M
Mighty Rumblehide
Guest
Trash. Garbage. Too wild. Too short. Too bright. Too far apart. Too cute.
In the empty void that was the character creation menu, gentle mist swirled around at Zoe Staal's feet while her fingers flipped furiously through the many and varied options that shaped the pile of polygons (that looked a little too realistic for her tastes) before her.
Many and varied--but none that worked for her.
How long had she been standing her, cycling through meters and menus while the thing in front of her? Long enough for her neck to hurt--or seem like it hurt, anyway. The injury, while very real before she put her headset on, had no sway here. It was all in her mind.
Full range of movement, full strength, full speed ahead into this weird-ass game that someone sent her.
Or she would--if she could just make something that didn't look like a statuette or a pillowcase you scrambled to hide whenever the parents were popping over for dinner.
Too snatched. Too toned. Too... Are those even LEGAL?! They break the laws of physics at LEAST--and probably indecency and obscenity laws too--
Zoey took a step back and closed her eyes, the tips of her fingers working the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off a headache that threatened to explode. All she wanted to do was port in her D&D 6th Edition character. The half wood elf Battle Master; the group mom that multi-classed with shit-wrecker that her group lovingly nicknamed the Meat Elf.
Tall, dark and plain; built for function over form. Could either throw you halfway across the tavern without missing a step, or give you the most delightful hug! That's a save against being grappled, and being charmed, friend.
Except the elves of Terrasphere all looked like they had, for their infinite wisdom and discoveries, never eaten a carb before in their lives.
The impatient taps of her foot echoed throughout the lobby, even though she couldn't see any walls. For a moment she considers going with a human--but that's boring, isn't it? What's the point of throwing yourself into a fantasy world if you're not going to engage in at least a wee little bit of the fantasy aspects?
Fuck it. Steeling herself, she stepped up to the menus and sliding meters again, and quickly cobbled together something that she could be, at the very least, okay with. Long, wavy hair that was thick enough to get into tangled knots with a stiff breeze. Ears as short as the devs' idea of elves' ears were legally allowed to be. Arms set to strong--with just a little muscle definition as a treat. Piercing eyes set in a round face. "Gifts"? Modest. The rest of her physique? Slammed all the way to max. Which, in this case, made her look like she could take a couple hits before crumpling into a pile on the floor.
Name?
Mighty Rumblehide.
And with the final press of a button, she disappeared in a shroud of swirling vapor.
But we'll skip that part. It's uninteresting, and filled with enough swearing to get her locked out of world chat for like a month.
Once Zoey--no; she is Rumble now--
Once Rumble picks herself up out of her personal entry crater, she manages to wipe dirt and grass off her mangy tunic before bright lights and buttons pop into her field of view. HP, energy, inventory, minimaps, chatboxes, and more blocked her immediate surroundings while she flailed about in an attempt to make some order out of everything.
"Shoulda' looked up a FAQ," she muttered to herself while her arms waved about in the afternoon sun.
In the empty void that was the character creation menu, gentle mist swirled around at Zoe Staal's feet while her fingers flipped furiously through the many and varied options that shaped the pile of polygons (that looked a little too realistic for her tastes) before her.
Many and varied--but none that worked for her.
How long had she been standing her, cycling through meters and menus while the thing in front of her? Long enough for her neck to hurt--or seem like it hurt, anyway. The injury, while very real before she put her headset on, had no sway here. It was all in her mind.
Full range of movement, full strength, full speed ahead into this weird-ass game that someone sent her.
Or she would--if she could just make something that didn't look like a statuette or a pillowcase you scrambled to hide whenever the parents were popping over for dinner.
Too snatched. Too toned. Too... Are those even LEGAL?! They break the laws of physics at LEAST--and probably indecency and obscenity laws too--
Zoey took a step back and closed her eyes, the tips of her fingers working the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off a headache that threatened to explode. All she wanted to do was port in her D&D 6th Edition character. The half wood elf Battle Master; the group mom that multi-classed with shit-wrecker that her group lovingly nicknamed the Meat Elf.
Tall, dark and plain; built for function over form. Could either throw you halfway across the tavern without missing a step, or give you the most delightful hug! That's a save against being grappled, and being charmed, friend.
Except the elves of Terrasphere all looked like they had, for their infinite wisdom and discoveries, never eaten a carb before in their lives.
The impatient taps of her foot echoed throughout the lobby, even though she couldn't see any walls. For a moment she considers going with a human--but that's boring, isn't it? What's the point of throwing yourself into a fantasy world if you're not going to engage in at least a wee little bit of the fantasy aspects?
Fuck it. Steeling herself, she stepped up to the menus and sliding meters again, and quickly cobbled together something that she could be, at the very least, okay with. Long, wavy hair that was thick enough to get into tangled knots with a stiff breeze. Ears as short as the devs' idea of elves' ears were legally allowed to be. Arms set to strong--with just a little muscle definition as a treat. Piercing eyes set in a round face. "Gifts"? Modest. The rest of her physique? Slammed all the way to max. Which, in this case, made her look like she could take a couple hits before crumpling into a pile on the floor.
Name?
Mighty Rumblehide.
And with the final press of a button, she disappeared in a shroud of swirling vapor.
------------------------------------------------------
--And promptly found herself falling through the skies, rapidly approaching the ground below.
But we'll skip that part. It's uninteresting, and filled with enough swearing to get her locked out of world chat for like a month.
Once Zoey--no; she is Rumble now--
Once Rumble picks herself up out of her personal entry crater, she manages to wipe dirt and grass off her mangy tunic before bright lights and buttons pop into her field of view. HP, energy, inventory, minimaps, chatboxes, and more blocked her immediate surroundings while she flailed about in an attempt to make some order out of everything.
"Shoulda' looked up a FAQ," she muttered to herself while her arms waved about in the afternoon sun.