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About FallenAtlas

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    Conqueror of the Swarm!

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  1. I'm glad to see the site is back up. I'll be waiting for the new Arc to kick off to launch new character(s) into the game. Edit: I noticed it came up over a month ago; ah, guess I shouldn't have written it off.
  2. I left for about a year cause nothing was happening, came back, and still nothing is happening. Unfortunately, BZPower is one of the few decent sites out there that offers a solid text based RPG without any gimmicky dice systems or moderated interactions. I would love to get back into it but I don't want to put any effort into creating a character for it to sit in limbo for another year. EDIT: I totally understand that the staff have their own lives and things they need to do. But the waiting time seems highly excessive.
  3. Wasn't entirely sure how up to date things were. Thanks Nato.
  4. I was mainly looking for any main events I should be aware or IC knowledge I would need.
  5. FallenAtlas


    Sometimes you gotta dig up the dead things in your past.
  6. FallenAtlas


    hurt I hurt myself todayTo see if I still feel Crimson ran against green as the young Skakdi crumbled into the ground. Blows from above cracked the pavement with the Skakdi's body. He drew a clawed foot up and kicked blindly; a grunt, a crash, and a cessation of attacks told him his aim was true. He scrambled to his feet and wiped from the blood from his swollen eyes. "You Northern filth, I'll kill you!" he growled. The other Skakdi ran forward, fists flying and a war cry in his throat; a war cry that was interrupted by piercing steel severing his throat in half. The Skakdi gurgled in protest as he stumbled backward, hands clamping in vain to keep the warmth inside. "I am Zaktan,” the Skakdi said, shoving the dying being to the ground. “Remember that before you pass.” The bloodied corpse did not object to the command. The street, soaking in the fluids, did not object. The sky, absorbing the stench of death and struggle, did not object. But the warriors of Nektann objected. Zaktan found himself smashed into the concrete again. Head dragged up and smashed into a wall. Into the ground. Into the wall. Into the ground. Into- "Wait!" A voice among the warriors cried out. "Nektann is always looking for more miners. He may pay us well for this one. He certainly is healthy enough to kill; he is healthy enough to dig." Zaktan's vision blurred, darkened, and swirled out of consciousness. I focus on the pain The only thing that's real What have I become My sweetest friend The bronze pick they put in his hands was poor for the job. Soft, it bent easily against the protodermis walls of the mine. He spent more time straightening it out than he spent hacking deeper into the walls. The sudden crack of the warden’s whip would drive him to fix it faster, the sting of the barbs in his back and legs was not something he wanted to feel again. He drove the pick into the wall, dumping out small chunks at a time. He would fill a bucket that would be dumped in a passing minecart. Most of it would go on to be weapons, armor, ammo. The Skakdi Civil War raged hotly, and it was common for lines of prisoners to vanish to the front lines. The grime, the soot, the dirt all sank into his joints. There were no baths. There was no comfort in the mines of Nektann. Zaktan wished he could fade away, into ash; to separate from the girt and escape through the vents. The crack of the warden's whip took those fantasies out of his mind. Everyone I know Goes away in the end And you could have it all My empire of dirt The warden barked an order. The line stopped picking at the walls. Zaktan turned with the rest of them, facing out into the chamber. A hulking titan stepped forward, power in blue and gold. He scanned the crowd slowly, and then waved a mighty arm towards the entrance. A thinner being strode in, but his aura carried power out into the room before he even entered; power greater than the first Titan. He was old. He was wise. And he was seeking. His eyes fell upon Zaktan. And Zaktan stared back upon him. And the being's lips turned up into a most sinister smile. "I'll take him. The Piraka." Zaktan felt a grin spread across his face. "Good." I will let you down I will make you hurt
  7. Looking to get into this RPG. Any chance to be brought up to speed?
  8. The problem is the longer it takes, the more likely people are just gonna drop off and not come back.
  9. September? I don't even remember that.
  10. FallenAtlas

    January 2018

    January of 2018 was the last time I was here. It's been a long time. Lot's changed. I broke a couple of times, picked myself up. Still kicking. Might write a short story or two. About something.
  11. There's no such thing as small talk about the weather anymore.
  12. I thought this was an interesting twist, Axonn turning into this killer machine to stop the Piraka to protect the mask. I definitely liked the fact that the Voya Nui Resistance team was given a good role; the idea of Matoran standing up without the need for a Toa always fascinated me. One complaint, the coloring of the dialogue made it hard to read with the lighter colors.
  13. That was crazy good. I was instantly hooked when you mentioned "Melding Universe" as I'm a sucker for anything to do with alternate personalities and places. The attention to detail, like how the Matoran are Toa-sized and the Toa are Matoran-sized, was great. I kept picturing the GB in this story as the Grandmaster from Thor: Ragnarok for some reason. It felt fitting in my head. The portrayal of Light v. Shadow in the Makuta here was very interesting. I hope to see more of this, or along the same subject lines.
  14. Emotions And Feelings “Antibodies. That's what the Matoran are.” He pushed away from the desk and his chair wheeled across the room to another desk. He picked up a paper, studied it quickly, and tossed it aside. “More accurately, the Toa are antibodies. The Matoran are just dumb creatures, laboring away to keep the body alive.” The small being shuffled from the chair to a curtained window on the wall. He peeled back the thick shade and blinked in pain as intense sunlight flooded into the dark room. His eyes adjusted, and he looked out onto a large scene. In the expense of land in the distance, a great titan was being pieced together. Small shadows milled about at its feet and could be seen dragging parts from all directions. “The final assembly.” he muttered. He turned away and let the curtain fall, plunging the room into darkness again. “But the Matoran are flawed. The Toa are flawed. They think they have all of the backup plans in the world, but they don't realize that a robot, no matter how much organic matter they slap onto it, cannot make the critical decisions we need.” The room responded with silence, but he took no noticed. He shuffled over to the first desk and began scribbling. “They need to think. To laugh. To love. To anger. To hate. They need emotions and feelings.” He paused. The words seemed to float in the air. “Emotions and feelings.” He repeated. He stepped away from the desk and picked up the piece of paper he had tossed to the side earlier. “But from where?” He sat the paper down on the desk. “'Matoran Internal Processing Units,' or their brains. To there, but from where?” He turned on his heel and crossed the room with speed, to a large monitor situated across the wall. He touched the screen with his open palm and it hummed to life, bringing a bright blue glow to the room. “You can't code emotions. Love, hate, joy, sadness; it has to be natural. Internal. Raised. Nurtured.” He swiped around on the screen until the blue glow was replaced by a pink one. “It has to be natural.” He pressed his palm against the screen again and a cable from the ceiling descended behind his head, a sharp prong exposed and aimed at the base of his skull. “Natural. We need to put a little of us into their programming. Memories. Emotions. Feeling.” He closed his eyes and the prong moved. *********** Dang it feels good to be back. Just a quick one I had sitting in my folders before I left for Basic but never got to share. Hope you enjoy.
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