Kirby Krackle

Just throwing a few things out there. First, there weren't any Spybots in this wave. Being the Engineer, of course I would ask. Either I for Coal Town or what's his face for Maneworks would announce the arrival of anything important during the wave: bomb progress, Spies, Tanks, Sentry Busters, etc. Second, I think I left things too ambiguous. Sure, Tinker got shot and that's all I mentioned. But, just to clarify, the Teleporters weren't destroyed and since his Rescue Ranger can teleport, he has at least 130 metal, which is enough for another Dispenser. Finally, I ended it with "He was shot" and not "He was killed" for a reason. Yeah. Too ambiguous. I should edit things. Also, I shouldn't try to write at 2 in the morning.

It wasn't my turn? Oops. Because I've been grinding my mind over what to actually do with this Sentry Buster scenario for a while now. I decided to end it on a down note. I would also like to point out that yes, the Sentry and Dispenser are down. The Two-Way teleporter isn't. Take that as you will.

Like any other good predator, Tinker Tailor did his best to drag (for some reason, with his teeth) his newly fallen prey back to the nest as quickly as possible. Despite the fact that the thing weighed a few hundred pounds and he was being shot at, Tinker and his single minded determination was making good time up the hill leading home. With any luck, the good solid whack he delivered didn't damage too much of where he assumed central processors were kept. There might even be a USB port or similar nonsense he could jack into for secret plans or design specifications or similar goodies that he could take home. And now for the bad news. Single minded determination was why 'Look out for that Sentry Buster' went into one blue ear and out the other. The Action Bomb managed to walk right past him. Up the hill. Up the stairs. Right in the middle of his nest. Meanwhile, Tinker's turret was reacting accordingly, emptying absolutely no ammunition into the enemy right in its face due to its Engineer's negligence. Not soon after, the machine popped a squat and let out an ear-breaking beep. This is what Tinker Tailor reacted to, too late. His shotgun was drawn once he sensed a threat. Once the new robot was in full view, without even remembering its name, he knew exactly what it was and what it would do in less than five seconds. The teleportation ability built into his weapon was primed and ready and had line of sight of Sentry and Dispenser. But he could only save one. Four seconds. Not enough time to weigh all the options. Three seconds. Get kills or save lives? Two seconds. He loved all his toys. He couldn't decide. The final second ticked away, his eyes welling up with tears, his heart being blasted to just as many pieces as his machines. And then he was shot in the chest.

I'm cool with it. Why? Because those are already the load-outs I use for MVM.

Reveille's weapon was loaded, his spirit full of righteous rage, his aim true and his new friends in dire need. This is it. Hero time. After one last deep breath, a rocket was in his hoof, ready to launch and send his enemies to Robot Heaven, except... You've defeated the wave. Good. But they'll be back! Get to an Upgrade Station before they return! The Soldier in training looked around in disbelief, seeing five other nonmetal ponies more or less in one piece. What he did not see were signs of movement from either the piles of worthless scrap scattered about the war torn landscape, or from the carrier off in the distance. There was peace. It was allegedly for only a few precious moments, but finally peace! The violent racing in Reveille's chest began to finally slow down, his hooves going limp and his weapon dropping to the floor with a thud. He could have simply collapsed on the spot, enjoying the first drawn out breath he could take in... how long have they been fighting? Nevermind. It was too long anyway. His muscles were on fire and his brow was soaked. It was time to take five and, while he was at it, tell his team to do so as well. He trotted over, wobbling a little, before plopping his flank down on the bomb that was on its way to their mailbox not a moment ago. His hat was off now. Using it to fan himself was a better service at the moment. "[colour=#0000ff]You heard the lady[/colour]", he said to the lot of them with eyes half closed. "[colour=#0000ff]Break time.[/colour]" The five others with him looked to be just as tired as he, giving each of them a smile and a 'good job on not dying' wave, including the new one, whom he didn't get a good enough look at during the heat of battle. She was a mare, now that he noticed. A big one. And he had no idea for how long he was staring, goofy and blushing. "[colour=#0000ff]You're really tall.[/colour]"

As a courtesy, I leave the deploy of Sentry busters to you.

Defend our honor, Tinker Tailor overheard the great scorekeeper in the sky shout. Kill these robots! Kill the robots? Well, that's just silly! He needed them alive. Though, to be fair, 'alive' did not necessarily mean 'in one piece'. As the mechanized ponies came storming from their clubhouse, barking all sorts of rude comments, the Unicorn could not help but salivate. These engineering marvels were absolutely to die for! What alloys were used in the inevitable defense/mobility trade off? What was the fuel source keeping them moving with such vigor yet remaining strangely out of sight? The cameras? The voice boxes? Sweet Celestia, even the paint job! There was absolutely nothing about them he didn't demand to know more about! Well before the bullets started flying, he had a notebook at the ready, his magic furiously guiding one of the many quills he brought with him. In short-hoof, he jotted down as much as he could observe before the beep of his Sentry Gun signaled another robot falling to its power. So distracted was he by his notes, Tinker failed to notice how far ahead in the contest he was, despite not being allowed to compete. At the moment at least, a Griffin's eye is no match for a 2.0 Megapixel HD IP camera. "[colour=#ff00ff]Ring around the rosie[/colour]", the toymaker giggled, unable to restrain himself anymore. He needed to get down there and find a body as intact as possible. He needed to disassemble. To dissect. No, not dissect! That wasn't right at all! "[colour=#ff00ff]A pocket full of posies.[/colour]" While he magicked his weapons to his side and leaped from the safety of his highrise, the resulting momentum drove a ten pound cast-iron monkey wrench deep into the head of an oncoming Scout-bot. The result was a deafening clang, splattering motor oil across his grin-warped face. Vivisect, he corrected. Vivisect. "[colour=#ff00ff]Ashes ashes. We all fall down[/colour]."

I've played BB/BB and swear by it. It's what I leap at the chance to play assuming somebody else is willing to Engie. But a Kritz Medic on the team, especially with the Shared Canteen power can absurdly spam Kritz and Ubers, which nobody complains about. I save lives, bro. Also, should I be expecting Spies in the first wave?

OBJECTION! Kritzkrieg.

Glasses off to get a better look, the toymaker gave this newcomer one long looking over. His ears were perked up as well, trying to listen for the delicate whirring of gears and servomotors. His optics, nor his auditories, nor his olfactories (he smelled him too) did not betray him. This creature was definitely not a robot. Though, just to be sure, Tinker Tailor gave him a few safety pokes to be sure. Was there cold metal touching his hoof? Nope! And thanks to that, he felt mighty proud to say "[colour=#ff00ff]Welcome to the team! My name is Tinker Tailor and these... well, I don't recall their names, actually. But I bet they're nice! Maybe to you. Not so much with me.[/colour]" That last bit, he whispered in the new guy's ear. "[colour=#ff00ff]So, c'mon! Let me show you around! This is...[/colour]" Eagerly, he planned on giving the new guy the whole tour of the place, only to find he was putting on display absolutely nothing. Though he did notice his artillery was mounted next to a few stacked bags of 'Corpse-Grade Quicklime'. Yuck, he thought, for only that moment, before moving on. "[colour=#ff00ff]But enough about me! How about you? And where did you get those wonderful toys?[/colour]"[colour=#ff00ff] [/colour]Oh, there were so many gizmos and thingamajigs strapped to this stallion he was already drooling, one back hoof kicking around to search for his tool box. Mission begins in 30 seconds. Mission? What mission?

Two things: TortoiseShell is... ill, at the moment. Hacking up not pretty colours. I'll see if she's post-worthy otherwise. COMBAT IN MANEWORKS A;LKSHDGAHG;HAGJKHA;HA;KJDF

Looking back at all the convention handbooks I collect (and then later lose), it saddens me to see how much 'shower' is posted as close to the front of the book as possible. Because some people really are that bad. There's hugging times?!

I think 'intimate' is the word I was looking for, actually. I'm still not sure why that worries me.

It occurred to Tinker Tailor that the standard issue protective goggles provided to him by Mane Co. were driving him absolutely bananas. The lenses were scratched to Tartarus, the straps worn and frayed and certainly did not sit comfortably on the face. Ick. Discard. And since welding with unprotected eyes is a bad idea, he began digging through his toolbox for a replacement as well as trying to remember if he even packed one. The first piece of spare eye-ware he found would only protect him from frowny-faces. Maybe later, he thought with a grin. More digging. His reading glasses! [colour=#ff00ff]"Perfect[/colour]", he exclaimed aloud. "[colour=#ff00ff]Now nopony can hit me![/colour]" Back to digging one bad joke later, though he found it hilarious. "[colour=#ff00ff]C'mon now, those things have got to be in here somewhere...[/colour]" The stallion was impossibly flank deep inside his tool box at this point, only to come up with nothing. "[colour=#ff00ff]Looks like it's later[/colour]", only half disappointed. After all, who could be all the way disappointed with a fake nose and mustache on their face? Good thing he could see better too. Just in time to notice the plane flying overhead. And a pony dropped from it. That looked like fun. "[colour=#ff00ff]A little too fun, if you ask me![/colour]" With reflexes he had no business possessing, the Unicorn whipped himself around, arming himself with his Wrangler to aim the mounted turret again. "[colour=#ff00ff]Halt![/colour]", the toymaker cried at the newcomer and suspected death machine, "[colour=#ff00ff]Do you identify yourself as Equine?![/colour]" "[colour=#ff00ff]...no offense[/colour]", punctuated things, noticing the Griffin next to him. Awkward.

First: the disclaimer. I actually have been to conventions before! Otakon in Baltimore and NYCC specifically, for many years now. I have awards from them too, but that's another thread. So I know how to act at a Con but... And here's the point of the thread... How does one act at a Brony convention? I ask because my wife TortoiseShell has graciously bought me tickets to Big Apple Pony Con! Isn't she a doll? But anyway. I want to say that its nothing I haven't done before, that its standard fare and I should just be my usual charming self. But this seems more personal, guys. It's a smaller venue. It's a smaller demographic! Heck, some of you guys might even be going to see AlexS and Tara Strong and then run into me and my stupid hair! I cannot help but clam up at the thought. Help me out here, lads and ladettes. Before I go all a flutter.

XBox handle is Iuzzies. I haven't taken a spin online in a while but usually I'm on... Wow, what am I on? Mostly MvC3 (not ultimate) or BlazBlue. The FPSs, those I tend to just run through single player mode. Oh, and I highly recommend the Ghostbusters game.

No wonder this season only had 13 episodes. The entire budget went into song production.

A rival? Once the Toyman realizes what Spies do to his buildings, do you think you'll have just one rival? He'll plan on making a Thanksgiving dinner out of that jive turkey! Maestro, hit it!

And I have to say, I like it! I wasn't sure what to expect from your bio and then I see something akin to a Tom Clancy novel! Except I'm enjoying myself! The post is surprisingly warm and down to earth with a mare to come home to. More Black Ops than Dashing Rogue. A fine spin on tradition and absolutely nothing about it I don't like! Good show!

Two things. I think the Demopony will be a girl. Not the adventurer archeologist per se, but rather the tag along. A pony Short Round. Still a demolition expert and mainly responsible for "Indy" getting out of a few scrapes, ie blasting down walls. Too eager to please what she hopes to be a future love interest, she kabooms her way into a tomb to snag an ancient sword. Her first act upon being possessed is to behead Indy. Insert heroic BSOD. Other ideas I'm playing around with are, rather than being a cyclops, a botched mixing of gunpowder gives her instead... Derp eyes. Finally, what if her name was Bomb Voyage? Extra finally, people need to join the Maneworks. Why? Sentry Busters. Think about it.

Psst. Ciraxis. He's knocking on your door. A blind character is suddenly hard to RP when reading becomes necessary.

"[colour=#4b0082]Asterix. Obelisk. Lean in here, please.[/colour]" If Melody Amber's thrulls had a full three names, he would have used them. It was the only power on Ravnica that could truly express the level of disappointment he felt. As the two obediently obliged their master, he greeted both with a coddling stroke of the head (as both were trained since long ago to stay just the right height for this) before knocking them together like a pair of ripe coconuts. "[colour=#4b0082]Knuckleheads! Numbskulls! Nincompoops! You had one job! One! Today was going so well and here we are... well, alright, I don't know where we are. And whose fault do you think that is, hmmm?[/colour]" He breathed deep, counted to ten and let the anger subside. No point in getting irate over the stupid leading the blind. Besides, the facts were these: He was neither dead nor being held hostage, so he could assure himself he wasn't in a Rakdos slum or any other ghastly sliver of the Undercity. No random explosions meant no insane Izzet laboratories. Assuming safety, he barked the order, "[colour=#4b0082]Asterix. Door. Now.[/colour]" The smaller of the two chirped up, sounding like an overgrown cricket and jerked his master's leash to the nearest entryway, to which the Unicorn knocked thrice. He hoped that despite the noxious smell of chemical and animal meant somewhere well kept. May they be friendly, he prayed. Or at least bribe-able.

Chaos. Utter chaos. Whoever said war was Hell, they weren't kidding. And in the heat of battle, wow was Reveille in a panic. While every blast from his rockets did reduce robots to Radio Shack refuse, his frazzled nerves felt worse. Though as the fight waged on, his peripherals could see around him other ways robots could die. Some had their chassis melted to a useless red-hot blobs. Others he could see violently shake, their circuits shorting out before a knife severed all ties. All the while, laser guided triage was ensuring he felt no pain. The Soldier wasn't alone. And that was something, at least. When the tank off in the distance finally ran out of tiny metal jerks to throw at them, he briefly hoped that it would be the last of them. Fort defended. Job done. End of story. Except no, he's not that lucky. Larger ones came out this time, built like some kind of... metal bear that hates ponies. And why on this Earth were they wearing boxing gear? No matter. This day was already weird enough. He dug through his pack for more ammunition only to find a single rocket left. Dang it. Looking down at the impending doom, he saw four of those Heavyweight Champs marked slightly different. The gloves worn had fire decals. Cool. Except those four moved much faster than the others. Not cool. One of them was carrying the infamous bomb being talked about by the announcer. Bad to worse. "[colour=#0000cd]Take cover, Doc. I need a refill. You[/colour]", he was now addressing the larger girl finally caught up with the group, "[colour=#0000cd]Take care of her.[/colour]" Clearly not learning his lesson since the last time, he loaded his final rocket and wished himself luck. Aiming at the ground with the Laws of Motion in mind, he hopped as much as his Earth Pony legs could lift him, then fired. He rode the shock wave as intended, wanting every Pegasus in the word to envy him! The roof he landed on a second time, with a slightly more graceful landing (i.e. he didn't break anything), still had that crate of ammunition. Thanking Celestia for it, he rushed to fill his bag with every last bomb built to fly. And while his hoof was buried in there, he felt the horn he brought along. He remembered the corners he played on, the concerts he performed and the single tune in the Mane Co. secret base. That might have been the last time he could play this thing. Except... Nuts to that, he thought! He gets to play again if these robots are beaten back. And to do that, he needed to fight harder. His friends need to fight harder. So, why not a little inspiration? He blew four simple chords, filled with righteous rage before switching weapons again and leaping back down into the fray. "[colour=#0000cd]CHARGE![/colour]" He was positively glowing.

Y'know, it occurred to me yesterday during work: an idea for a Demopony. The short version (which is all I've worked out so far) is based around the Eyelander, which in the TF2niverse, is haunted by a "bloodthirsty, malevolent spirit". So I figured, what if a Daring Do-style adventurer finds this old relic in a castle and goes all Smeagol on everybody. He's/she's (I feel bad playing dudes all the time for some reason) fighting off the urge most of the time, but can't help but think about removing the occasional hat-holder. So, for the safety of those around him, he exiles himself. Then the robots attack, and he figures he can sate the sword's hunger with robot heads instead of fleshy ones. Bam.

Yep. To reflect the game mode better, each RP will have a total of six players.