from humans, and her sheer amount of clothing are what hides away her more mechanical carapace. All of her limbs and their segments are able to rotate 360 degrees, possibly a function installed to enable it to right itself after a fall or an accident. As such, her arms and legs, and even fingers, are segmented at their joints. Her preference for clothes that hide her entire physique is most revealing, ironically, about her nature. It has already come to the attention of her peers that she enjoys wearing gloves even in the warmest of weathers.
Her exact height is 5'6".
ASSW's COMBAT MODE:
The unit lacks an actual combat 'mode' in terms of appearance, so to speak. When engaging a hostile, she merely releases inhibitors on her physical self, and her outward appearances changes little, besides the occasional release of steam from underneath her jacket. When not handling weapons that would normally cripple a regular human being, she boasts the capability to break walls with a single punch. The unit has not been programmed with any martial arts skills, practical or theory, and seems to function with a rather pragmatic approach to combat akin to what most would term 'street brawling' in close quarters situations.
PERSONALITY:
An ego. That was what one required to bring out their Persona, their inner self. That was the original intent of creating an ASSW. And over the years, technology improved to the point that an AI could learn and develop its own directives through exposure to their surroundings. Unit Francisca was one such ASSW installed with said AI. Created and directly inserted into human society immediately after performance tests, the unit was expected to mingle with its human peers more easily than its siblings. With an original directive of "approachable", Francisca has been observed to make 'friends' extremely easily by catering to humor within a group. Through studying the habits of her peers, she has conformed to the behaviour of what can be referred to as 'a deadpan snarker'. As a matter of fact, her behavioural patterns are more akin to a human's as of late, having learned human speech patterns to mimic emotions to near perfect standards. It has also attempted to flirt with male teenagers about the age of 16 to 19, though it goes through a temporary shut down when it does get reciprocated, much to the amusement of its observers. Its attempts to flirt with females have also caused similar problems, to both its chagrin and its observers' humor. It seems as if it has yet to learn how to further a relationship. It seems intent on holding a "Babe/Hunk Hunt" just to study its peers.
Of course, an intelligent system such as the unit's wouldn't be without problems. Its self-awareness has brought about some form of cynicism. Francisca has exhibited some form of toxic scorn for its creators, and mocks its siblings far too often for it to be a jest. The unit's self-depreciation around those who have knowledge about its true disposition is more than enough to inform others that it is not entirely satisfied with its current status. It never does say it outright, however, but its lamentations are duly noted by its observers. More astute observers have found similarities between Francisca's behaviour and the tale of Pinocchio, namely their wants to be human. Its insistence and complaints headed towards HR about not receiving the latest fashion or having a mobile phone like her human peers have also been duly noted, and the former has been provided (with the unit's 'advice' that is). The request for the latter has been revoked, since the unit 'doesn't need a goddamn phone. It's got bloody built-in receivers, for god's sake!'. HR remarks that the unit's insistence to be as human as possible as 'rather creepy'.
Combat-wise, the unit has the mentality of, and as quoted, 'beat the shit out of them the first time so they don't get up a second time'. Its primary objective of 'combat Shadows' is often lumped in with this secondary directive. Observers have noted that she does indeed 'beat the shit out of' her intended targets, so much so that it poses a threat to others around her as she was not programmed with inhibiting use of weapons.
WEAPON TYPE:
The unit lacks a specific weapon, and instead relies on several firearms in combat as well as brute force. When deployed, it often drags along with it a huge arsenal of armaments, ranging from small arms fire such as a Vector SMG, to high-powered rifles, such as its custom-made anti-materiel rifle, fashioned to resemble an SVD, to explosive arms, like RPGs. Wholesale destruction of a target is its modus operandi.
PERSONA PROGRAM:
Klytaimnestra
A tall, white creature resembling a feminine figure decked in an armored dress. Its 'face' is featureless, framed only by what seems to be a shorter version of Francisca's hair. It holds, in both hands, twin throwing axes with the roman numeral 'I' carved on them. It does not seem to have legs and hovers above ground with the skirt of its dress constantly revolving.
PERSONA APPLICATIONS:
-Mudo
-Twin Slash
-Kill Rush
ASSW UNIT ABILITY:
Opsidio Mode:
The unit is able to anchor herself to the ground through struts that extend from her back, the only mechanical addition to her body. The struts dig deep into the ground underneath her, and hold her in place, restricting her to a crouching position. In this mode, her audio and visual receivers quadruple in quality, allowing her to hear and see things from several times the usual limitations of her siblings. It does not cause much overheat or stress on the unit, but its mobility is severely restricted. When attempting to reposition, the struts are required to extract themselves from the ground first and foremost, and this will take about a minute and a half, depending on the texture of the ground. Furthermore, should the floor be impenetrable by the struts, the unit is unable to initiate Opsidio Mode.
As its name implies, this mode should be only utilised when attempting a long-ranged siege.
Francisca
GENDER:
Unit identifies as female, and makes a note to remind people of it constantly. Its jokes about identifying as a tri-gendered pyrofoxkin, however, should not be taken seriously.
ARCANA:
The Tower
AGE:
377 days, 10 hours, 14 minutes, 22 seconds
ASSW's CIVILIAN MODE:
The unit's external appearance is that of an unassuming brunette. She is often seen wearing a blue track jacket and black streamlined leggings, complete with matching high-cuffed Converse sneakers. By all appearances, she is indistinguishable from her human peers with the exception of her stark teal eyes. Her complexion is warm, but apparently lacking exposure to sunlight, giving her a rather light skin shade.
Of course, the unit's anatomy differs from humans, and her sheer amount of clothing are what hides away her more mechanical carapace. All of her limbs and their segments are able to rotate 360 degrees, possibly a function installed to enable it to right itself after a fall or an accident. As such, her arms and legs, and even fingers, are segmented at their joints. Her preference for clothes that hide her entire physique is most revealing, ironically, about her nature. It has already come to the attention of her peers that she enjoys wearing gloves even in the warmest of weathers.
Her exact height is 5'6".
ASSW's COMBAT MODE:
The unit lacks an actual combat 'mode' in terms of appearance, so to speak. When engaging a hostile, she merely releases inhibitors on her physical self, and her outward appearances changes little, besides the occasional release of steam from underneath her jacket. When not handling weapons that would normally cripple a regular human being, she boasts the capability to break walls with a single punch. The unit has not been programmed with any martial arts skills, practical or theory, and seems to function with a rather pragmatic approach to combat akin to what most would term 'street brawling' in close quarters situations.
PERSONALITY:
An ego. That was what one required to bring out their Persona, their inner self. That was the original intent of creating an ASSW. And over the years, technology improved to the point that an AI could learn and develop its own directives through exposure to their surroundings. Unit Francisca was one such ASSW installed with said AI. Created and directly inserted into human society immediately after performance tests, the unit was expected to mingle with its human peers more easily than its siblings. With an original directive of "approachable", Francisca has been observed to make 'friends' extremely easily by catering to humor within a group. Through studying the habits of her peers, she has conformed to the behaviour of what can be referred to as 'a deadpan snarker'. As a matter of fact, her behavioural patterns are more akin to a human's as of late, having learned human speech patterns to mimic emotions to near perfect standards. It has also attempted to flirt with male teenagers about the age of 16 to 19, though it goes through a temporary shut down when it does get reciprocated, much to the amusement of its observers. Its attempts to flirt with females have also caused similar problems, to both its chagrin and its observers' humor. It seems as if it has yet to learn how to further a relationship. It seems intent on holding a "Babe/Hunk Hunt" just to study its peers.
Of course, an intelligent system such as the unit's wouldn't be without problems. Its self-awareness has brought about some form of cynicism. Francisca has exhibited some form of toxic scorn for its creators, and mocks its siblings far too often for it to be a jest. The unit's self-depreciation around those who have knowledge about its true disposition is more than enough to inform others that it is not entirely satisfied with its current status. It never does say it outright, however, but its lamentations are duly noted by its observers. More astute observers have found similarities between Francisca's behaviour and the tale of Pinocchio, namely their wants to be human. Its insistence and complaints headed towards HR about not receiving the latest fashion or having a mobile phone like her human peers have also been duly noted, and the former has been provided (with the unit's 'advice' that is). The request for the latter has been revoked, since the unit 'doesn't need a goddamn phone. It's got bloody built-in receivers, for god's sake!'. HR remarks that the unit's insistence to be as human as possible as 'rather creepy'.
Combat-wise, the unit has the mentality of, and as quoted, 'beat the shit out of them the first time so they don't get up a second time'. Its primary objective of 'combat Shadows' is often lumped in with this secondary directive. Observers have noted that she does indeed 'beat the shit out of' her intended targets, so much so that it poses a threat to others around her as she was not programmed with inhibiting use of weapons.
WEAPON TYPE:
The unit lacks a specific weapon, and instead relies on several firearms in combat as well as brute force. When deployed, it often drags along with it a huge arsenal of armaments, ranging from small arms fire such as a Vector SMG, to high-powered rifles, such as its custom-made anti-materiel rifle, fashioned to resemble an SVD, to explosive arms, like RPGs. Wholesale destruction of a target is its modus operandi.
PERSONA PROGRAM:
Klytaimnestra
A tall, white creature resembling a feminine figure decked in an armored dress. Its 'face' is featureless, framed only by what seems to be a shorter version of Francisca's hair. It holds, in both hands, twin throwing axes with the roman numeral 'I' carved on them. It does not seem to have legs and hovers above ground with the skirt of its dress constantly revolving.
PERSONA APPLICATIONS:
-Mudo
-Twin Slash
-Kill Rush
ASSW UNIT ABILITY:
Opsidio Mode:
The unit is able to anchor herself to the ground through struts that extend from her back, the only mechanical addition to her body. The struts dig deep into the ground underneath her, and hold her in place, restricting her to a crouching position. In this mode, her audio and visual receivers quadruple in quality, allowing her to hear and see things from several times the usual limitations of her siblings. It does not cause much overheat or stress on the unit, but its mobility is severely restricted. When attempting to reposition, the struts are required to extract themselves from the ground first and foremost, and this will take about a minute and a half, depending on the texture of the ground. Furthermore, should the floor be impenetrable by the struts, the unit is unable to initiate Opsidio Mode.
As its name implies, this mode should be only utilised when attempting a long-ranged siege.
Tyhr was indeed proud of having her talents be recognised by her employers. Almost like a cat, she liked the attention paid to her by her masters. However, she had her own preferences of when she liked to be noticed, and she did not like to be noticed halfway up in the skysea, trapped on a moving block of wood, metal and steam, with no way to run or hide, and the only option out of this particular lesson of the day was to drop out, literally. The fact that she was not going to be taking home a prize to skin, bleach and hang on her growing collection had yet to be factored in as well. Added to that was her entourage. True, she liked companionship, but not on a hunt. They served to distract and, on occasion, eat a dart or three meant for her target. There was also absolutely nothing to do on an airship. She could hear the other Baraki down at the hold, sharpening his swords incessantly, as if he could magically cut air apart after enough of the same action. Good for him, if that was what he was into. She, on the other hand, savoured every moment she was on the trail of her hunt. In the void that was the skysea, she was experiencing nothing. It was annoying. The smell of her hunt lingered temptingly in the air, and she was so deliciously close to her objective, but there was nothing she could do about it. Patience was not a virtue she possessed.
And then there was the issue with her companions. Wolfy made it very clear that he did not have any interest in her jokes, seeing as he growled at her prize-winning "cutting edge technology" one. Growls usually did not mean appreciation, as she had learned from first-hand experience in a chance encounter with another of his kind. Quite the opposite. The Ashan was nice enough to her, mostly, but she couldn't shake the feeling of condescendence that emanated from him every time he spoke. Not that she minded. Her lack of a birthright to anything at all made sure she had healthy doses of being viewed as a being lower than everyone. There was her best buddy captain of the ship, Shuda. He was an Arkard, which said enough about his attitude towards her jolly-making. The final addition to the fine crew of this ship was of Imperial employ, just as she was. Also like her, she was a hunter of sorts, with more focus on stealth and espionage than tricksy tools and murder. Tyhr kept a few select darts and traps just for her.
With boredom setting in, she ran a check on her equipment before the coroner could diagnose her as the first death caused by the dullness of it all. She clenched her fist, and her claws extended outwards with a nigh-muffled click. She released, and the claws slid back into the gauntlet, just as soundlessly as they had appeared. They had never jammed on her before, and she never thought they would, and the practice now seemed a little useless. She stretched out her hand and curled her fingers in, depressing a button located at the edge of her palm, near the wrist. A small indentation on her gauntlet, between the claws, sprang open, and fired a single dart forwards, hitting the wooden railing that overlooked the gaping nothing beneath the ship. She reached forwards and extracted the poisoned projectile, turning it over in her hands. A glint of toxic green at the side of the dart's silver casing made her laugh derisively.
"Whoops." She wrenched the storage of darts open and unloaded the cartridge within. It would be quite a pain if she fired one of these at today's hunt. A pain, that is, for both the recipient, and her ears when Bela was done with his nagging. At the very least, it was a comfort that the former would die very painfully, grasping and clawing at their own forms, attempting to rid their body of the feeling of a million needles being pushed very slowly into them. No amount of skin and flesh torn would save them, however. A rather sad way to go. She tossed the cartridge aside, having done with her reminiscing of the last victim of the darts, and fished out another one. She loaded this one in, and snapped the storage shut. Anaesthesia. Takes about 5 minutes to kick in, less if heart rate was increased, such as in a situation where, say, the victim was fighting for his life or scared out of his wits. Their movement would slow, their actions more clumsy, and their peripheral vision narrow, before they finally stop entirely. Tyhr toyed with the idea of increasing the dose to stop their hearts from beating as well, but stopped abruptly when the ship's speakers emitted the sound she had been wanting to hear since departure. She pulled her short sword out of the woodwork, sheathing it behind her, as she scrambled to her feet. The sound of harpoons being fired, and the reply of their targets having been met made her blood rush through her body. She sprinted around the side of the ship, and looked on as the Hunter's Ship drew in close.
This was the feeling she loved. The thrill she missed so much coursing through her every bone. The thrill of the hunt.
And then there was the issue with her companions. Wolfy made it very clear that he did not have any interest in her jokes, seeing as he growled at her prize-winning "cutting edge technology" one. Growls usually did not mean appreciation, as she had learned from first-hand experience in a chance encounter with another of his kind. Quite the opposite. The Ashan was nice enough to her, mostly, but she couldn't shake the feeling of condescendence that emanated from him every time he spoke. Not that she minded. Her lack of a birthright to anything at all made sure she had healthy doses of being viewed as a being lower than everyone. There was her best buddy captain of the ship, Shuda. He was an Arkard, which said enough about his attitude towards her jolly-making. The final addition to the fine crew of this ship was of Imperial employ, just as she was. Also like her, she was a hunter of sorts, with more focus on stealth and espionage than tricksy tools and murder. Tyhr kept a few select darts and traps just for her.
With boredom setting in, she ran a check on her equipment before the coroner could diagnose her as the first death caused by the dullness of it all. She clenched her fist, and her claws extended outwards with a nigh-muffled click. She released, and the claws slid back into the gauntlet, just as soundlessly as they had appeared. They had never jammed on her before, and she never thought they would, and the practice now seemed a little useless. She stretched out her hand and curled her fingers in, depressing a button located at the edge of her palm, near the wrist. A small indentation on her gauntlet, between the claws, sprang open, and fired a single dart forwards, hitting the wooden railing that overlooked the gaping nothing beneath the ship. She reached forwards and extracted the poisoned projectile, turning it over in her hands. A glint of toxic green at the side of the dart's silver casing made her laugh derisively.
"Whoops." She wrenched the storage of darts open and unloaded the cartridge within. It would be quite a pain if she fired one of these at today's hunt. A pain, that is, for both the recipient, and her ears when Bela was done with his nagging. At the very least, it was a comfort that the former would die very painfully, grasping and clawing at their own forms, attempting to rid their body of the feeling of a million needles being pushed very slowly into them. No amount of skin and flesh torn would save them, however. A rather sad way to go. She tossed the cartridge aside, having done with her reminiscing of the last victim of the darts, and fished out another one. She loaded this one in, and snapped the storage shut. Anaesthesia. Takes about 5 minutes to kick in, less if heart rate was increased, such as in a situation where, say, the victim was fighting for his life or scared out of his wits. Their movement would slow, their actions more clumsy, and their peripheral vision narrow, before they finally stop entirely. Tyhr toyed with the idea of increasing the dose to stop their hearts from beating as well, but stopped abruptly when the ship's speakers emitted the sound she had been wanting to hear since departure. She pulled her short sword out of the woodwork, sheathing it behind her, as she scrambled to her feet. The sound of harpoons being fired, and the reply of their targets having been met made her blood rush through her body. She sprinted around the side of the ship, and looked on as the Hunter's Ship drew in close.
This was the feeling she loved. The thrill she missed so much coursing through her every bone. The thrill of the hunt.
There, fixed that for me and you.
Problem is, I don't like that background. To be exact, I don't like how I wrote it. I might tear it down some time and rewrite it. Still going to be technically the same, though.
@Medjedovic
Problem is, I don't like that background. To be exact, I don't like how I wrote it. I might tear it down some time and rewrite it. Still going to be technically the same, though.
@Medjedovic
Bleh, that was lacklustre. Give it a looksee, and I'll fix what I can.
"If we're doing a headcount, are you including the ones on my belt?"
::GENERAL INFO::
Name:
Tyhr
Age:
39
Gender:
Female
Race:
Baraki
Element:
DARK
Background:
Tyhr dealt in blood, wisecracks, bloody wisecracks, and wisecracks in blood. She had her problems in her early days, what with all the shebang about slavery, and then something about being a gladiator. It was a sordid affair, really, the whole thing. The fact that she had no last name to bear, at least until she and her fiance truly got married, was proof of the fact that Tyhr was not inexperienced at making lemonade. A bastard child, having been given away due to her resemblance to an Oxidal more than a Baraki, she was not expected to survive long. The expectations were wrong, though that's a pretty useless piece of information. A slave until an age of 13, she got herself into some trouble after taking a knife to another Baraki slave for dredging up things she would rather not recall. Sent in as a criminal and a gladiator to appease the crowds, she continued to survive.
The mushy love story starts here, so if you don't like cushy things like these, shut your eyes and think dark thoughts. She met her current fiance, Oswin Jackson, during this time, and they struck it off rather well. He worked at an apothecary, which was possibly the furthest cry there was with regards to her occupation then. After days upon days of him visiting her and entertaining her, Tyhr's life began to light up a little, and she believed she fell in love with him. Not long after, her life began to turn a little as well, convincing her that Oswin was possibly the best thing that could have happened to her (and you can open your eyes now!). She was released by the Empire, which had an eye on her prowess for quite a bit. She was practically hired by the Empire to do their wetworks. She accepted. There was something in her blood that wanted to hunt. As much as she resembled an Oxidal, with the exception of her ears and her magnificent mane, she still bore the blood of a Baraki. And hunt she did.
::ADVANTAGES::
Racial Advantage: Regeneration
"Good thing I can heal, right?"
'Bruises will heal in seconds, cuts in minutes, deep wounds in hours and re-attaching one's limbs can be done in a day. However, Baraki are not immortal and if they suffer too many injuries in a short time and bleed too much, they'll die.'
Racial Advantage: Claws [Level 1]
"Claws! What would I rip, tear and shred fresh meat apart with if I didn't have em? Oh, right, the other claws."
Even without weapons, Tyhr can still rake her nails across the faces and unarmored skin of her opponents. Disarming her would require a literal interpretation of the word 'disarm'. Along with this, it comes with the ability to latch more easily to rough surfaces, and the ability to annoy people by running her nails across, say, a chalkboard.
Weaponsmaster [Level 3]:
Jack of all trades, master of none. Tyhr's specialty is that she has no specialty. While it is true, she cannot compete against, say, another with a focus on swordsmanship, she could, theoretically, and practically, overwhelm said opponent with just about anything she can get her hands on. Swords, hammers, axes, knives, daggers, whips, thrown weapons...everything is free game.
Hidden Weapons [Level 1]:
Another shining example of Tyhr's underhandedness. Her most obvious weapons are her gauntlet-mounted claws and her short sword, but her most lethal arsenal is hidden throughout the rest of her body. Throwing knives in her boots, poison-tipped darts fired from her gauntlet, extra daggers hidden all over her clothing and armor, several exploding armaments, smoke bombs, electric trapper nets, a telescopic shock stick capable of putting up to a few thousand volts through a body are just the tip of the iceberg.
Joker [Level 1]:
"I don't throw around jokes because I'm insecure. I do it because it's funny."
If there's anything you can count on Tyhr to do, it is to make light of things. On another scale, it means that she is able to keep her head in the most dire of situations. She also talks a lot, and this serves to either unnerve her hunt more or irritate the hell out of whoever she's with.
Huntress [Level 2]:
"You can't hide, and you can't run. Well, technically, you can do either or both, but running while hiding just seems counter-productive, and it makes one look more like a pussy. That's funny because I'm a cat. Why aren't you laughing?"
Tracking, stalking, killing, all part of the job. Tyhr is a natural in these sectors, being able to sniff out a trail of her next hunt easier than a bloodhound does. Any amateur attempt to cover up their trail will be discovered by her easily.
Agility [Level 1]:
What's a cat without its limber body and swift reflexes? While Tyhr isn't TOO skilled, she is still somewhat above par, relatively. She can't spectacularly dodge bullets or throw out a triple backflip, but she can damn well scale walls and dodge or parry feebler attempts at her life.
::POWERS::
DARK: Admittedly Pretty Badass Knife Disks [Level 2]
Tyhr is able to summon a couple of disks with sharp edges. They can be used as melee weapons in an emergency, but Tyhr often uses them as thrown weapons, flinging them like someone would a shuriken. They are cursed to bring more pain on their targets if they attempt to move. Usually thrown at the feet for maximum effectiveness.
DARK: More Practical Stabby Things [Level 2]
Tyhr summons a number of dagger-like implements that hover around her. They last for about 5 minutes, and Tyhr utilises them by plucking them from the air, and slashing at her target in a wild dervish, or throwing them at rapid speeds.
DARK: Tag Team Double [Level 1]
Tyhr summons a doppelganger of her. It is without thought and intent, and responds only to simple commands. It can either only, so far, 'run (in a direction)' or 'attack'. It lasts about 3 minutes. Many have thanked their lucky stars it can't make jokes.
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