Megajoule

FYI, stuff about the player ("the controller") usually goes on your own user page (in your case, this one).

Looks like a good start. Keep at it!

I'm actually kind of looking forward to the 54 month, because I habitually take the Sands and so, because I didn't think before clicking, missed out taking the Axe on the one character of mine it really fits (both for concept/looks and because he's magic origin and will be fighting a lot of Spectrals in his career).

Other than that, it's kind of "meh" for me, as is 51... but here's the thing. The way I see it, my reward for playing the game for 48+ months is getting to play it for four years. (Likewise, the benefit of preordering is getting to play with the sprints or the helmet for a couple of years before anyone else.) Anything else is icing. And I'm not always in the mood for icing, even, but that's okay - I can scrape it off and leave it on my plate.

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Why? People can just ignore the page or the comment.

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Unfortunately, this requires a level of maturity (and self-confidence and self-restraint) that some people do not possess. The recent incident on the Virtue wiki is just one of countless examples.

(reposted from last sticky thread)

Name: Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow
"One World, Our Way!"

Currently Recruiting: Yes

RP Level: RP-friendly

PvP Level: Varies by member

Theme/Concept: The private research fellowship known as the Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow was founded in late 2005 to tap the myriad powers of "mad" science. The Evil Geniuses come from many fields - biology, chemistry, physics, robotics and more - but are united in the noble cause of improving humanity's future... whether society accepts these gifts or not.

Activity: Low.

Requirements for Membership: Science or Tech origin preferred - both mad scientists/inventors and creations of same. No activity or prestige requirements.

Leadership: Dr. Forsythe, Gethsemane

In-game Contact(s): @Megajoule, Gethsemane

URL: no website

Coalition(s):

Other Details: A quiet and very hands-off VG. We provide the cool name, base facilities (see below), etc and ask nothing in return, though contributions (of prestige, salvage, spare inspirations, etc) are always appreciated. In its current form, the Evil Geniuses are more a backdrop and resource than an active VG. Several motivated members might be able to change this, however.

The base has a full set of teleporters, mission computer, storage bins, salvage vault, IO crafting table, and level 3 empowerment station. It also has an infirmary (with rez station) that doubles as the main lab for RP purposes, and another lab/library. The base does not have an Ouroborous Pillar - Forsythe believes that having one of these mysterious technomagical devices on the premises is an unacceptable security risk. (Check the link to the group's wiki page, above, for screenshots of the base.)

Members are encouraged to greet each other on the SG channel with an exchange of "Doctor." "Doctor."

Name: Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow
"One World, Our Way!"

Currently Recruiting: Yes

RP Level: RP-friendly

PvP Level: Varies by member

Theme/Concept: The private research fellowship known as the Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow was founded in late 2005 to tap the myriad powers of "mad" science. The Evil Geniuses come from many fields - biology, chemistry, physics, robotics and more - but are united in the noble cause of improving humanity's future... whether society accepts these gifts or not.

Activity: Low.

Requirements for Membership: Science or Tech origin preferred - both mad scientists/inventors and creations of same. No activity or prestige requirements.

Leadership: Dr. Forsythe, Gethsemane

In-game Contact(s): @Megajoule, Gethsemane

URL: no website

Coalition(s):

Other Details: A quiet and very hands-off VG. We provide the cool name, base facilities (see below), etc and ask nothing in return, though contributions (of prestige, salvage, spare inspirations, etc) are always appreciated. In its current form, the Evil Geniuses are more a backdrop and resource than an active VG. Several motivated members might be able to change this, however.

The base has a full set of teleporters, mission computer, storage bins, salvage vault, IO crafting table, and level 3 empowerment station. It also has an infirmary (with rez station) that doubles as the main lab for RP purposes, and another lab/library. The base does not have an Ouroborous Pillar - Forsythe believes that having one of these mysterious technomagical devices on the premises is an unacceptable security risk. (Check the link to the group's wiki page, above, for screenshots of the base.)

Members are encouraged to greet each other on the SG channel with an exchange of "Doctor." "Doctor."

Another one, right out of the park.

Thanks for the comprehensive report, Soul Train.

Considering that Soul has always posted under her own name, I would think it polite to not call her a sockpuppet, regardless of one's feelings about the anonymous admin account.

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Its free, least the admin and kade seem to care what users are saying. But there is a point where you need to be realistic about something of that size.

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I'm aware of that, and I repeat:
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If that will not be feasible for very much longer, I would appreciate being informed immediately.

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Okay, Scarf, I think I owe you a (partial) apology.

I've been having some issues of my own with the wiki (locked out of my existing account and, for some reason, unable to receive a new-password email) and other distractions, so I haven't been paying attention to the thread I started on the discussion forums (which I'm still able to log in to). I was under the impression that the consensus so far was that we did not want to move to "the new Geocities" (as I often think of wikia) and, even if there are no problems with rights or acceptable content, have our pages plastered with ads. (Even though I don't see them myself, thank you Adblock.) I was not aware that "admin" had apparently contacted TonyV about doing exactly that.

Personally, I still don't have a problem with the admin remaining anonymous. But so long as it is feasible to keep VV privately hosted and ad-free, I would greatly prefer it to remain so. (This has nothing to do with wanting to remain apart from the other servers and everything to do with presentation.) If that will not be feasible for very much longer, I would appreciate being informed immediately.

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Sockpuppet Admin

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... I still fail to understand how or why this issue seems to have turned you so completely against the project. You don't know my (real) name either, nor which NCsoft staffer happens to be driving Ghost Widow at any given appearance, but you don't seem to show such antipathy and distrust in those cases. Did you have problems with the wiki before? Were you hoping to become an admin?

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Hey im all for you guys merging with Paragon Wikis efforts , I love how the ads add so much to the pages .

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Sarcasm does not flatter you.

Perhaps you've forgotten the previous thread that started this off, but it was very much an ad-hoc thing at first (which proved wildly popular).

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well I figure its a good habit to get into anyway for when they likely merge with Paragon wiki , also get used to ads poping up on your page .

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I consider this highly unlikely, based on previous discussion.

Helpless?
You're a hero. Get out there and save the city.

Addendum for those who've forgotten the Rularuu invasions or weren't here back then - here's what someone by the name of Mandu had to say about them in a thread that's in the Suggestions forum right now:

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The Rularuu invasions sucked.

Oh sure, it was pretty cool seeing these weird creatures stalking all the zones but low levels didn't stand a chance against them.

In Atlas through Steel there where broadcasts of

"Hey, there is some kind of weird floating eye thingy"

"@&^@#*&^ I was just one shotted by something my own level"

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That was pretty much my experience also.

CoH's design is an iterative process, with lots of trial and error. In much the same way that the Devs had to learn to crawl with the Positron and Citadel TFs before they could run with the AWESOME that is Hess or Imperious, they had to fail with the quickly-aborted Rularuu invasion before they could apply the lessons learned there to the Rikti. (And some of my friends still think there's room for improvement, or just want it to end.)

Infamous Brad:

A big part of why there weren't more Rularuu attacks, IMO, is that they were $)&*-ing BRUTAL, especially to lowbies. The Devs hadn't figured out the whole auto-scaling thing we have with the Rikti now, and so the eyeballs that spawned were "approximately" within the level range of each zone. (In practice, they were often closer to the top.) They also appeared in hazard-zone-sized packs and, with their combination of Psi (including hold), Rad, and 100% accuracy, they wiped the floor with even-con groups of heroes (and this was before ED). Most people I knew took to simply avoiding the portals and their associated spawns for the duration.

It was only a one-time event because it wasn't fun for a lot of players. The Devs went back to their drawing boards and came up with others.

Back in 2005 or so, I had a military character mention the Rikti War with the aside, "which, if you haven't noticed, is still going on." And this is before they restored contact with and got reinforced by the homeworld.

As for being able to alter the gameworld by completing a taskforce? Hah, no chance. One, that would shut out everyone who hasn't done it yet, both old characters and ones yet to be created - which is pretty much exactly what "return engagements" like this are designed to avoid. Everyone gets a shot at doing the content, not just the first team or SG to complete it.

This is the nature of a massively multi-player game: the Devs may change the setting, but you never can, except in your interaction with fellow players. No matter how many times you "arrest" an archvillain, he'll still be there the next day or even an hour from now. No matter how many gang members you defeat, you can never clean up a neighborhood. Stop Lord Recluse's plan to take over the world, and he and his lieutenants will try again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that...

(Sounds rather Sisyphean, doesn't it? )

Second, this is the same game that still treats the true nature of the Clockwork, the Rikti (and the Lost), and Nemesis as big secrets that each player must uncover for themselves. Heck, a few weeks ago Agent McQueen sent one of my characters to "Prevent a Second Rikti Invasion." I'd say he's a little late, especially since I proceeded to zone into one in progress in Talos Island. If none of this stuff has been updated, why do you think the thing you want will be?

The easiest way, IMO, is to start by making the link on your character page, like so:

[[Charactername/Storytitle|Story Title]]

This ends up as a link "Story Title" that goes to a page that's under your character's name (which keeps things tidy). The link will be red at first, indicating that the page it points to doesn't exist - clicking on it will allow you to edit/create that page. Type your story in there.

Last thing: at the bottom of the story page, put:

[[Category:Story]]

That'll do it.

Do you want to know how to make a page for your character, or how to link a story about that character to their page?

Thanks for the link, and the passing mention.
And yes, it is a great story.

Made some minor changes to the page for the Spirit of the Row - mostly adding and updating images.

On banners: they can add a nice bit of flair to a page, but I personally don't care for ones that take up too much of the first page (screen) or stretch my window. Some of us are still running at 1024x768, or even lower...

(off to a fine start. looking forward to seeing how this develops. )

SPECIAL #1 - WHITE PLAINS


RIKTI WAR ZONE, PARAGON CITY
41°35' N, 71°33' W
2120 ZULU (1620 EDT)


First Lieutenant Robert Grant, U.S. Army, ducked behind the remains of a cinderblock wall and held his breath, ignoring the hard edges of the ceramic body armor digging into him through his uniform as he listened for the distinctive buzzing hum of Rikti teleporters. His heart pounded in his chest, half from exertion and half from raw fear and adrenalin. He'd been running for his life since the ambush that wiped out the rest of his patrol.

They had been making their way up Washington Avenue when the Ricks popped in all around them. Cody and Powell went down in the first salvo, star-hot plasma bolts burning afterimages across retinas and holes through armor and men. The rest of the squad got to cover and returned fire, only to be picked off one by one over the next few minutes. Meyer was still trying to get a signal through the jamming when three drones converged on his position and blew him apart. Outnumbered and outgunned, Grant had ordered the survivors to retreat while laying down suppressive fire. Then Casey ran into a Headman with a sword and got cut in half, and Jackson was hit in the leg and went down. Grant had gone back to try to carry or at least drag him, but Jackson - teeth gritted and voice hoarse with pain - refused.

"I'll slow you down, and then they'll get us both." With some help from Grant, the sergeant had managed to twist and drag himself into a firing position, leaning on the leg that wasn't a bloody roasted drumstick. "Get out of here, sir. I'll hold them off as long as I can."

The sound of M4 fire hadn't lasted long at all, but the guilt was still with him.

Grant risked a quick look around the edge of the wall. He had no idea where he was; for the last several minutes he'd been running from one bit of shelter to another, heading in what he hoped was the general direction of the nearest firebase. Most of the buildings in this part of the war zone had been reduced to ruins and rubble, years of neglect finishing the work of the initial attack.

He took a deep breath and broke from cover again, keeping to the sides of the streets and hopping over loose chunks of debris. His armor rattled as he hustled, and he imagined the Ricks could hear it for blocks. At the next intersection, he froze and flattened himself against the wall: a formation of drones was sweeping down the cross street, low and slow, coming this way. If they managed to catch him in the open, he was dead.

Grant nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a human voice call out to him from across the street. "Hey! You, soldier boy!" From the door of what used to be a Starbucks, a man beckoned. "In here!"

There was no time to be surprised or to ask questions; Grant hesitated only long enough for another peek around the corner at the approaching drones before running across. The man hustled him through the door and behind the counter of the wrecked coffee shop. The big windows were long broken, with only a few dirty plates of glass still in the frames; dust and ash lay thick on the toppled furniture and dead plants.

"You aren't--"

"Shh!" Grant's rescuer silenced him with a hand on his chest and a finger to his own lips. As they waited together for the drones to pass, the lieutenant had a chance to get a good look at the man. He looked to be toward the older end of middle age, like Grant's father, with steel-grey hair that had grown out into a full beard where it wasn't tucked under a dirty baseball cap. He wore a khaki vest made for a hunter or fisherman, its many pockets stuffed with God-knows-what, over a threadbare plaid flannel shirt and long-sleeved undershirt; his loose-fitting trousers were camo-patterned and he had on a pair of scuffed hiking boots. There was a hunting rifle with a scope in his hand, a .45 at his belt, and Grant could see the hilt of a knife sticking out of the top of one of his boots. Despite the gravity of their situation, there was a twinkle in his eye when he finally sat back. "Now, you were saying?"

"There aren't supposed to be any civilians in here," Grant explained. "It's a restricted area, military and heroes only."

"That's right." The man produced a half-empty glass bottle of dark amber whiskey from behind his back and offered it to his guest with a smile.

Grant chuckled and accepted it. "Where'd you find this?" He unscrewed the top and took a swig, gasping and sighing as the liquor burned its way down his throat.

"Around." The other man shrugged. "I'm good at finding things. Used to know these streets like the back of my hand... now it's all messed up."

Grant shifted to a more comfortable sitting position. "You lived here, huh? Before?"

"Yeah." It was just one word, a simple acknowledgement, but the way he said it and the look in his eyes...

"Damn. I'm sorry." Grant wiped at the mouth of the bottle with his sleeve and handed it back.

"Me too." He looked mournfully at the bottle, then had a long drink of his own.

"My name's Bob." Grant held out his hand. "Lieutenant Bob Grant, 10th Mountain Division."

"Nice to meet you, Bob." The other man shook it, smiling sadly. "I don't really have a name, not anymore. Those bastards took that away from me too. You can call me Willie Pete if you like."

"Willie Pete, huh?" Grant grinned. "You like to light 'em up?"

Willie nodded, his smile widening a fraction under the beard. "Still a lot of gasoline and propane in storage tanks around here. Siphon some off, make some Molotovs... they burn just the same as men, I'll tell you that."

"Damn." Grant laughed. "You're a piece of work, Willie."

"You should have seen me in my prime," the old man demurred, lifting the bottle to his lips and drinking deep. "But I've still got some fight left in me. Now, if I could just get into that damn ship of theirs, I could do some real damage. Then you'd see some fireworks."

They sat together for a little while in companionable silence, passing the whiskey back and forth, before Grant got up the nerve to ask his next question. "So let me get this straight. You've been holed up in here, fighting the Rikti all by yourself, for the last... five years?"

"Almost six, now." Willie met his eyes with a level stare, his voice quiet but very serious. "Where else would I go?"

"I..." Grant tried to form a reply, but the words wouldn't come. The faint sound of breaking glass made them moot. He tensed, knuckles white on the grip of his carbine.

Willie had heard it too. "You stay here," he whispered. "I'll check it out."

"Like hell," Grant husked back. He'd already been forced to abandon one man today; there was no way he was going to let another, a civilian, take point while he hid. "Look, you... you find a place where you can cover me with that rifle. Any Rick sticks his wedge head out, you put a bullet through it."

Willie nodded solemnly, and then there was nothing more to be said. Grant edged out from behind the counter, the muzzle of his carbine sweeping the abandoned store. The crash and tinkle came again, a little closer this time. Keeping his head down, he crept to the side door he'd entered by. A pair of Rikti - common infantry, judging by the style of their body armor - accompanied by a single drone were making their way down the street; one was breaking the few intact windows with swings of its plasma pistol, apparently just for the hell of it.

Two Ricks and a drone, that I can handle. Grant took a deep breath and held it as his finger squeezed the trigger. Sparks danced across the chestplate of the nearer Rikti soldier, making it jerk like a puppet in the hands of a spastic; the alien had just started to collapse when Grant ducked back into the doorway to avoid return fire. To his surprise, none came. After a moment, he dared another look. The drone was still hovering beside the other Rikti, who had not drawn his weapon but was busily tapping at a keypad built into the armor over one arm.

Grant's guts froze. Oh shi-- The second Rikti wasn't infantry at all: it was a comm officer, and he'd just given away his position. Any second now, reinforcements would start popping in through a portal.

Grant grabbed his last M67, primed it and threw it in the general direction of the Rikti, not bothering to yell "Frag out!" as he ran back into the Starbucks. The noise of the explosion followed him. "Willie, come on, we need to get out of here! We're about to get a whole..." He skidded to a halt, looking around wildly. "Willie? Where are you?" Damnit, where'd he go? Maybe he's in the back... "Willie, don't shoot, I'm coming back there!"

But the back of the store was as empty and silent as the front, a little cleaner but also much darker. It smelled of must and coffee and faint lingering sour odors of things that had been left out and gone bad years ago. Grant swore again. Crazy old man!

He'd just come up front again when a much larger explosion just outside knocked him to the floor. Hot wind licked his face as the pressure wave washed over him, and tiny shards of glass pattered off his uniform as he struggled to his feet. The buzz-hum of incoming portals had stopped; all he could hear, as if from a great distance, was the roar of the flames. He staggered to the door and looked out.

The street had been consumed by an inferno. Rikti bodies, cooked in their shells like lobsters, lay where they'd been flung by the force of the detonation in their midst. The stink of dead Rikti monkeys mingled with a smell that Grant slowly recognized as natural gas.

The scrape of hoof on pavement tore Grant's attention away from the fiery spectacle. A naked and wrinkled Rikti conscript - the kind they used to call "pinkies" back in the days before the second invasion - was climbing unsteadily out of one of the other storefronts. It looked around in a daze, its beady eyes passing over the fire before settling on the human soldier. It started to raise its plasma pistol.

With the crack of a rifle shot, a single bloody flower appeared on the conscript's ribcage. The alien looked down at the wound in surprise, then at Grant, as if asking for an explanation. Then its legs locked at the knees and it toppled over.

"Nice shot," he murmured. Then, louder: "Great shot, Willie, you got him! You can come out now! Willie?"

Only the crackle of the fire answered him.



They found him like that a few minutes later, wandering around the crater that the broken gas main had left of the street and calling for someone. The Black Hawk touched down a prudent distance away, so that its rotor wash would not fan the smoldering flames back to life, and the men of Bravo Company established a perimeter around the LZ. They were unable to find any trace of the partisan that 1st Lt. Grant identified as "Willie."

The official after-action report concluded that 1st Lt. Grant's grenade had ignited the remaining natural gas in the pipe and set off the secondary explosion which wiped out the Rikti assault force. The Article 32 hearing also absolved him of blame - officially at least - for leading his squad into an ambush. He had trouble accepting either finding.

On some nights after that, when things were relatively quiet, Robert Grant would go up to the battlements of Fort Bastogne with a flask and drink a silent toast to his rescuer. He would look out over the ruined cityscape and wonder if Willie was still out there... if he was okay... and if he'd ever see him again.

(end)

What our science is only just beginning to understand, but the Kheldians know and practice every time they change forms, is that energy and matter are the same thing. What difference does it make if the material shell is "alive" in a biological sense, so long as it can contain and conduct the energy?