Dropship/ Combat Pilots "Reaper Spirit" Warrant Officer Chen Tian, "Doghouse" Crewman Apprentice Tor Ostrum _
Standing at attention, you only had to consider the Vice Admiral's question for a moment before you answers, and told the officers witnessing your promotion and receiving of commendations and decorations for Operation: Irminsul and your superior office
"Yes, I'd like to recommend Warrant Officer Chen Tian for the Bronze Star or his role in Operation: HVITSERK", the action that Warrant Officer Chen took part in was one of the parts of that space battle that was blotted out with black ink on official reports. All that got through to his service record was that he flew a spec ops boarding party and flew his Pelican back intact. It wasn't stated, that he'd risked his life to make sure the Spartan Fire team reached Whiteshirt's retrofitted Halcyon in one piece, that he flew like a bat out of hell to get past that behemoth's point defense and lingered in range to draw fire away from them as they performed EVA to actually land on the enemy flagship.
If anyone in that fleet action deserved a medal, it was him. You'd have asked for the Silver Star, or even the legion of honor or colonial cross, but realistically, he'd earned the Bronze Star. It was a show of incredible valor and courage, but not enough for the UNSC's highest honors.
Vice Admiral Stanforth nodded once.
"From what I've read of that battle, he's more than earned it. Along with the promotion he's scheduled to receive later today", your CO said as he gave his spoken approval and your felt a smile tug on the corner of your lips "And, he might be chosen to recieve a higher decoration than the bronze star, Lieutenant Commander' Cont
“We leave.” You said, the words a terrible weight placed syllable by syllable on your soul, made all the worse as your uncle’s betrayed gaze fell on you “We are not equipped to handle these lands, I doubt any one would be equipped to handle it. We have only faced a small portion of the danger this land offers, yet we’re already lost 4 people, with two wounded and we have been here less than half that many days. This land is cursed, this land is not meant for the living, and…I whatever god remains to rule these lands wishes death to be all there is.”
“But Jason, we can’t miss this chance! W-”
“We need to live, Uncle! We need to go home, return to our lives, so we may live them, so I may have children who will one day replace me, so I may improve the lives of those who follow me, and so you may be a father to your daughter. You wish to see her rise to our name, and be married properly, well I swear to you now: I will have this done. She will be made a lannister, and I will ensure she is married not only well, but also to a good man. Will it happen immediately? Perhaps not, but I shall rule the rock, and when I do, I shall use all the power our family has to do this. But we must all live for it, and that means we leave now.”
You held your uncle’s gaze, and there was a battle of wills you had never expected to have with Uncle Gerion. He was the man who was quick to laugh, a joke made easily in the face of the noble posturing and maneuvers, a man who cared nothing for the trappings of house Lannister and the shadow left by your father. All that was gone now, and you saw him for what he was, another younger brother who had never been able to rise to the occasion, and who now had more than himself to worry about. “I promise you Uncle, Joy will be given everything a lady of our house deserves, even if her name is hill. She is my cousin, and I shall see her treated as such.” You said, placing a hand on his shoulder and offering him a steadying smile.
He met your gaze, and you saw him turning over what you said in his mind, and the fear of simply accepting it and giving up on Brightroar, of his chance to claim history and stand tall as possible over your father. He then bowed his head and nodded, no words but surrender all the same.
And So it was, Sarella and Asha set to work coordinating the ships and their crews for the exodus from the Doom, Asha giving your hand a squeeze in thanks and Sarella placing a kiss on Humfrey’s forehead in relief. Humfrey and Dara seemed like they had wished to brave the doom, but both were men well aware of their limitations, of which they were close to with their wounds. (Cont)
> While every world travels slowly towards its end, yours has just begun its journey. > For this world, the cycle of Gods and Men spins anew, on freshly birthed lands awash with life. > You are a being of creation, a God, among the first divinities born not long after a world’s genesis. You possess innate knowledge and immense power, with which you may seize dominance and carve out a place for yourself in these savage, untamed wilds.
Welcome to a spinoff installation of Beings of Creation, a long-running tactical civ-style hexcrawl based on your imagination. You are a non-omniscient divine being of great power. You find yourself spontaneously brought into existence in a prehistoric, primeval world, untouched by Gods. The rules are relatively simple, and may be picked up as you go, but the document below goes into detail. Most players are familiar veterans of the game, so don't be shy and feel free to ask questions. https://docs.google.com/document/d/1ogBctptpH_0fBm1RCE_Xu76MuGmHvTVf5LvDolBh3sE/edit?usp=sharing https://discord.gg/6RtqYCN8
<span class="mu-r">With several gods already out of the running, feel free to post a god sheet in the thread if you’re interested in joining in.</span>
You are Tristain d’Rusalka, newly appointed regent of the Sorcerer Kingdom of Morfis. After having emerged victorious in a tournament consisting of the strongest warriors of the known world, you had earned the right to marry Princess Yulia Xan Phanes, ruler of Morfis. At least, that was what you thought. But upon finally meeting the mysterious princess, she’d revealed that one final task remained before you would be allowed to wed. You must defeat the Four Royal Sages, who’d usurped much of her power and who seek to open the dreaded gates of Tartarus.
Having been granted the authority to make decisions regarding Morfis’ future, you currently rule from the Royal Palace, alongside your cousin and Prime Minister, Bronte. However, the so-far short reign of the “Sorcerer Regent” has been plagued with turmoil. Immediately upon assuming power, you were forced to contend with one emergency after another.
>Skills: Resolve (When HP falls to less than 35%, Strength, Speed and Defense increase by 7) Dragon-kin Wyvern (SPD based chance for Fionn to launch an ice attack, dealing ½ MAG Damage.) Mug: Tristain can steal non-equipped items from enemies slower than him Guard: Direct one harmful attack meant for an ally to yourself Veteran - Effective damage taken is nullified
>Abilities: Crest of Indech: You are able to make a follow-up attack on one foe, regardless of Speed. (5 Charges) Crest of Macuil: Double the damage of a magic spell. (3 Charges)
Combat Art: Earthsplitter: Cleave all enemies standing two rows in front of you. (Cost: 1 Crest of Indech Charge) Combat Art: Throw: (Toss your weapon at an enemy and return it to your hand. Ranged attack.) (1 Crest of Indech Charge) Combat Art: Hit and Run: (Perform an attack that allows you to dodge the next harmful attack. Increases SPD by +7 for 1 turn. Costs 2 Crest of Indech Charges) Combat Art: Warding Blow: Your next physical attack grants +20 RES for one turn. (1 Crest of Macuil Charge)
“This is suicide. You'll never make it across. We already lost a squad of our best men and upper brass won't even allow us to retrieve the bodies. What makes you so different? Why would the Inquisition choose you?”
The grizzled guard stands firm before you ready to intercept you should you try to push past him. It was a shame, however, that you had already positioned yourself between him and the bridge as the three of you talked. “He’s right. Anyone who’s tried to touch the bodies has been shot on sight.” The promoted E.V.O rookies adds, “You sure they didn’t want us all to rush the bridge?”
“No. I’m afraid it was just me she wanted to cross. Any more people and we’re liable to push the enemy into doing something drastic. You guys are to stay here and keep anyone from fleeing.” You explain before turning to face the captain. “As for why me? I’m afraid that’s something only the Inquisitor knows. I will say that the previous squad did allow me to find most of our enemy’s traps. I must admit that even one is enough to take me out. But you don’t need to believe that I’ll make it just that I have not plans on dying right now. Whether I survive or not, part of being an adventurer is having to find out. Now if you don’t mind I have a bridge to cross.” You adjust your cuffs and draw your cloak around your body before flashing a smile and drawing the hood over your head. “Allons y…” You mutter as you turn and start to push through the crowd. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they part to let you pass. You can feel your heart rate pick up slightly and you wonder if you would have felt this way had your career truly taken off. Pro teams always stood before the crowd right before the match. You had never played before a crowd before and the several hundred stream viewers always felt so distant compared to everyone around you now. Then again, you never hyped yourself up this much when you did play professionally. Putting on a persona always seemed like too much effort and wasted energy when you could be focusing with your team and practicing. Yet here you were, acting like you were some kind of super player. Did everyone expect you to fail? Did they want you to? You weren’t sure but part of you couldn’t help but feel eager to see how they would react if you did succeed and that seemed to help balance your nerves.
It has been a year since you, Courier Six, drove Caesar’s mighty Legions back across the Colorado River and sent the Bear black west with its tail between its legs. You harnessed House’s robotic army to secure the Mojave.
Since then, you’ve brought peace and prosperity to the newly minted “New Vegas Directorate” with the help of a growing bureaucracy headed by your closest companions.The road has not been easy and you have recently “cleansed” Zion from the Boomer Blight, an engineered plague that had the potential to end the wasteland.
With the immediate disasters handled, you now look forward. You have begun the rehabilitation of Big Mountain and welcomed waves of Enclave immigrants to New Vegas.
Now, you are celebrating independence day with the rest of the Mojave. With so much already behind you and an even longer road ahead, what awaits Courier Six, now <span class="mu-s">The Director</span>?
At the same time that the Straw Hats were having their adventure in Skypiea, a young couple inspired by Eustass Kidd had stolen a rowboat and set out on their own pirate adventure in the South Blue.
Since they were still hours away from any islands they decided to settle the matter of who should be captain of their crew and who the first mate. Since they didn't want to fight for it or even had the room to do so they had picked a peaceful way to settle things.
<span class="mu-s">That Time I Got Isekai'd Into Game Of Thrones As Joffrey Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm</span>
Warm... Moist, and warm...
I thought death was supposed to feel cold. It's warm, though- warm, and moist, and soft.
My back hurts.
I must have died though, else why would I have gone from feeling cool and content to warm so suddenly? It was not like exiting an air-conditioned building into a summer day, no, the change was much more stark. There was no transitory sensation of cool to warm, even a quick one. It just changed: I was in my car, and now I'm somewhere else.
Gods, but death smells foul.
<span class="mu-i">Gods?</span> I don't believe in <span class="mu-i">any God</span>, much less a pantheon.
My back aches, like an aurochs is splayed along my spine. Am I truly dead? Do the dead carry their last pains into the afterlife? Are the Gods so cruel to burden the dead with an eternity of their killing wounds?
<span class="mu-i">Gods???</span> What the hell am I thinking?
There must be Gods, if I am dead and still thinking, because then there's an afterlife and there are no afterlives without Gods involved. Why plural <span class="mu-i">Gods</span> though? Is polytheism a universal truth that the dead intuit?
No, I'm not dead! I feel my hands grasping at something soft now, and I can hear. I could hear a terrible ringing this whole time actually, but now I can hear muffled sounds through it- voices!
That smell, too! A terrible, offensive odor whenever my head tilts and my nostrils can let air in. I can move my head! It hurts, but not breathing hurts worse! I lift my head and I open my eyes!
Opaque gold floods my vision. I wince, which hurts my neck, but I don't close my eyes. It's so bright, but I fear if I close my eyes now, I'll never open them again. Bravely, I bear the blinding deluge of golden light, and my fortitude is rewarded with clarity. The light recedes like a great tide crawling back away from the beach, and I realize the omnipresent golden light was merely my crown, fallen from my head directly in front of my eyes.
My crown? I don't have a crown! But I do, and I know it's my crown! How do I know it's my crown?
I reach for it, because it is my crown.
Suddenly I'm aware I'm surrounded by people. The ringing ebbs just as quickly as the golden light did, but this time all of my senses return with a disorienting pop. I'm laid on my stomach, I hear a chorus of frantic, concerned voices, and it's warm, and soft, and it smells like...
SHIT! I'm laid out in some kind of manure! It's caked on my crown, and my face, and the whole front of my body where I landed. Landed?
<span class="mu-b">ANTON PEAS:</span> that’s your name… don’t wear it out! Feels like it’s been ages since a botched summoning ritual brought you to <span class="mu-s">ZORAL</span>: a fantasy world shrouded in perpetual darkness… but you’ve really only been here for a few days–and BOY have you been busy!
Your memories? Foggy! A way home? Uncertain! People trying to kill you? Very Yes! To say this new world is treacherous would be an understatement, to say the least, and to make matters worse, an archdevil who calls himself <span class="mu-r">’RED’</span> is your best chance at remembering who you were!
His price? Slaying <span class="mu-r">THE FOUR LORDS:</span> a kooky quartet of tyrants and beasts who jealously rule their slice of Zoral with an iron fist… or claw… or whatever they have! Having just put an end to the overdue reign of <span class="mu-r">ARCHMAGE TRIER</span> in the never-sleeping city of <span class="mu-s">UMBERAL</span>, your aggressive altruism freed none other than <span class="mu-b">KNODD</span>, Earthmother and god of the land!
Juiced up on divine powers and named the <span class="mu-i">first</span> <span class="mu-b">’CHAMPION OF THE GODS’,</span> your new status attracted the notice of several high-rung folks, chief among them <span class="mu-r">THE STAR-CLOAKS:</span> a clandestine cadre of mages devoted to maintaining order in Zoral, no matter the cost! Weirder still was when you met their Guildmaster: <span class="mu-b">VOLKIR</span>! Volka’s adoptive father and curmudgeon par excellence, the old coot didn’t waste much time in tossing a new crisis your way: per what you heard from Trier, there’s a <span class="mu-r">SIEGE</span> headed to <span class="mu-s">CROSSROADS</span>! Who’s planning it and why? The details are foggy, but who better than you is there to help save the day?
Having just acquired several Emergency Supply caches for the city from a pair of Spice Cartel Holdouts, you turn your heroic attention towards your next task: investigating a group of <span class="mu-r">HEDGE MAGES</span> holed up in one of Crossroads’ many parks… and maybe even recruiting them to your side! With the trade hub bursting at the seams from civil unrest and outside influence, you can use all the help you can get your mitts on… something tells you this ain’t gonna be easy!
Making your way across a rapidly-deteriorating city, THIS is where your story continues…
Countless particulates drift through the air, stick to <span class="mu-i">your</span> membrane, wet <span class="mu-i">your</span> body.
It's noisy. A stream roars as it cuts through the ground below you, drowning out the chatter of the pursuers, subsuming the clank of <span class="mu-r">their</span> boots. But you still hear <span class="mu-r">them</span>. You still know not to stop.
The gratings <span class="mu-r">they</span> run on screech under <span class="mu-r">their</span> pressure. You know, instinctively, that there are six feet following you--three of <span class="mu-r">them</span>. Metal scrapes against metal as a door forces its way open and you catch sight of <span class="mu-r">them</span>. <span class="mu-r">They're warm.</span>
