PRELUDE In the third decade of the 21st century, the nations of Mankind contested Cislunar Space, the vast darkness that begins 35,000 kilometres above Earth in geosynchronous orbit, approaching beyond 380,000 km to reach the surface of the Moon.
Dis iz a tale not like any 'eard befor! S'got Epik WAAAAGHS, 'Uge Choppas, da Dakkiest Shootahs, shiniez a'plenty, proper skrapz , brutal krumpin, Ladz boaf weird an ded ard! S'even got a Gork an Mork innit !
All'n'All, itz Rite Legendery!
An' da best part iz, dat t'all appened! 'onest!
It beginz a long time 'go, on a wee planet umiez kalled "Hi-raethe". But dats stoopid. Da Orks 'ad a bettah name for it. But dats me gettin' heada myself. Dey say it wuz green, but not even orky. Da Umiez there herded squigs a'plenty. but deez humiez wuz week! Datz wut da Pink Spikey boyz fort! They kame in an krumped most a da week umiez, an took da tuff wunz. Den, dey grinded up da squigs to a powdah, an snorted it. But da blue an yellow beakiez 'ated dat. dey came over and gave da pink spiky boys a gud thrashin. but befor dey wuz all squashed, da Pink spiky boys sent out a call to WAAAAAGH, and da ovva Spiky boyz listened gud. Dey kame ovah, and beet da tar out da beakies. One ting led to anovva, and da hole of da planet was stomped flat. All dose ships krashed down on da now brown an dusty planet dat de Orks kall "Skrapheep"! Now datz a gud name!
'Ang on it getz bettah!
Wun day, a sertain tribe wuz undah attak by freebootahs, but da tribe... dey 'ad a trikk up dere sleeve, in de vent of a mergency such as diz.
A cave full to da brim with fresh yoofs, ready to spring up an throttle dem freebootahs. An wun a deez Yoofs wuz...
'Old on, I've... lost it. Zog.
Wate! Dont go, I hav it now. Da tribe and yoof wuz...
You are a powerful magician who was once an adventurer. After amassing a large fortune, you recently finished building a tower near a small village. Now is the time for you to begin your research, whatever you're interested in researching.
Select race of your villagers.
Select name, gender and type of magic of your magician (can be any element or combination of elements)
Select one unique perk for your magician (could be special backstory, an unusual ally, membership in a strange society, a powerful artifact, etc)
Welcome to the Cygnus Sector, officer! Always good to see new people fresh from the Star Academy! I went there myself, you know?
I'm sure you read the mission briefing. Here in the Cygnus sector, we are battling the K'tharr, an advanced alien race. Capturing their ships for analysis is what every officer dreams to do. Unfortunatelly, simply surviving an encounter with them is already a challenge.
I'm not going to put you in the direct contact line just now. It is time you start commanding more than just training vessels and simulators. You'll get your very own fleet!
Of course, it comes with some managerial work. But you sure are prepared for that, from the Academy.
The Eagle Alpha Spaceyard (EASY) constructs corvettes and frigates for the war effort. Your starter budget for your fleet is ten million credits. That should be enough for a few decent ships.
Your mission is to Secure a mining colony output. There have been pirate attacks lately. They tend to attack near the dates when we send the compressed ore back for refining. This day is approaching, so your fleet shall escort the ships coming back with the cargo. You'll rendezvous with Colonel Frank, who is overseeing the mining operations.
Sitting at Alvor's table and munching on a piece of bread, you mull over your situation for what must be the hundredth time this week. Sigrid, Alvor's wife, has been giving you the stink eye for the last couple of days, assuaged a little by the hours you've been putting in at the mill to earn some septims. You've overheard her argue with Alvor at night in their own language (which you guess is Nordic), in which you've heard your name spoken aloud a few times--and not with affection. You tear off another chunk of bread. You could murder a quater-pounder with cheese right about now, but meat is apparently the food of kings around these parts. Even so, you're getting tired of cabbage and leek soup.
"No work at the mill today?" asks Sigrid pointedly.
You shake your head and swallow. "Log jam. Hod's taking a look. Should be fixed soon." You know she means well. She was the one that nursed you back to health when you washed up at the riverbank. She had even spent some of her own savings to buy you a health potion from Lucan--if not for that, you might have died from the injuries. But, at the same time, hospitality has its limits. Her husband's a blacksmith, which means they're not exactly starving but an extra mouth to feed is never really welcome, especially one that's been so vague about where it came from and why. And so, you've been planning to move on, except every time you think about what's happened, how you got here, and what it all means, and especially what might have happened to Lem, you have a panic attack.
But anyway, here are the facts as far as you understand them: One: Skyrim, for some reason, is real and you somehow washed up here (in Riverwood to be exact) after the kayak accident. You haven't seen Lem, your best friend, yet. Chances are he didn't make it. Two: This version of Skyrim is nothing like the game. It's an actual world, not a computer program. There aren't stats, levels, skill points. There's no NPCs. Almost nothing is abstracted like it is in the game. The other day you tried picking some red flowers down by the river. In the game you just point and press a button and the flowers are in your inventory. Here, you actually have to pick them one by one, and you have to be careful not to damage the plant or cut yourself on the thorns. The locations and the places are still the same, there's Riverwood, and you've heard about Whiterun and even Bleak Falls Barrow from Lucan, but if Riverwood is anything to go by, those places should be much bigger and more complex than they were in the game. Three: The dragons haven't shown up yet. There is a civil war going on between the Imperial Legion and the Stormcloaks as in the game, but when you asked about the dragons, Alvor just looked puzzled and started talking about the Throat of the World and the Greybeards.
You are James Underwood the Younger, and you are about to kill a man. You've never done that before. Not that it would be difficult, said man is pinned to the ground and already dying. Courtesy of James Underwood the Elder, your father. A ninety-four year old man, who calmly had you drive him into Mendig's northern projects to linger in a dark alleyway and wait behind a rancid garbage bin for this man to draw near. At which point he simply got up, strode out into the open, and drove a knife into the man. Once, in the back, then once again into his front after he fell. Puncturing the lungs to prevent him screaming, you figure.
Your father...Dad, was always an imposing figure in your life. A former soldier who never raised his voice and never needed to to get either his son or an entire room of suits to listen. You never got a full picture of what he did for Jefferson, even after the latter's fall, but there was a reason he did not oppose your wish to climb the company's ladder without his influence. Even then, he was trying to shield you. You were in your early twenties, but still a little boy to him. That hasn't changed, especially after Mom died. You sometimes compare yourself to those of his generation, who lived and fought in the war, knew the Rebuilding and golden years that followed. A tougher breed than yours, for sure. Dad never cared. You think he was just happy his only child would not know what he did. And now you are about to step into a war, a deadly game, though hopefully as a player and not an ignorant, unwitting pawn.
Dad is scared. The idea fills you with unease. This man fears not pain nor death, and yet he is afraid now. Scared of what is to come, scared that he is not strong enough to protect you. Of course, how could he, he's a dying old man, the thought still echoes in your head. Well, truly that is where your troubles begin.
A few months ago, Dad discovered something. He didn't tell you how, but he apparently found strange floating stones that no one else could see. They gave him power, unnatural abilities, a small part of his youth back, and the ability to get more. From what he knows, these stones are only found dormant in certain people who have taken another's life. Even fewer still may gain these stones, alongside the ability to use them, when killing the killer. You get the feeling Dad isn't telling you everything. But since he calls them blood stones, he figures that those of his blood may also be like him, able to use them.
So, this goes first you type what we would what (can be anything. literally from a wizard in a world made of weed where you dungeon endlessly or that you are a literal rock.) After that we decide what goes next FIRST COME FIRST SERVE if you are unsure of what to do look at the OP post
hello, can someone of u pls hack my mail cause im trying to play one game but i forgot the pass and i also cant reset it because i losed this mail, i cant prove thats my mail but u can check that this mail is not conected to any of social media. the mail [email protected]
“Honestly, I could name a thousand reasons: I don’t like Prometheus, and I don’t trust him to mold me like a piece of clay. I’m not you, and I don’t want to be— hell, I don’t think I’d even <span class="mu-i">deserve</span> to be.”
“You wouldn’t-”
“There’s only one person in the world I’d want to trust my soul with,” you interrupt, “And it isn’t your dead boyfriend. I have things I worked hard for that I want to keep, people who I really want to stay dead, and I owe a debt of gratitude to the Architect for giving me this opportunity in the first place. I like power, I like having more than other people, but, more than anything…
I want to be free, and I want to be myself. If that means I don’t get to be happy, then, fuck it, who even needs to be? I have a <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-r">more powerful impetus</span></span>.”
You spread your arms wide, the fake soul of the fake you conjured by the Grand Art creaking and chipping beneath the pressure exerted by your real might, crimson light pouring through the breaks like water from the cracks in a porcelain vase. Arms painfully burst from your back, skin tearing and blood pouring out from the ruins of your tattered sweater. The limbs flex their freshly minted muscle, caressing the soft, tender pink skin, newborn, almost infantile despite their long, sinister build, You topple forward for a moment the weight cracking your spine under its crushing weight until your body reorganizes itself, reinforcing and regenerating shattered bone and torn sinew with metal and divinity, your skeleton shivering and popping as your new anatomy settles into place.
“...I see. Well, it was a free choice, a true choice, so a number of possibilities exist. I guess this just happens to be one where things turned out wrong.”
“You’re too vertical, both of you,” you sneer, “Your world is dead. The man who killed himself was someone you never knew, and he died for someone he never met. As far as I’m concerned, all of those “what if”s are only as real as any other predictive model. A glorified simulation, really. Well, if it’s any consolation, I believe your wish to have been granted before you ever made it: you have never been me, and you never will be.”
The other you remains silent, but you press on, the constructed world tearing away as your Impetus overrides the Grand Art, its caster no longer present to protect it from your will. Your body lifts into the air, scarlet fetters burst from your fingertips, slowly taking the qualities of the Sunset, first hard to notice, vermillion and magenta, then, less subtle, gold, lilac, blue, white, black. The chains bind to the fabric of the incomplete reality itself, each wild movement of your arms tearing out another piece.
