You are Ben Parker, super-powered criminal and thief extraordinaire. After being bitten by a radioactive spider, you underwent a miraculous change, and adopted the identity of "The Huntsman"! But it's not all bad! Your clone brother, Abel Parker, works to protect the city, and potentially help clean up some of your messes. <span class="mu-i">He</span> goes by the name of "Spider-Man"! And co-parented by them both is Cindy Moon--half-fox demon, part-time prophetic monster slayer and a local vigilante endorsed by the moon god Khonshu!
Last time: After retaking the city, Cindy and company marched an army of monsters to Varnae's doorstep and challenged him to single combat! Despite the legends surrounding him, he got thoroughly trounced! In his desperation, Varnae cast away his pride, as well as his immortal soul! As it turned out, he had been secretly planning to possess the TRUE ruler of Limbo this entire time. Except, it wasn't Belasco, but a blonde kid with a giant sword!
Using every trick and resource at her disposal, Cindy avoided seriously injuring the girl, and fought her way to Varnae's castle. There, she and the Blood Witch lured him into a devil's trap, where Shaggy used his powerful magic charms to eject Varnae's soul from the host, and placed it in a home-crafted artifact used to entrap spirits.
They weren't able to rest for long, though, because Ben and Belasco’s fight made its way down to Cindy's level! Together, the two of them briefly fought the demon, but his defenses were too strong for them to even wound him! Thankfully, Khonshu informed you that he had called for backup. And that backup came in the form of Ammit, the devourer of souls! But that wasn't even the craziest part! Because she brought Cindy’s previously deceased friend, B Negative, along for the ride!
After Ammit swallowed Belasco whole, Cindy ran over to embrace her dear friend. But the revelations didn't end there!
Harpy and James came out to meet the group, dragging Dr. Hank McCoy (A.K.A. Beast from the X-Men) along with them! He not only surrendered and admitted to his complicity in this event, but he also offered them what might be the cure for mutants!?
No one really knew what to make of that, but Cindy at least managed to prevent Mina from killing him outright, forestalling Ammit's judgement in favor of allowing the Kaiju King to make the decision. Only, when they got back, the Kaiju King was on the brink of death from overstraining himself during the zombie invasion!
Thinking fast, Cindy picked out a small team to dive back into the battlefield and find Louise. It should have been an impossible task, but, for some reason, Cindy received help from a pair of spirit messengers that belonged to a mysterious Kumiho.
(THIS QUEST'S CANON IGNORES THE EXISTENCE OF OTHER M, PRIME 4: BEYOND, AND CERTAIN PROMOTIONAL MATERIALS COMPLETELY)
The year is 2XX1. In the wake of the Carrion Wars two years prior, the Galactic Federation has shattered completely. After the Civil War For Human Supremacy, the Galactic Federation was divided in two. The ousted old guard who welcomed aliens among it's ranks and leadership, and the new Federation for a new age. Many sweeping changes have happened as of late, the Federation now has a strict no aliens allowed policy for recruitment, combat, and leadership, the only exceptions being contracted bounty hunters.
Just five months ago, our best soldier, Samus Aran, the sole inheritor of the now-extinct Chozo's technology, secrets and power suit betrayed the Federation and went AWOL when assigned to destroy a weapon of mass destruction being built by old guard insurgents along with their leaders. Her power suit has technology and equipment beyond anything we can comprehend, let alone assign to our troops, so this is an unacceptable loss. She must be found, brought to justice for her crimes, and stripped of her Chozo technology and secrets.
This is where we are sending out an open invitation on DarkCommNet to FOUR bounty hunters, regardless of species or affiliation, to take on this mission of utmost importance. Your mission; travel to Kriken space, where there are rumors of a bounty hunter with a power suit and technology matching the description of Samus Aran has been taking contracts, many of which involve illicit activities and in some cases, assassination, and making a name for herself as "the hunter". We want her brought in dead or alive, and outside of Kriken Space. In the case of the former, please ensure that her corpse is intact enough to ensure the retrieval of genetic and organ materials.
We cannot give you access to military support or formal supplies on your mission to Kriken space, as they are highly territorial, aggressive, and will declare war if Federation involvement is suspected, which we cannot afford with our current resources after the Carrion Wars. We can, however, ensure a handsome reward of nontaxed Galactic Standard Credits, as well as a blanket pardon for any past and future crimes committed.
Please fill out the application below if you are of interest:
>Name
>Age
>Species (Doesn't have to be a prior established species from Metroid lore)
>Abilities/Equipment
>Affiliation
>Motivation
>Preference for delivery of reward credits after job completion; anonymous transfer or in-person?
You were woken up from a midday nap by the grinding of the brakes as the train arrived at X-X Station (pronounced "Double Cross," according to a clerk), and thus missed the first opportunity to queue for a quick exit from the car, as you were still quite drowsy and groping around to ensure that your possessions had (also) arrived unperturbed. Now you have queued behind a pair of rotund priests (Reformists, you think), as they gingerly step onto the platform and lose themselves in the sea of people. There are more people here than you've ever seen in once place, at least since you were a child. It's hot: hotter than it would ever get in Iscthymia. At least it's a dry heat there. Here you can feel every layer of clothing beginning to drip. But you can't take off your jacket just yet. It's dangerous, you think.
If there is one thing you hate it's traveling over-encumbered, so, in the spirit of new beginnings, you packed only the bare essentials. There's a nagging feeling of regret as you begin to intuit that perhaps you wouldn't know what would really count as essential in this new chapter of your life, in Chaotzakka, with its fourteen million people. These are things you would've pondered on the train ride had you not dozed off immediately. You're carrying a hardshell briefcase, a backpack that's coming apart at the seams, and a little bum bag crossed over your shoulder. You lift your patrol cap to see more clearly; you don't want to remove it as your hair is almost certainly a mess, but the material is itchy. The cap and bag are from your year of mandatory civil service. The backpack is from your school days. The briefcase used to be your dad's.
You're trying to get used to the smells and sounds. It seems like everything ticks, rings, or thuds in this city. You are buffeted by a blast of hot steam and struggle to breathe for a moment. Unlike a country bumpkin such as yourself, city-dwellers know to back away from the train as soon as they get off. That's why they call the station the "sauna." Just a little sample of that big-city wit for you.
You thought you'd checked that you had everything before getting off the train, but a sudden irrational panic grips you and you fear having left your most important possession behind. But of course this isn't the case; you can feel its weight on your right hip. Still, just for assurance, you reach down with your free hand and grip your
*Universal Century 0079* What began as a bid for autonomy in Side 3 erupted into the most devastating war humanity has ever witnessed. Half of all human lives have already been lost in the first month alone. Entire colonies became tombs. Fleets lost to the vast silence of space. Countless cities on Earth reduced to rubble.
And now, in the aftermath of Operation British and Zeon's planetary invasion, one truth has become undeniable:
Mobile suits rule the battlefield.
The Principality of Zeon’s Zaku had reshaped warfare overnight. Now the Federation is scrambling, desperate, bleeding, trying to catch up before they lose the war entirely. Somewhere beneath the humid jungles of South America, the Federation begins a secret race against time.
You are ***Ian Voss***.
*Rank:* Lieutenant 1st Class *Assignment:* Join the Federation’s experimental “1st MS Team,” a prototype mobile-suit evaluation unit tasked with field-testing captured Zeon technology and accelerating the Federation’s crash-program to catch up in MS warfare. *Location:* Testing Annex 17, a dummy installation linked to Jaburo by a network of underground rail tunnels.
And right now, you’re sitting alone in a rattling transport car, watching the lights strobe across the curved metal walls as you glide through the dark.
Your wrist aches again. It always does, when you think about the last mission.
You rub at it absently, jaw tightening despite yourself. The pain is duller now; dulled by time, dulled by stubbornness. But, the frustration still lingers sharp and bitter in your chest. Your hand curls into a fist before you even realize it.
Somewhere ahead in the tunnel, a distant rumble rolls through the stone, pulling your thoughts away from the past. The transport car shivers, dust falls from the ceiling. The driver glances back at you, wide-eyed.
Another rumble. Closer. Then another. Sharper this time, a compressive thud echoing through the tunnel as if some giant above is hammering the earth itself.
“Uh… sir?” the driver mutters, pressing a hand to his headset. “You might want to-”
A burst of static. Shouting. Indistinct panic. The car slows, then squeals to a stop.
“-repeat, Annex 17 is under attack! We have confirmed enemy mobile suits-”
The driver lowers the receiver with a pale face.
“S-sir… we’ve been ordered to hold position until it’s safe to proceed.”
You raise an eyebrow.
“‘Hold position’? In a tunnel?”
“I.. I don’t want to drive straight into a battle zone! What if the tunnel collapses? What if a stray shot hits the entrance? What if-”
*BOOM.*
The tunnel trembles hard enough that the lights flicker. Somewhere far ahead, metal shrieks against stone.
You steady yourself with a hand on the wall.
“At the rate things are going,” you say calmly, “we’re not safer sitting here waiting for the ceiling to come down on us. Move.”
<span class="mu-i">Howdy bros, I'm back. I wanted to continue RimQuest, but the combination of an artist shafting me, Rimworld 1.6 breaking all of my saves, life events, and depression have fucked that into the dirt. So instead here's something new.</span>
<span class="mu-s">These are the dark years of the occupation.</span> Gordon Freeman is still just a story passed between cells, squads, strangers, and couples. In this moment in time there's only you, a lone human working to resist the Combine occupation however you see fit and remain able. There will be an <span class="mu-s">Uprising</span> someday, this you're sure of, but the path there lies on the other side of lakes of blood and considerable effort on the part of unsung warriors like you.
It had felt like days since you last saw the sun back outside the outskirts of <span class="mu-s">City 11.</span> The awful stench of the sewers and cisterns which meandered under the streets of what used to be <span class="mu-s">Berlin</span> forced you to find something to plug your nose with almost immediately upon beginning your infiltration. Deep regret at leaving the accommodations, spartan as they were, of the Resistance base north of the city had massaged your mind, but failed to slow your occasionally-soggy step through the barely-lit darkness. All this had a purpose, you reminded yourself. In the newspeak of the Combine you are an Anticitizen, a <span class="mu-s">Malignant</span>, the malformed cell that starts the cancer, the one that sets the spark which will light the torch of humanity's liberation. Or, in more plain terms, the crazy fucker that volunteers to go back into the Cities in order to bring contraband in, people out, and start up new resistance cells along the way. If there were some omniscient statistician in the sky, he could have given you odds of survival that would have seen you sit your ass back down in Finow when they called for somebody to replace Parks's sector after his presumed loss, but all the same, it needed to get done. The whole goddamned species was at stake, with a biological time limit that edged closer to expiration every year and a planet slowly being strangled of its life. If this generation didn't stop them, there would be no other. Never in human history had there been as existential and desperate a struggle as the one you now trudged through obscure German shit-tunnels to wage.
It had only been half a day since you entered the sewer system when you reached your target. A junction in the tunnels marked by a chalk marker and a lone, white coffee mug. The route into this part of the city was prepared beforehand by a two-man reconnaissance team, people with equipment and experience too valuable for you to know or to be risked with the next, most dangerous part of City infiltration. You were briefed that they left you a red bag full of necessaries to help you along on your mission from here, hidden in a storeroom near the marker.
You are a CANONICALLY HOMOSEXUAL wizard man. You have an EPIC STAFF and also a WITCH'S BROOMSTICK which feels PRETTY REDUNDANT you think. You were thinking of hitting up a REDBOX to pick up a straight-to-dvd BROOMSPELL which is something like a MOVIE (your broom doubles as a DVD player)
"Gill and Kane, stay here and keep watch. Alert us if anybody sails near the wreckage. The rest of you, with me."
“Yessir, boss!”
Two men split off from the group and stand guard by the gaping hole that had allowed you all an entrance. It was a miracle the remains of the ship were afloat at all, nearly half of it shorn off by Sea Devil knows what. You count yourself lucky you weren't a part of the battle and count yourself even luckier that you and the rest of the bandits got here first.
Somehow, you doubt even your imagination can conceive the type of loot a ship from the fleet of an Emperor of the Sea might contain.
You proceed down the hallway, avoiding the gouges in the flooring and the dagger-sharp planks sticking out of the walls. The primary instinct that strikes you is to hover at the back of the pack, but there seems to be constant jockeying for position over there - no good bandit welcomes a backstabbing - so you stay where you are and keep your eyes and ears open. This wasn't your first job with these guys, but that was no invitation to let your guard down.
The boss kicks down a door and steps inside a room up ahead. With furtive looks at each other, the rest of you follow suit and funnel in. Scattered gasps and murmurs fill the silence of the chamber.
The chamber was chock-full of glittering, glorious treasure chests.
"Boys... we hit the JACKPOT!" The boss of the bandits nearly stumbles; such is his excitement in approaching the nearest chest. The rings on his hand clink together as he reaches for the clasp that separates riches from the ragged. One more step...
But of course, could it have ever been so simple?
"Boss!" the shout travels from the front of the wreck, faint, but not faint enough that you fail to discern the panic in his voice. "There's a pirate cre━!"
A crack of thunder swallows his final words. A body slumps to the ground on your left.
<span class="mu-i">Huh?</span>
It feels like time grounds to a halt for a precious few seconds, as your eyes trail from the corpse, to the hole where the bullet entered the room, to then finally land on the hole it left exiting. One bullet. Had you been a mere three steps to the left, that would’ve been your end.
All of you hit the deck. You wait a beat, but no further shots ring out. You peer over at the boss and notice that he’s still eyeing the chests, that familiar glint of greed in his eyes warring with fear and uncertainty.
What do you plan to do? >You’ll follow the boss’s orders; your best bet for staying alive is to stick with the others.
>You’ll betray the boss and the rest of the bandits at the first opportunity; you want all the treasure for yourself, and maybe you can use this chaos to your advantage.
>You’ll cut and run the moment you find a way; you don’t want to end up dead, even if treasure beckons.
>You’ll be arresting all of them; because you’re a Marine in disguise, conducting a sting operation.
you play as Argia Candente, a trainee Paladin of Ansàrra cursed since birth with silver hair. Now in your darkest hour, you try to understand whether your own Goddess has forsaken you, if your life is truly forfeit and if the Adversary’s offer has any merits…
# # # # # #
Welcome to the <span class="mu-s">seventh thread</span> of <span class="mu-b">Argia Candente</span>’s thrilling adventures! Our scatterbrained, silver-haired (sporting a D-cup, by player vote) Holy Knight-trainee with a penchant for daydreaming and plagued by self-doubt, on a quest to save her family from poverty and starvation.
>Admitted you can survive the next twelve hours, that is.
Now with the added thrill of you having been denounced as agent of the Adversary, your Master imprisoned, being separated from two of your friends, and the turncoat third one… has just birthed a world-ending Worm.
On top of that, you have been seemingly abandoned by the Sun-Birther, the goddess <span class="mu-s">Ansàrra</span>… and the Saint you have always cherished, Bragia Lacresta, has revealed herself to you as the Adversary, the infamous soul-collector, <span class="mu-s">The Stilladìa</span>… who is indirectly responsible for the ruin of your family.
At least, during last thread you got to strike her with an angel’s feather… for all the good it did.
You have suffered through many an ordeal (pictured in the images below), but this time… this time it could be the <span class="mu-i">end</span>… or a new beginning.
For what is a Paladin without a Goddess to hold onto, and what happens when your own faith turns against you?Someone might have an answer… someone who was with you since the very beginning. Though you might not like the Stilladìa’s answers. Was any medicine ever sweet? Or poison…
So, without further ado, let’s take a look at where we come from.
<span class="mu-s">And then let’s decide together where we are going.</span>
You are Charlotte Fawkins, Herald and heroine. With the power of your positive spirit, you have overcome deceit, defeat, and divine possession, and now you are going to save the world. First, though, you need to defeat your nemesis Jean Ramsey in single combat.
Your fall through Ramsey's cloak is short, and your landing is soft (though you're displeased to discover the tail interferes with any cool forward roll). You are in blackness. You're not certain what you anticipated.
When you stand, you spy the Crown first, then the mask, then the snake, then, and only then, do you make out the rest of Ramsey: she's 20 feet away, her cloak camouflaging her near-perfectly. You suppose this is her head, or pocket dimension, or... wherever. Ramsey's axe, taller than her body, glossy black, is camouflaged too, only visible by its glint: the Crown is shedding faint white light.
You draw The Sword— its flames do nothing to illuminate the space, but it seems like the appropriate thing to do. Ramsey cocks her head. "Boy, you sure are a pain in the ass, aren't you?"
The snake, glossy beige, loops down around her shoulders. =Like father, like daughter. Isn't that right, Wingnut.=
God-damnit! How much have you been spied on? You clench The Sword, refusing to rise to the bait, but it wasn't set out for you— Richard shimmers into existence by your side. His hand is on your shoulder. "She is my <span class="mu-i">client.</span> Do not drag her—"
"Hey, who the fuck is that?" Ramsey says.
=Wow. What the hell is that. I'd be laughing if I wasn't in-chassis, so use your imagination. Or don't. Here: ha ha ha ha ha.= =This is what you have been reduced to. Human. And an inferior physical specimen at that. I don't know what I expected. Ha ha ha ha.= =This is how your -daughter- thinks of you. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.=
"I dunno, Snickers. They don't really look anything alike?" You get the impression that Ramsey is squinting. "Is that actually your <span class="mu-i">snake?</span> Shit! I didn't know they turned into people!"
=The competent ones don't. Isn't that right, Wingnut.=
"I am perfectly satisfied with my current state of affairs, <span class="mu-i">Snickers.</span> It has posed no obstacle to my success with my client."
=You mean it's posed no obstacle to -my- success with -my- client. Thanks for the Crown, by the way. Couldn't have ushered in the Dawn without—=
"Oh, yeah! The Crown! Wow! Talk on your own time, Snickers, thanks bunches." Ramsey pushes the snout of her snake upwards. "Charlotte Fawkins."
You've been trying to think of cool things to say. "Yes, evildoer?"
"Ohoho! Evildoer! Nice one. You stole Wayne's crystal, didn't you?"
You did, and thank God for it. It's under the armor, against your chest, hidden by your Magyckal Aura. "No."
