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| Clone Wars; Medyum | |
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| Topic Started: Apr 15 2013, 05:33 PM (274 Views) | |
| Vash | Apr 15 2013, 05:33 PM Post #1 |
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Gross...
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Clone Wars Difficulty: Medium Description: Your deeds across the planet have made you famous. So famous in fact, that a research company has invested heavily in obtaining a piece of your DNA. With it, they have created several clones of you. But nothing is ever as good as the original; the clones are mindless and driven only by basic instinct. In this case, to kill. Only you can stop them. Let’s just hope they haven’t figured out how to use all of your power yet… Reward: +500 zeni, +5 DP, +40 all stats, +5 Rp Credits Bonus: +100 zeni, +10 all stats |
![]() WIKI // THEME SONG 2015 ROLE PLAY OF THE YEAR WINNER!! | |
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| Vash | Apr 15 2013, 09:33 PM Post #2 |
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Gross...
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“I’ve got you!” Vash yelled as he finally caught up with the young Gohan. He had chased him all over Namek, the youth had eluded him just as they touched down. That little bastard... Vash thought. As soon as Gohan noticed Vash was coming, he placed his fingers to his forehead. He was attempting to jump planets once again. Just in the nick of time, though, Vash was able to grab hold of the kid’s free wrist, and poof, they were gone. Instantly, the two were transported half way around the galaxy. Gohan wriggled free and made his escape away, once again. This was the second time now that Vash had a hold of him, and the young Saiyan ran away. Doing these kind of jumps around the universe was a bit disorienting when they came to. This brief moment of his lack of focus was all Gohan needed to break free of Vash’s grasp and disappear into the crowd. They had apparently landed smack dab in the middle of some kind of bazaar, or something. There were people everywhere! Loud noises filled the air. People conversing, buying, selling, trading, it was madness. There were so many different races in this place, it was almost unbelievable that they could all be here at the same time. But here they were. A hub of cultural mixes. A melting pot, if you will. Well, once again, Gohan was gone, and Vash was left to himself. He shrugged. Chasing this youth around was a bit tiring. This time, though, for some reason, Vash felt that he was wearing the boy down. If he kept showing up, kept reaching out to him, maybe, just maybe he would eventually listen. All Vash wanted to do was help the young Saiyan. That is all. He understood the value of a second chance, and the kid was young enough, maybe a second chance would make all the difference in his convuluted and mixed up life. There was more than the eye could see when it came to Gohan, that much was obvious. And still, Vash felt connected with the boy. He wouldn’t give up on him just yet. That being said, there was no point in giving chase to him just yet. That time would come. In the mean time, he was in such a strange and interesting place. He may as well check it out and see what all the commotion was about. Making his way through the crowds of people, he took in all kinds of different experiences. Languages, clothing, smells, foods... it was like the entirety of the universe had been dumped into one spot and mixed around in a giant bowl. A sharp pain pricked him in the back. What the hell, Vash thought, his hand instinctively reaching for the sore spot. He turned around to see a shady looking character grin, say nothing, and run away through the crowd. Vash looked at the glove on his hand. It had just the tiniest speck of blood on it. He had been pricked by something. Well, that wasn’t suspicious or anything. What if he had just been injected with some kind of virus? This was bullshit! Vash immediately gave chase, trying hard not to lose the hooded figure in the mass of people. He pushed his way through, his heart beating out of his chest as he kept trying harder and harder to keep on track. But it was no use. There were just too many people here. The man was gone, and Vash was left standing in a sea of bodies, wondering what the hell had just happened. He doubted that he had been injected with anything, he was sure that accelerating his heart rate, getting the blood pumping faster and faster would accelerate any kind of side effect from being poisoned... Was the man pulling blood from him then? What the hell would he need Vash’s blood for? This just got really interesting, he thought. I’ll definitely have to get to the bottom of this. WC 673 |
![]() WIKI // THEME SONG 2015 ROLE PLAY OF THE YEAR WINNER!! | |
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| Kularian | Apr 16 2013, 04:01 AM Post #3 |
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Undefeated ADBZ Tourney 2013 Champion
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Atla was not entirely sure how it had happened, but he was guessing it had to do with the fact that they were carrying high level PTO cargo. However, shortly after they'd touched down on Avalon, things had gotten... weird. It wasn't exactly easy to say when things went from normal to completely goddamn bizarre, but the sequence of events seemed a little fractured, at least to him. Essentially, after they'd touched down, they'd checked in with their supplier, who let them know that things were underway, everything was fine, and they had done a good job so far, and to keep it up. That was refreshing to hear, for Atla, and he was certain that despite the slightly chilly atmosphere of Avalon, the fact that it was leagues above Pefu in temperature meant that Scorria would indeed not be mad. Probably. In any event, he decided to go out on the town, see if there was anything that he could purchase to aid him in his endeavors, but there didn't seem to be much of anything around. The bazaar was seemingly devoid of anything interesting for the Arlian, which was marginally upsetting, but he didn't suppose that such a thing would come to be. He shook his head and took a few steps away, when he felt a slight stinking pain in his arm. He glanced, and saw a needle driven into him, a young man doing the damage. He saw the vial fill with his own blood, and then the fellow took off, running through the streets. Atla blinked, and looked back down at his arm. It was already clotting, as Arlian blood tended to do, but the fact of the matter remained that it was very strange. He supposed that had been the turning point, at least of the normalcy, as he had continued about his day as if nothing had changed. He hadn't been injected with anything, and even if he had, he could purify his body's systems fairly easily, if need be. But he shook it off, and simply went about the rest of the day as he normally would. However, it was that night when things, again, took a very bizarre turn. He couldn't exactly say when that happened, but he could hazard a pretty good guess. He had awoken in the middle of the night, with the faint buzzing surrounding him, tantalizing his senses. And he knew, immediately, that the noise was the sound of Arlian. However, the gladiator also knew that he was likely one of the only ones of his kind here on this planet, and the number of sounds that were coming from around him were at least ten in numbrer, if not more. The Arlian picked himself up out of bed and, suspecting some manner of ambush, took his weapon with him. The gladiator moved, walking through the empty streets of the bazaar before he found himself at a grassy knoll, with a few trees scattered about. And about a dozen versions of himself, simply standing around, their bodies giving off that strange noise that only other Arlians could hear. “Hm,” he spoke, not really sure what to say as he looked at the others, his entire body tightened, coiled as if he expected them to attack him at any time. However, they simply sat there, watching him, as if observing. Curious, they were, and it was that which began to really irritate Atla. “You all called me out here. So if it's a fight you want,” he spoke, unsheathing the blade with a practiced ease as he let the sheath fall to the ground, “then come and get it.” It was truly odd, facing an army of yourself. He saw himself copied in several manners, from his height, to his build, to his weapons... but none of them had a copy of his blade. Truly, that was something that was going to be beyond whatever had happened. However, looked down, he saw the several copies staring back at him, their eyes empty, lacking all manner of thought or emotion. It was odd, seeing them like that, but Atla wasn't about to just leave them there. Their bodies were ready for war, and that was exactly what Atla was prepared for. “You seem fairly complacent for having to fight yourself,” a voice called out. A young man, dressed well, had his hands thrust into his pockets, a smirk on his face. A lock of dark hair covered his eyes, but Atla could see that he was intelligent, whoever he was. “Atla of the Arlians. You're actually rather well known, you know. You probably wouldn't believe it, but there are several circles saying that you're the next incarnation of Yetti.” Atla blinked. Yetti was an Arlian of legend. One of impossible size that had brought down the former rulers of Arlia, making it the Arlian's home. After the champion had died of old age, there hadn't been another of his power heard of in years. So to hear that... it actually shocked the gladiator a bit. “So I decided to see for myself what your blood could do. What power it contained. Truly, you should be able to defeat yourself, right?” he asked, and gave a bit of a chuckle. “Who are you? And why are you doing this?” Atla roared out as he looked at the copies of himself, which were gradually starting to pick up some rudimentary locomotive skills, beginning to move, walk, and do more than simply sit around, waiting. Atla's eyes flickered from one to the next, his eyes somewhat narrowed as he tried to take in everything that they were doing. He didn't understand, couldn't understand, really, what had transpired here, or the reason for making these clones of himself. Was it to test his power, to see how far he could go? It was absurd, but at the same time, the blade he held tremored slightly, eager for blood. “Me? I'm just a scientist. There are so many powerful fighters in this universe, you know. So very many. And each of them brings their own particular brand of power to the table. You may have heard of the one known as Broli?” he spoke, and Atla blinked. That had been the warrior that had given Vash and him a fight that he knew they couldn't win. “Or perhaps the leader of the Cosmic Empire, Chaos?” That was a name that Atla did not know. “Quon, the Wolf Paladin?” Another name that fired no connections within the Arlian's mind. “What of the Justice League, of Earth?” A faint bell rang there, but he didn't recall any real run ins with them, at any time. “You're so amusingly sheltered. “The world is full of these fighters that possess this amazing ability for combat. They're able to pull from deep within themselves, fighting against foes that would normally destroy a normal man but these... fighters are able to pull a victory from the jaws of defeat. Their raw power allows them to shatter worlds, with merely the gathering of their strength. And you, Atla, are one of these warriors that I have been following. Really, the whole group of you here on Avalon are under my microscope, but it is you that I am truly after. The Arlians have long been known as a fairly... weak race. But you... you've transcended all possible doubt and risen to become something so much more.” Atla grunted, before he shook his head. “I don't much care what you have to say, and while I appreciate having a fan, I'm not any different than any other Arlian. I fought in the gladitorial pits, and I did my time. I'm at where I am today due to growing up in those pits. I fought for my life for years, and I hadn't heard one peep out of someone like you.” He grunted, and pointed the blade at the human. “So how about you stop tracking me, and just let me do what I want? You're not any authority figure that I answer to,” he finished, holding his blade at the ready; he sensed a fight coming soon. “I don't plan to follow whatever twisted plans you have in mind.” “But you are different, don't you see? The others are so content to simply wait on the planet, living their life and waiting to die, but not you, Atla. You chose to leave, to gather power of your own to go against the might of the Chagnelings, and now I find you here, working with the PTO. I must say I am ashamed, but perhaps you have more on your plate than you're letting on?” The man shook his head. “Regardless, how about we see what power you hold in that body of yours. These clones should be good enough to fight now that they've had some time to get used to moving in their bodies.” The man seemingly faded into the shadows, and Atla grunted as he watched the nearest one to him twitch. It would be attacking any moment... WC: 1522 AWC: 1522 TWC: 2195 |
![]() Ayakon: He has a chance. A fool's chance, but a chance. And if there's one thing FG is... it's a fool. | |
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| Daji | Apr 16 2013, 09:52 AM Post #4 |
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Player Site Master
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Thank the great suns for this small mercy. As Scorria looked up the climate of the strange planet known as Avalon, she heaved a sigh of relief when it was reported what kind of weather the planet was expecting and what was usually the norm, her nerves settling down quite a bit now that she knew that they were not being sent to another frozen wasteland full of ice and snow. While the planet was not as warm as her home world of Scorpinok, it was a far sight better than the last three weeks of missions she had gone through. From Frieza to Mortoseth to Pefu, it seemed absolutely aggravating to go from one terribly cold planet to another, another frozen hell after another. Great suns, thankfully, they were going to a planet with some semblance of normalcy, a place where Scorria could actually relax and not have to worry about her arms or tail freezing in place from the cold and moisture. Unfortunately, the downside, was that they had to operate with a small semblance of secrecy, due to the fact that Avalon was home to the Avalon Protectorate, or otherwise known as 'the home of snobby Paladins.' Indeed, she had heard stories about the high and mighty individuals that carried out a reputation for justice and law, but they really just came off as pushy and self righteous. Still... at least now, Scorria could walk around without her blood feeling like it was solidifying on the inside, much to her relief. As Atla and Scorria approached the planet in Atla's ship, their charge slowly descending towards the planet as well, Scorria looked up at the moon around Avalon, noticing that Atla had taken a very specific route to the planet's surface. It had been a keen observation, knowing the moon would be reflecting so much of the star's light, and while the light would obviously give away their position on the visual spectrum, their sensor and electromagnetic signature on scanners would be nigh on impossible to detect, masking their approach towards the hidden Planetary Trade Organization facility on Avalon without raising suspicion. Indeed, everything about this outpost was shrouded in mystery in order to keep its location hidden from prying, Avalonian eyes. Especially the Paladins, no doubt, whom all had some kind of distinct distaste for anything from Frieza and its surrounding planets. Scorria, however, was in a lot better spirits on this day, as Atla would likely notice. She did not seem disgruntled and did not let out her usual, aggravated sighs. She was at least looking forward to a planet that was not akin to a freezer, that much was plain, but she was also in the mood to hopefully find someplace to relax and take a short little vacation for a day somewhere on the planet before they had to leave—and, of course, after their current assignment on this rock was finished. Thankfully, nothing foul had occurred with the shipment of metal plates from Pefu, yet, and as the ship hauling the precious cargo landed on the pad next to Atla's ship, the landing pad receded into the underground facility, the hole replaced by a mechanical dummy of the local vegetation. The extremely large elevator descended, leaving Atla and Scorria to wait and watch just to see how large the facility really was, and indeed, as the elevator arrived in the hangar bay of the Planetary Trade Organization's hidden, super spy secret facility, Scorria was amazed by just how huge the place was. It was carved out of a natural cavern that had been here before, a kind of underwater well that had been tapped centuries ago, resulting in a very large area just ripe to be used in secrecy. All around, Planetary Trade Organization soldiers, aliens, and especially, Changelings walked amongst the catwalks and rafters of the hangar bay, the whole facility a buzz of activity and work. Scorria had only seen so many soldiers in one place on Frieza, so it was a refreshing thought to know that so many within the Planetary Trade Organization were actually doing good work in this place. All around, mechanics were fixing computers, cables, and ships, while computer experts worked on software packages and kept their presence as unknown as possible. Operatives and agents were speaking to their superiors for their next missions, janitors were keeping the place clean—thankfully, Scorria thought ruefully—and a whole slew of personnel were doing their jobs and keeping the base fully functional. As Atla and Scorria exited the ship, they noticed roughly two dozen aliens led by a Changeling began unloading the metal plates from the carrier towards the metal working branch of the facility, where it would soon be worked into a useable form of armor. Oddly enough, the Changeling leading that crew looked gruff, extremely tall, but he seemed very used to getting his hands dirty. Indeed, it was almost strange to see a Changeling enjoy manual labor, especially with how high and mighty some of them tended to be with their default higher status within the Planetary Trade Organization. Still... Scorria figured Changelings could be just as different from one another as any other species. You just had to look hard enough. Atla and Scorria were soon greeted by the facility's commander, a Changeling with an impressive stature and odd shaped head and physique. According to Scorria's scouter, this particular Changeling was currently in his second transformation, an odd sight to behold, really—and in Scorria's silent opinion, incredibly unnerving—but while the Commander, who identified himself as Kelvar—was disciplined, but generally good-natured... Well, as much as a Changeling could be, she figured. He knew the value of hard work and profit, and therefore, was counted as a potent leader within the Planetary Trade Organization. Eventually, he assigned the both of them temporary quarters and fake identities should they need to operate outside the facility for any duration of time. He stressed that secrecy was above all else, even their lives, and told them that if they had nothing better to do, they were to stay within the facility and help safeguard the shipment. It turned out that, despite the many individuals that were within the facility, Scorria and Atla were the strongest currently present, besides the Kelvar, of course. After the briefing and orientation to the facility, which took roughly half an hour, Atla and Scorria temporarily parted ways, as the massive Arlian wished to scout around the planet and make a few purchases. He just did not seem to care for being on an unknown planet without getting his bearings, it seemed, and Scorria could at least agree with him. As much as she wanted to find a nice sauna or hot spring on the planet, she figured luxury would have to wait until the armor construction was at least completed and no sign of attacks showed up. Apparently, communication specialists within the Planetary Trade Organization had detected a higher amount of communications chatter on the planet of Avalon and wanted everyone to hunker down and keep quiet for the time being. Therefore, Scorria decided to relax in her assigned quarters—as spartan as they were—and wait for the problems (if any) to blow over. It seemed like the hardest parts of their journey were behind them now, so all she and Atla had to do was wait and be ready in case something were to go wrong. Still... Scorria could not help but frown at the distinctive lack of Scorpinok warriors on this outpost. It was true that they were more front line combatants than anything else, but you would think at least one would be here... excluding herself of course. She did manage to draw quite a few looks while she walked around the facility, her species relatively rare compared to the rest of the galactic community, and a female warrior from Scorpinok was unheard of. The culture just did not support it at all, but rather than bring up the subject, she was left alone. She did have the third highest power level in the facility, had an important task, so she was left marginally alone, even though the uniform she wore—damn standard issue—showed off her hips more than she would have liked. With a sigh and shake of her head, she continued to wait and watch. Hopefully, Atla would return soon to give her someone to at least talk to. WC: 1505 Scorria TWC: 1505 Quest Total: 3700 |
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| Vash | Apr 18 2013, 12:07 AM Post #5 |
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Gross...
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So Vash went back to his ship in order to get some rest before he investigated this kind of thing any further. He had never had his blood stolen from him like that before, the whole process was a tad bit infuriating. He hopped onto his ship’s computer and decided to do a little bit of research about Avalon. Vash just typed in the words ‘blood research’ and a whole list of information popped up. There was one word highlighted in each article. Lithium laboratories. Okay, so it was two words. Whatever. It seemed that there was a cloning organization under this directive, the focused on producing fighters through the means of cloning warriors via blood type experimentations. There was a head scientist who had been exiled for these kind of experiments but apparently he had been able to get away with far too much here on Avalon. A planet where the population numbered very high, it was easy for him to get lost in the crowd. And that’s how he had been getting away with this bullshit for years it seemed. The whole idea pissed Vash off to no end. How could someone just steal your DNA and replicate you just to create another warrior. It was selfish and it was downright evil. Evil, I say. Vash would get to the bottom of this thing, but not until the morning. No, not at the moment. He was tired, and it was time to take a nap. He headed for the sleeping quarters located in his new ship, he was still trying to figure out this damn thing. He pressed a button and a small bed popped out of a compartment. Snuggling himself in and puling the blankets up nice and close to his face, he slowly drifted off to sleep with thoughts about the day ahead in the fore front of his mind. It was a peaceful sleep, at least for a while. He was awoken by a shaking, and a banging noise from outside. What the hell, he thought as he rolled out of the bed and to his feet, his hand eagerly dancing around the handle of his gun. His trusty gun was always at his side, and it was often times the first thing he went to when he was confronted with an opposition. He went to the door of the ship. “Who’s there,” he asked, as he pressed a few buttons on a control panel and a screen popped up, showing the outside. He knew who would be there all along. Whether he wanted to admit it or not. There, standing just outside the ship with quite the disgruntled look on his, or its face rather, was himself. A perfect copy. Vash snarled with disgust. He wasn’t ready for this kind of shit. He wanted to get to the bottom of this on his own terms, not be greeted first thing in the morning with this shit storm. No, he thought, I have to deal with this right here, right now. He charged ki up in his hand. I know how I’ll get him, he thought. He opened the door and threw his energy blast forward without hesitation. He was aiming to kill the clone right off the bat, no questions asked, and find out more about this Lithium Laboratories later. But it was a clone of himself. His clone simply screamed and the ki blast disipated into nothingness. Great, Vash thought, he has the same abilities as I do, well this is going to be more difficult than I originally thought. Vash didn’t want to let his clone into the ship and risk damaging any of the equipment within. No, he was going to have to drive this bastard away first. He charged forward, driving his head into the clone’s chest and driving him backwards. But only for a short distance. The clone quickly recovered and performed some kind of grapple manuever, and Vash was airborne. Flipping himself around and around in mid air, he drew his faithful energy repeater, and began to fire rounds at the clone. However, the clone apparently had the same kind of idea. He too drew a hand gun and energy rounds collidied with one another in mid air with perfect accuracy. Damn, Vash thought, I gotta start thinking outside of the box on this one. What would be the last thing I would expect me to do against myself. That was a confusing sentence to say, but Vash got it out never the less. That’s when the idea donned on him. Vash, as a fighter, was more of a mid to long distance range combatant. Up close and personal wasn’t exactly his fortay, so getting within range for a series of melee attacks might be enough to catch his clone off guard. Vash disappeared, using his signature speed to instantly reappear in front of the clone and begin to throw punches. The first couple were blocked, but Vash knew about his own limitations when it came to melee range attacks, and thus, the clone was not able to keep up. Vash got through the clone’s defense and punch after punch landed on their respective marks. Charging up ki into his right hand, he buried it into the clone’s chest, and detonated it upon its impact. This caused a rather large hole in the clone’s chest to appear, and he dropped to his knees, or its knees, what ever the fuck case may be. Vash raised his boot high into the air, and slammed it down hard onto the clone’s temple, crushing its skull as a weird colored ooze stretched out over the landscape. Well, that was different, Vash thought. This Lithium Laboratories, it would appear, did not exactly perfect the cloning process all the way. No, they still had work to do in that department, and Vash was going to make sure that they never succeeded the rest of the way. That was going to be his next destination, to stop who ever it was in charge of that. WC 1,011/1,684/4,711 |
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