As the young Elder turned to stare down his potential ally, something very big rippled through the air as he heard the chanting of the second one of the possible three-stars. Just his luck, apparently. As he turned to look at the resulting explosion and the rippling ray of destruction that slaughtered the two stars that dared to face it's wrath, he began to reconsider which of the two he approached. At least this one doesn't throw overcharged beams at attackers. I don't suppose beggars can be choosers. Might as well make the best of what I've got. He barely noticed that he had grabbed the attention of his intended target, the abrasive president of the Synthetic's Club.
"So I..." Jordan's words were nearly lost to the wind as he noticed that his underclassman had just prompted him to move. "Er, see." He quickly relaxed into a more casual slump, making sure to look the Synthetic's club president up and down before continuing with his walk. "I suppose what brings me here today is a combination of good manners and curiosity. For the former, I've been told that you, Miss Watanabe Mato of the Synthetic's Club, will soon be joining the ranks of the Three-Stars if all goes well? Thus I've come here to offer my congratulations if all goes well." His smile broadened into a warm grin, looking for all the world like he was simply happy to have a potentially new comrade.
The next moment, the Three Star's demeanor shifted considerably. The soft smile of a welcoming upperclassman vanished into the tight-lipped smirk of a businessman. The hooded eyes hardened as Jordan's voice became measured and calm. "The latter is not so easily solved. What do you want from becoming a three-star? The power that comes with it? The lodging? The respect of your peers? All desirable, of course." He leaned closer, his pale eyes fixed directly on hers with unblinking intensity. "...But what makes you want the much accredited third star?"
Jordan leaned back from his intense question, falling again into the lazy stroll toward the building. The cold exterior vanished faded into the ether as he casually waited for his answer.
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It had been an early morning for the Chess Club President.
Somehow there had been more than a few of the aspiring one stars in the club trying to rank up in a single night, both by attempting to take out a higher ranked two-star and destroying as much of the clubroom as possible. By the time the fires had been put out, he'd been rudely awakened to discipline the younger students. Needless to say, neither bore any semblance of a star on their uniforms anymore. It also resulted in why he was standing in the courtyard as the bell rang, signalling the swarm of no-stars to start their incessant march to class.
Jordan's smile faded into a thin-lipped smirk as he recalled the incident. It wasn't every day that the long-haired young man got the chance to show of his uniform's capabilities.
Wrapped in thought, he disdainfully set out across the courtyard, not bothering to reveal himself to the lower stars. Even their swarming ways as they flowed toward their classes in a massive rush did naught but provide a mild irritation that prodded at his need to maintain order. He'd need allies in high places to sort this sort of rabble out permanently. Perhaps I should try to catch the Student Council's eye? Or perhaps an underclassman who looks like they are going places. Either was a good option...The smile hardened even as Jordan considered the most tantalizing option. ...Why not both?
The smile remained stuck in the plastic expression of a politician that was carefully plotting his opponent's downfall as he spotted one of the notable up-and-comers in the crowd, the rather unassuming president of the 'Synthetics'(He inwardly cringed at the idea, he'd hate to have even his own uniform internalized. Life Fibers were dangerous.) club. The rest was simply a matter of deduction. If he wanted a pawn in of a similar rank, he'd do worse than the one who was already jockeying for a higher-ranked uniform. With the smile forming into something more genuine, the chessmaster carefully took a step forward, blocking the sprinting girl's path.
Somehow there had been more than a few of the aspiring one stars in the club trying to rank up in a single night, both by attempting to take out a higher ranked two-star and destroying as much of the clubroom as possible. By the time the fires had been put out, he'd been rudely awakened to discipline the younger students. Needless to say, neither bore any semblance of a star on their uniforms anymore. It also resulted in why he was standing in the courtyard as the bell rang, signalling the swarm of no-stars to start their incessant march to class.
Jordan's smile faded into a thin-lipped smirk as he recalled the incident. It wasn't every day that the long-haired young man got the chance to show of his uniform's capabilities.
Wrapped in thought, he disdainfully set out across the courtyard, not bothering to reveal himself to the lower stars. Even their swarming ways as they flowed toward their classes in a massive rush did naught but provide a mild irritation that prodded at his need to maintain order. He'd need allies in high places to sort this sort of rabble out permanently. Perhaps I should try to catch the Student Council's eye? Or perhaps an underclassman who looks like they are going places. Either was a good option...The smile hardened even as Jordan considered the most tantalizing option. ...Why not both?
The smile remained stuck in the plastic expression of a politician that was carefully plotting his opponent's downfall as he spotted one of the notable up-and-comers in the crowd, the rather unassuming president of the 'Synthetics'(He inwardly cringed at the idea, he'd hate to have even his own uniform internalized. Life Fibers were dangerous.) club. The rest was simply a matter of deduction. If he wanted a pawn in of a similar rank, he'd do worse than the one who was already jockeying for a higher-ranked uniform. With the smile forming into something more genuine, the chessmaster carefully took a step forward, blocking the sprinting girl's path.
I posted just before Crimson, so...
Looks like Massachrist it is.
It was electricity that arced off the re-dead corpses that provided the best sensation.
The wet thunk of metal, slick with rain and blood, pounding into the flesh of the trembling monstrosities. The delectable crunch and shock of a blade digging into steely supports. The screaming sizzle of the undead muscle and fat as the lighting bursting them like oversize water balloons. The final tremble of the desecrated corpse as it lapsed back into its eternal rest, the supports that kept it bound to the world brutally severed. The scent of charring flesh and hot metal mixing in a rising torrent of heat and death. The sight of the once-feared monsters broken by superior forces that they could not comprehend. The glimpse of unshaken resolve in the dead eyes of a ghoul, even as the metal that supported it was twisted and broken by brutal blows.
All pleasant in their own way, Kore mused, but the best would definately have to be the dying dregs of energy that sparked off the zombified creatures in their last moments.
The electricity crackled along his databound body, carefully stimulating the untouchable. The screams of the damned were transmitted even without vocal cords, turning the metal swarm's sensory organs into a pleasant cacophony of anger and hatred. It was a simulation like no other.
The hulking mass of metallic blades and armor plates hovered forward into the next of the smaller monsters, carefully taking the time to crush its remaining spine before terminating it with a stab to the head.
He'd come to this town(Where he was currently making a long path of re-death over to where most of the fighting seemed to be taking place) on the grounds that he was able to harvest the data on the monstrous Stitchenstein's creatures if he killed said scientist. A pity, really, but Kore was certain that the NPC would come to understand why he had to die if a superior being came along to smash all that he knew into itty-bitty fragments.
The champion gave a dark chuckle, filled with maniac clarity and carefully augmented tones, taking out another one of the weaker units with another swift blow to the exposed skull.
Itty-bitty. Ha.
The wet thunk of metal, slick with rain and blood, pounding into the flesh of the trembling monstrosities. The delectable crunch and shock of a blade digging into steely supports. The screaming sizzle of the undead muscle and fat as the lighting bursting them like oversize water balloons. The final tremble of the desecrated corpse as it lapsed back into its eternal rest, the supports that kept it bound to the world brutally severed. The scent of charring flesh and hot metal mixing in a rising torrent of heat and death. The sight of the once-feared monsters broken by superior forces that they could not comprehend. The glimpse of unshaken resolve in the dead eyes of a ghoul, even as the metal that supported it was twisted and broken by brutal blows.
All pleasant in their own way, Kore mused, but the best would definately have to be the dying dregs of energy that sparked off the zombified creatures in their last moments.
The electricity crackled along his databound body, carefully stimulating the untouchable. The screams of the damned were transmitted even without vocal cords, turning the metal swarm's sensory organs into a pleasant cacophony of anger and hatred. It was a simulation like no other.
The hulking mass of metallic blades and armor plates hovered forward into the next of the smaller monsters, carefully taking the time to crush its remaining spine before terminating it with a stab to the head.
He'd come to this town(Where he was currently making a long path of re-death over to where most of the fighting seemed to be taking place) on the grounds that he was able to harvest the data on the monstrous Stitchenstein's creatures if he killed said scientist. A pity, really, but Kore was certain that the NPC would come to understand why he had to die if a superior being came along to smash all that he knew into itty-bitty fragments.
The champion gave a dark chuckle, filled with maniac clarity and carefully augmented tones, taking out another one of the weaker units with another swift blow to the exposed skull.
Itty-bitty. Ha.
Player: Tentaclelord
Name: Jordan Elder
Age: 18
Club: Chess Club
Stars: 3
Appearance:
Perfectly average body weight and size, not to skinny, not to fat. Fit, but not muscular in any significant way. Exceptionally long hair, nearly down to his waist, usually free of any band or otherwise attempt to tame it. Delicate features that make him often mistaken for a girl at first glance.
Uniform Appearance:
Abilities:
Uniform:
-The King is a heavy-hitter even if extraordinarily slow, and can crush stone with even a glancing blow.
-Counts as a massive transmitter relay, gives a load of sensory information to Jordan even when no drones are active.
Personal Skills:
-A veritable bank of information on a wide variety of subjects, Jordan is always accruing more.
-Avid(And quite good) Chess player
-Good at micro and macro management, able to take in a lot of information at once and transfer it into actions and usable data.
-Takes very good care of his hair, even at the length it is.
-A good multi-tasker.
Personality: All smiles, all the time. Manipulative and cruel if provoked, he prefers it a lot more if he interferes very little, aiming to let others sort out his problems if he can. Likes to live a rather reclusive lifestyle due to this, forming only relationships when he has to. There are very few people he could call friend due to this, and he's secretive, even from them. Doesn't like it when people know more than he does about things. When asked, he's eager to brag about how much he knows on a certain topic.
History: Born in the wonderful land of Australia, the young Jordan spent most his early years alone with his grandfather, a notable figure in the world of Chess. While lonely, it also provided the boy with a way to communicate with his grandfather that seemed to be closer than talking. They would forgo speaking for hours at a time over games, instead just basking in the silence as each move brought them closer together. However, as the years passed, Jordan's grandfather(The elder Elder) realized that his protege needed the companionship of younger folk, and recommended that the young Jordan go to a campus that would teach him to both hone his skills and allow him to make friends. Due to the older man's great influence, he called in a few favors to get his grandson acknowledged by the prestigious Academy. After displaying his skills on and off the board, he was accepted and is currently a Third Year.
Other: Smiles constantly, be it a wide grin or a slight smirk, no matter his mood. This proves more than a little unnerving.
Name: Jordan Elder
Age: 18
Club: Chess Club
Stars: 3
Appearance:
Perfectly average body weight and size, not to skinny, not to fat. Fit, but not muscular in any significant way. Exceptionally long hair, nearly down to his waist, usually free of any band or otherwise attempt to tame it. Delicate features that make him often mistaken for a girl at first glance.
Uniform Appearance:
"The King": Heavy suit of armor of seemingly robotic armor, complete with a massive backpack and a sprawling array of sensors and transmitters, trailing a large amount of thick cables. Notoriously slow moving, relies on the release of several different drones that split off from various parts of the main uniform to be effective.
Abilities:
Uniform:
-The King is a heavy-hitter even if extraordinarily slow, and can crush stone with even a glancing blow.
-Counts as a massive transmitter relay, gives a load of sensory information to Jordan even when no drones are active.
Personal Skills:
-A veritable bank of information on a wide variety of subjects, Jordan is always accruing more.
-Avid(And quite good) Chess player
-Good at micro and macro management, able to take in a lot of information at once and transfer it into actions and usable data.
-Takes very good care of his hair, even at the length it is.
-A good multi-tasker.
Personality: All smiles, all the time. Manipulative and cruel if provoked, he prefers it a lot more if he interferes very little, aiming to let others sort out his problems if he can. Likes to live a rather reclusive lifestyle due to this, forming only relationships when he has to. There are very few people he could call friend due to this, and he's secretive, even from them. Doesn't like it when people know more than he does about things. When asked, he's eager to brag about how much he knows on a certain topic.
History: Born in the wonderful land of Australia, the young Jordan spent most his early years alone with his grandfather, a notable figure in the world of Chess. While lonely, it also provided the boy with a way to communicate with his grandfather that seemed to be closer than talking. They would forgo speaking for hours at a time over games, instead just basking in the silence as each move brought them closer together. However, as the years passed, Jordan's grandfather(The elder Elder) realized that his protege needed the companionship of younger folk, and recommended that the young Jordan go to a campus that would teach him to both hone his skills and allow him to make friends. Due to the older man's great influence, he called in a few favors to get his grandson acknowledged by the prestigious Academy. After displaying his skills on and off the board, he was accepted and is currently a Third Year.
Other: Smiles constantly, be it a wide grin or a slight smirk, no matter his mood. This proves more than a little unnerving.
It had been the heat that woke her.
The second-story dorm room was less than spacious, and the single window refused to open under any circumstances. Clothes and self-care products lined one half of the room, while most of the remaining space was taken up by a combination of food boxes and empty bottles, somehow managing to stay in great towers that stretched nearly to the ceiling. The last section of space(A corner by the door) was taken up by an overstuffed mattress, bedecked with floral sheets and a massive quilt that remained in a hulking lump in the center of the messy excuse for a bed. There was no airflow in the stagnating place, and the young girl who rented it was roasting alive.
Kathrine Overture thrust off the heavy blanket and grimaced at the resulting smell of sweat. Her nightgown and beautifully kept hair were soaked, the air becoming even more unbearable as it made the transition from dry to uncomfortably humid. After grasping the towel that she kept around for such occasions, the youngest Overture carefully toweled herself off before stripping and looking around for a presentable outfit for the day.
It took her a full three minutes to find what she was looking for in the mess. Kathrine selected a white sundress of interminable make(After making sure that her underwear wouldn't show through, even in the heat), eschewing the protection that her delicate skin needed for a more carefree look. She proceeded to take as light makeup as she could manage with the heat, knowing that she was probably going to have to reapply it later. She needed the rest of the Fae to like her, and a pretty face always was the best option.
She selected a fashionably sturdy parasol(Again in white, the heat said that wearing anything else would be suicide), and set out from the room that turned mess into an art form. The Fae carelessly slid past her neighbor's doors toward the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the bottom. Knowing that she had exactly thirty seconds to vacate the premises before being roped into another one of the landlady's insufferable breakfasts with every single tenant, Kathrine broke into a light jog as she headed for the door, careful not to alert the old woman early by stepping on the creaky floorboard by the door, while preparing a plastic smile and a quick excuse for refusal should she fail.
The young Overture made it without incident, bringing a sigh of relief. The old woman was too fussy, and even the seemingly endless distance in the brutal heat-Something Dumont would be proud of-was worth escaping before she got dragged away.
Kathrine's delicate face twisted into a scowl as she was once again reminded of the brutal heat and her even more brutish instructor. If the man wasn't so vigilant, he would have certainly been taken out by a "stray" attack of one of the many who suffered under his hands. "Dammed twisted vile rancid scum harda-" The scowl vanished into a demure smile as the albino girl passed one of the many farmers on the road, giving him a light giggle as he tipped his hat to her. As soon as the large man passed, the Fae's features once again fell into the grimace of annoyance that perpetually plastered her face every time her ever-so-fair coordinator was brought up. "-ss should go burn in this heat."
The frown deepened as she realized yet another problem was manifesting itself. The parasol wasn't helping as much as she'd hoped, and the faint tingling in her arms told Kathrine that her arms would be burnt if she didn't get to the command center shortly. Breaking into a light trot, her carefully chosen outfit flapping in the boiling air, she made quick time by using her anger toward the general heat and most undesirable superior as fuel. Even then, it took nearly twenty minutes of running(And twenty minutes of hard cursing between gasping breaths) in the heat to get to the concrete building that signified the commanding presence of the Daedalus.
She peeled open the door and nearly collapsed inside the doorway. Her carefully chosen outfit was in disarray, while her carefully made up face was leaking sweat and several different kinds of chemical. Without a word of greeting(Aside from a mute glare aimed at the commander), she brushed past the chairs and tables, making straight for the dark bathroom in the corner. It proved to be even worse, the heat inside the well-lit room only amplified dual-fold due to stagnant air. However, she had her pride. The pod be damned if she wasn't going to look good in front of these pioneer hicks. Kathrine Overture had class.
It was a full twenty minutes later that the young girl emerged once more, her face fixed up and all signs of sweat absent. She carefully picked her way over to one of the chairs, crossing her legs. She was determined to look as in control as possible, even with the rather scuffled appearance of her white clothes.
The second-story dorm room was less than spacious, and the single window refused to open under any circumstances. Clothes and self-care products lined one half of the room, while most of the remaining space was taken up by a combination of food boxes and empty bottles, somehow managing to stay in great towers that stretched nearly to the ceiling. The last section of space(A corner by the door) was taken up by an overstuffed mattress, bedecked with floral sheets and a massive quilt that remained in a hulking lump in the center of the messy excuse for a bed. There was no airflow in the stagnating place, and the young girl who rented it was roasting alive.
Kathrine Overture thrust off the heavy blanket and grimaced at the resulting smell of sweat. Her nightgown and beautifully kept hair were soaked, the air becoming even more unbearable as it made the transition from dry to uncomfortably humid. After grasping the towel that she kept around for such occasions, the youngest Overture carefully toweled herself off before stripping and looking around for a presentable outfit for the day.
It took her a full three minutes to find what she was looking for in the mess. Kathrine selected a white sundress of interminable make(After making sure that her underwear wouldn't show through, even in the heat), eschewing the protection that her delicate skin needed for a more carefree look. She proceeded to take as light makeup as she could manage with the heat, knowing that she was probably going to have to reapply it later. She needed the rest of the Fae to like her, and a pretty face always was the best option.
She selected a fashionably sturdy parasol(Again in white, the heat said that wearing anything else would be suicide), and set out from the room that turned mess into an art form. The Fae carelessly slid past her neighbor's doors toward the stairs, taking them two at a time until she reached the bottom. Knowing that she had exactly thirty seconds to vacate the premises before being roped into another one of the landlady's insufferable breakfasts with every single tenant, Kathrine broke into a light jog as she headed for the door, careful not to alert the old woman early by stepping on the creaky floorboard by the door, while preparing a plastic smile and a quick excuse for refusal should she fail.
The young Overture made it without incident, bringing a sigh of relief. The old woman was too fussy, and even the seemingly endless distance in the brutal heat-Something Dumont would be proud of-was worth escaping before she got dragged away.
Kathrine's delicate face twisted into a scowl as she was once again reminded of the brutal heat and her even more brutish instructor. If the man wasn't so vigilant, he would have certainly been taken out by a "stray" attack of one of the many who suffered under his hands. "Dammed twisted vile rancid scum harda-" The scowl vanished into a demure smile as the albino girl passed one of the many farmers on the road, giving him a light giggle as he tipped his hat to her. As soon as the large man passed, the Fae's features once again fell into the grimace of annoyance that perpetually plastered her face every time her ever-so-fair coordinator was brought up. "-ss should go burn in this heat."
The frown deepened as she realized yet another problem was manifesting itself. The parasol wasn't helping as much as she'd hoped, and the faint tingling in her arms told Kathrine that her arms would be burnt if she didn't get to the command center shortly. Breaking into a light trot, her carefully chosen outfit flapping in the boiling air, she made quick time by using her anger toward the general heat and most undesirable superior as fuel. Even then, it took nearly twenty minutes of running(And twenty minutes of hard cursing between gasping breaths) in the heat to get to the concrete building that signified the commanding presence of the Daedalus.
She peeled open the door and nearly collapsed inside the doorway. Her carefully chosen outfit was in disarray, while her carefully made up face was leaking sweat and several different kinds of chemical. Without a word of greeting(Aside from a mute glare aimed at the commander), she brushed past the chairs and tables, making straight for the dark bathroom in the corner. It proved to be even worse, the heat inside the well-lit room only amplified dual-fold due to stagnant air. However, she had her pride. The pod be damned if she wasn't going to look good in front of these pioneer hicks. Kathrine Overture had class.
It was a full twenty minutes later that the young girl emerged once more, her face fixed up and all signs of sweat absent. She carefully picked her way over to one of the chairs, crossing her legs. She was determined to look as in control as possible, even with the rather scuffled appearance of her white clothes.
So I've got a choice of two for which mission to place Kore. Do the Saint Material folks want yet another monster of metal and destruction to influence the young Delphia, or do the Massachrist peeps need some more backup in the form of electric re-death to combat robot zombies?
Freeshooter92 said
He has an extreme case of Neutral Good. And a psychotic hatred of 'evil.'
And Kore's about as Neutral Evil as you can get before sliding into Chaotic. Therefore, teaming up on a stealth mission is an absolutely wonderful idea for all parties involved.
Freeshooter92 said
B-but I already have the unkillable robot man with the brain of a six year old!
That obviously means that these two champions should get together on a stealth mission!
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