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User avatar

Nemo member of RPG for 10 years

Conversation Starter Author World Builder Conversationalist Novelist Lifegiver Tipworthy

502,478 words written.
3,753 total posts.
134 words per post.
1,877 posts per roleplay.
1,050 average days in a roleplay.
2 universes joined.
1.50 INK received in tips.

Basic Information

Username:
Nemo
Groups:
Game Master:
No

User statistics

Joined:
Sat Sep 03, 2011 11:45 pm
Last visited:
Wed Jul 08, 2020 6:21 am
Medals:
7
Total posts:
Search user’s posts
(0.00% of all posts / 0.00 posts per day)

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Medals

Conversation Starter

Conversation Starter

Created your first topic!

Author

Author

Wrote your first piece in a universe!

World Builder

World Builder

Created your first non-default location in an RPG universe!

Conversationalist

Conversationalist

Participated in 10 different conversations on the forum!

Novelist

Novelist

Wrote over 80,000 total words!

Lifegiver

Lifegiver

Created a character in an RPG universe.

Tipworthy

Tipworthy

Awarded for receiving your first tip from another user!

Most Tipped Posts

0.75 INK received for post #2112075, located in Ragnaar Anchorage:

"NNNAAGGHHH!" Calen growled as he hit the ground, Motoko's sheer weight pinning him into the floor. The man's cry was in anger, not in pain. The soldier was still reeling from his mental breakdown. Adrenaline and self-doubt coursed through his system like a fine drug. The honorable, clear-minded soldier he had always been was slowly giving way to a savage monster. Blips of agony seared through his body from where the bullets had struck him. He was crushed under the weight of an inhumanly powerful cyborg.

He felt nothing but hatred.

With a mental command, the T-65's two spare Deuterium-Tritium micro-fusion cells sparks into action. After a brief, half-second charge, Calen activated one of his blink-packs, literally teleporting out of Motoko's grip and re-appearing next to a few Imperial warriors... a bloody vibroblade outstretched.

Screaming in some incoherent blend of Taiyou, Basic and Gemonese, Calen attacked in a blind frenzy, combining elite skill with insatiable fury. He struck; slashing and hacking at anything with a body and a heartbeat.


0.50 INK received for post #2443992, located in Gonthar:

Within minutes of the vast Cybran fleet surfacing from the depths of the ocean, the TNG made contact. Three Triremes descended quickly from the atmosphere above, positioning themselves between the Gonthar mainland and the fleets of Cybrans slowly looming in from the horizon.

At the head of the three ships was Nero's Fiddle, flagship of the Achaian Armada. Up on its bridge, Captain Aaron Vrail sat pensively in his command chair, technician and officers milling hurriedly about him as they prepared for battle.

"Confirmed hits, sir," one of the bridge technicians shouted, "they're landing on the shores and making a straight line for the nearby settlements."

"Multiple energy signatures, Captain," another technician shouted, his eyes glued to his screen, "they're landing factories and war machines on the ground. Establishing a forward base. They're also using the vantage point to bombard the Shintenchi isles from across the ocean."

Vrail's eyes narrowed, glaring at the Cybran positions displayed on his holo screen. "Form the perimeter around the nearest Gonthar city," he ordered, "the civilians lives on this island are our first priority until reinforcements arrive." His hand swiped across his screen as he gave orders, laying down the defensive line on his virtual map. "I need all power to forward shields. Have the capacitors in reserve to keep the long-range DE cannons online. We lay down suppressive fire from afar and phalanx the pass between the ocean and the cities." He reached over in his chair and pushed a button on the arm. "Lieutenant Blake, prepare your battalion for an immediate drop-strike into the nearby city. We need to get these civilians to cover and safety as soon as possible."

"And the guns they're using to attack the Volarians?"

Vrail growled. "We don't have the firepower to fight offensively right now, and those guns are far out of range. For now, we hold the line here."

"Yes sir."

Energizing their shields, the three Triremes quickly became a sturdy barrier between the advancing Cybrans and the Gonthar towns. As the Nazi war force approached, they would be met with a barrage of hot plasma and high-intensity pillars of pulverizing energy, the small squad of TNG ships doing their best to keep the invasive force at bay.


0.25 INK received for post #2216050, located in Trashtown:

"Lead the way then," Austin was quick to follow, turning as he left to offer Mabon a nod. "It was nice meeting you. I'm sure we'll be seeing more of each other."

As Marshall walked into the now-dark streets of Trashtown, he could help but notice the faint beauty that'd been lost on him before. For a city composed almost entirely out of garbage, it really didn't look that bad. There was a pattern to it all; an ambiguous code lingering just beneath the cusp of Austin's understanding. From the vibrant colors to the discretely intelligent architecture, Trashtown was everything that it DIDN'T appear to be on the surface: organized, artistic and beautiful.

Of course, there was a subtleness to it all; a sneaky, nighttime aura. It was like the whole city was whispering to itself about secret things... roads to take... hideous to find... sites to see... It seemed the whole town was a different world in itself; a world ripe with coy imagination and dexterous verve.

"So what's this ATW?" Austin fell into stride alongside Josai, "...'All-Terrain Wheelchair'? Cuz' I was a fucking champ wheelchair-operator back in the day."