A world where might makes right. A world of Jade and Gold, of Phoenix and Dragons, of Pills and Talismans, of Martial and Spiritual arts. A world where diligent training yield strength, meaning freedom. A world where loneliness means death, meaning social chains. A world still unfair, as the ones reaching the heavens are most likely born rich - be it political riches of the aristocrats, power of secret knowledges and hidden realms of clans, or lucky enough to be born one-in-a-thousand genius.
This was not the case of Quiet Word - that is, (You). Your current skill level is on par with other genius of your age. But where they were graced with secret techniques and special care, you just had lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.
You own a trove of techniques and treasures for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit. Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a townwide cultivator tournament. Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own, and freely shared with your sect-siblings (but not your masters). Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that "figuring it out by yourself" point.
Recently, you focused on one of your Growth-realm treasure, the Wandering World-Tree. Cementing your relationship with the gifted graft-specialist, you searched and provide a trove of grafts as well as learning about the elegant art of tea composition; learned a new mythical Meteor-Hammer technique and made great progress in your cultivation, getting ready to break through the current minor realm - despite your falling behind issues. Right now, this is the eve of your fourth year with the Eastern Branch of the Tamers of Hundred Beasts. You chose to take on a rare opportunity : the <span class="mu-s">Stormwood</span> instead of breaking through, or helping chart the potential of a new crop of young lads.
WELCOME BACK, I plan poorly and don't ever note where the quest is on the board. I'll be using the last post of the prior thread as the first post of this thread so people can continue voting if they haven't already. I already have the votes from the prior thread saved and tallied but if you want to re-vote, please feel free as long as you let me know you voted once already.
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"That smell..." You begin. "You didn't bring... please tell me my apartment is demon free."
"Don't be a drama queen, course it is." He laughs as he sits up. "Honestly, a loyal friend brings you an apology gift and you can't even untwist your knickers long enough to say thank you."
"Thank you for what? The smell?" You grumble to yourself as you head for the window. "Question would at least keep it scent-free... God, I actually miss the normal break-ins."
"Come off it." John throws out.
"What'd you expect me to say? 'Oh. Hey. I was hoping to hear how the rest of your night went at Arkham.' something like that?"
"I'm chuffed you asked!" He barks, tossing the gift box to you. "It was actually a real pain in the bollocks, thanks for asking."
"A pain? You had Batman and you're supposed to be this big shot magician right?"
"Unfortunately for me, being hijacked and used as a Tulpa's johnny takes it out of a guy. I had to lug him out of there before it had a chance to affix itself to him again."
"And you didn't use a spell to just... float him or something?" You reply, picking at the tight knot of the ribbon. "You really don't have something like that?"
"First off, don't talk about my magic until you've looked in that box. Secondly, shutting down not one but TWO Tulpa's leaves a bloke a bit drained. So forgive me for not living up to your Magi stereotypes."
"Whatever." You reply. "After you forced me into a corner and got me to agree to a coma, I don't really think much of 'mages' anyway."
You pull the last loop and the knot falls apart, the ribbon hanging loosely around the box, you hear a metallic scrape and glance up to see John holding his zippo, loose cigarette dangling from his mouth. You narrow your eyes and he sneers.
"You opened the window, mate. I assumed..." He trails off as he watches you frown. "Well if you opened gifts faster than my granny maybe I wouldn't need a smoke. Not to mention all the hostility you have for a bloke who saved your life."
The sharp, reinforced scalpel plunged into the Rangdan’s chest. Pangea grip’s tightened, then pulled the blade down and into a Y shape. The tough skin needed a steady pull from the mechanical arms, once open, Pangea and Amar examined each organ. Pangea nudged, pulled, and eventually cut out the organ after studying them, following Amar’s instruction more than doing the examination on her own.
“So, how are you feeling, daughter?”
Pangea looked across from the Rangdan corpse. “I’m fine… Why do you ask?”
A sickening plop popped as a tweezer pulled a circular organ. “To see if you’re feeling well. Are you?”
She glared. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? I—”
The table rattled as Pangea slammed her fists on the autopsy table. “I said I’m fine! It’s not like I’m mad that Father chose to rob me of my legion, my retinue, and the glory of hunting down the Rangdan, the xeno race I found first!”
“I see.” Amar said. “Pangea, the Great Crusade does not reward missions to those who found an enemy first, only those who are fit.”
“And I’m not fit enough?”
“I did not say that.”
Amar set her scalpel down and powered down the mechanical arms.]
“That’ll be all for today, get some rest.”
After the autopsy, Pangea…
>Visited Kharn and Greer in the medicae facility >Visited Vulkan >Write-in
<span class="mu-i">“Extensive.”</span> You state a moment of thought later. <span class="mu-i">“Forge-Master Kelbanx is to be assigned to zone…”</span> You start to rattle off a series of orders, only to catch yourself. The <span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">Surewrought</span></span>. The voidship seems odd, the damage being as extensive as it is, requires further investigation and research. Presuming xenos activity, it could very well be damaged by esoteric and so far, unknown weapons, or something even worse, perhaps worse than what the first Fabricator-general had encountered. This requires an expendable asset in the worst case, and one that could be controlled in the best case. <span class="mu-i">”No. Assign Forge-Master Kelbanx to investigate <span class="mu-s">Surewrought</span>.”</span>
<span class="mu-i">”As you command, Fabricator-General.”</span> The Voxmaster swiftly responds.
<span class="mu-i">”Forge-Master Belogophor is to re-establish contact with the planetary garrison within Special Military Exclusion Zone Alpha Alpha 1. Forge-Master Alsmer will secure the planetary capital of Nova Anveradon. Forge-Master Krahr is to disperse amongst farmlands and floodlands to investigate if production cycles have been impacted. Afterwards, they have full autonomy to pursue their objectives as they see fit.”</span>
Having finished giving out your orders, you stand in silence, your bionic legs not feeling any discomfort from the task. Before you, the thick coverage of world-wide fertilizer and the ever-present bloom of green encompasses the world as the remaining voidships of your fleet begin to spread and prepare to either enter geosynchronous orbit or to take up defensive positions around said ships. Soon enough, the void will be ablaze with landing craft as thousands will be ferried to their destinations. You cannot help but wonder, how many of them shall perish…how many of them shall join the silent crowd in their judgement of your decisions.
Finally, your mind does shift back to Deimea, and to Odysseus. With the fleet gone, your paranoia of a potential Orkish invasion of your home is flaring up, but you dismiss these thoughts as irrelevant to your current situation.
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 get your stolen Crown back— no matter what obstacles lie in your way. Or boring meetings.
"You're late, Ms. Fawkins."
Lucky is as glad to see you as always. "<span class="mu-i">Am</span> I? Or are you just being—"
"Don't sweat it. We weren't that far in." Eloise pats the chair next to her. "Lucky likes repeating himself, anyway, so it's like you won't have missed a thing. Actually—" Here she stage-whispers. "—we already knew a lot of it, so—"
"Mr. Blaine is offering his own insight," Monty says patiently. "It's nice to see you, Charlotte. Sit down, will you?"
You were planning on it— have been trying to, actually, but the chairs in the Wind Court meeting room are uncomfortable-looking and, more crucially, don't have holes in the back. You settle on sitting at an angle, so to not crush your tail. "Where's Madrigal? I thought she'd be—"
"She had other business to attend to. I'll fill her in afterward. Mr. Blaine, could you start over?"
"It appears I must. Unless we have other visitors I should know about?" (Monty shakes his head.) "Very well. From the beginning. At an unknown point early this morning— most likely between 2 and 4 AM— a barrier sprung up around, roughly speaking, the entirety of the Corcass. This barrier is circular or ovoid, pitch black, several hundred feet high, and unnatural in origin. It is impenetrable to casual testing. The perpetrator of is barrier is no mystery, because identical barriers have been sighted progressively eastward for approximately a month and a half. They are the work of—"
"Jean Ramsey!" you say.
Lucky looks down his nose at you, then shuffles his notes. "It's impossible to know how you might've guessed that, Ms. Fawkins. Yes. Ms. Ramsey, or, in the popular imagination, the 'Hero-Queen,' generates these barriers for the purposes of 'The Game.' This is what she has dubbed the flagrant waste of—"
"We're on the same page about this, Lucky." Eloise has leaned back in her chair. "Specifics."
The cold wind blew through the ruins growing out into the sky from the ash desert. The leeches at High Command had ordered your platoon to move through the desolate hell to reach a point of interest the survivors from the previous suicide trip reported. They had graciously provided yours with barely enough supplies and hover vehicles to ensure operational self sufficiency. You swore at them under your breath once again.
As your squad glided between two broken concrete monoliths which seemed to reach as high as the clouds, you turned and asked your Navigation Engineer:
“What’s our ETA Kara?”
“At our current speed we will be arriving at the beacon in T-minus 20 minutes sir.” She responded.
“Good, keep your eyes open. Scavs tore the other expedition into shreds, there might be hostiles in the area.” You replied.
You looked back at the viewing panels, giving you a panoramic view of the land the hover-APC was zooming past. The usual ruined buildings and cities that looked like a particularly spiky tumour of steel and concrete no longer seemed to be as common as it was 2 hours ago. The rare pillars that went up to the atmosphere now were far enough into the horizon that it would take at least half a day for you to get to the base of the column with your convoy.
Straight ahead you saw the ever present ash desert, the grey sea only got illuminated with occasional flashes of a rad storm brewing up off-pink lightning. If you weren’t inside the APC the smell of ozone would be overwhelming, since you were, the only smell was disinfectant and iron.
OH SHIT NIGGA. You are lady Firemane. Of the (formerly) noble house of Fireborn! You were once the greatest wagon racer this side of the kingdom. Sadly due to shenanigans, you lost everything and went into debt with the Adventurer's Guild in order to survive. But then you found the Inexperienced Hero, Ezekiel "Kid" Rutebega ! You took him under your wing to mold him into the hero he's always meant to be: your devoted apprentice (probably)
Ezekiel's older brother has started his campaign of destruction, he leads his hordes of undead barbarians to ravage the lands. As members of the guild, your party has went on the quest chain to stop said undead barbarian horde.
One of the Barbarian Chieftess of said horde set up a trap for you and your compatriots! She was about to wreck you at the end of last thread but The Hero jumped in just in time! Now Ezekiel's engaged in combat with her!
You close your eyes and lean back in your chair, taking a deep controlled breath. The pitter-patter of rain against a window overseeing the lake had always calmed you. It was an indication of how far you had come, how far you had led your people, to go from but a scant few in prebuilt fabs, huddling together against the raging storm, to now have tamed the waters of your surroundings and not only built shelter from the merciless winds, but to have grown and prospered.
And now ? Now that your people are safe, now that their bellies are full and their heads empty of constant worry about the danger of the morrow ? They go and try to kill your son ! To add to the farce, as the bastard tried to blow Magnus’ head off, he had the gall to proclaim his respect for you ! Your wife, Celyn, understandably wants blood, rivers of it for every drop that Magnus had lost. You really cannot blame her for it, if it were you a few decades younger you too would have made sure that there was hell to pay in a more…brutal manner.
Seeing as how you will be sixty in a few years’ time, a lot of the fire and brimstone that had made up your gut had long since cooled. You have to admit, despite wanting to dig out Coen’s guts and use them as decorations, a curious feeling of serenity holds onto you.
It is rare for you to be so sure of mind and purpose without even a moment’s hesitation. The rule of law will be upheld. You will ensure that there are no calls of claims of tyranny, no abuses of power…well, bar maybe one, as Magnus will need a proper command of his own, and it just so happens that the recon corps is lacking a leader. But besides that, perhaps out of romanticized ideals of nobility, or just nostalgia for when you were much younger and naïve, the whole point behind nobles is that they are supposed be bound by ideals of honour, duty, a certain noblesse oblige. An ideal you hope to embody and set down the precedent for the generations that shall follow your own.
Opening your eyes, you look at Celyn. She seems so tired, so worn, her light brown hair already has streaks of grey running across them, wrinkles are apparent where in your memory there were none. She has gotten old, and so had you.
“Dear.” You say, your voice even, the list of names still slowly moving before your eyes. “I cannot become a tyrant. I will not become a monster that slaughters its own people out of paranoia.”
“It is not paranoia to take necessary precautions to ensure the safety of our children !” She says, her choler rising.
You are Cindy Moon; Warrior Priest of Khonshu, Ward of Ben Parker, Part-time local vigilante. And, just recently, you somehow obtained the title of "Slayer" from an ancient Vampire Lord with an evil agenda. Between going to school, fighting bad guys, wrangling an overeager sidekick and dealing with an insane amount of family drama, now you're expected to potentially help save the world! No pressure.
Last time: Cindy managed to convince the Kaiju King to aid her in eliminating Varnae, and forged an official contract of sorts with Mercy. But not soon afterwards, Monster Metropolis was attacked by an army of the undead! Together, with the help of Harpy, Deadhead, Shaggy, and, surprisingly enough, Louise the Nightguard, Cindy fought back against the undead menace and even spared time to rescue those in need.
The plan was going great, until Cindy was forcefully teleported back into the Kaiju King's palace, where she found her grandmother lying unconscious in the center of crowd of monstrous citizens! In an act of desperation, Cindy used the Bloodstone shard that Wilhelmina had granted her to save her grandmother's life!
Young rose from her comatose state soon after, and with her help, Cindy managed to convey her intention to eliminate Varnae to the rest of his victims. Now, the counter-attack can truly begin!
But what will happen to Cindy's friends? Will the Bloodstone have any long-term negative effects on her grandmother? Will Cindy continue to grow additional tails?
Find out more in the latest issue of…<span class="mu-r"><span class="mu-s">MAXIMUM SPIDER QUEST!</span></span>
Rules: Most dice rolls will be 1d100. Modifiers will be added depending on the situation or on the alien being used(Usually +10 or -10). Crit successes and crit fails apply. Crit fails can be overridden by crit successes, but crit failures cannot override crit successes.
How to Roll: To roll dice, type “dice+1d100” in the options field without the quotations. To roll dice with positive modifiers, type “dice+1d100+modifier number” in the options field without quotations, and with an actual modifier number. To roll dice with negative modifiers, type “dice+1d100+-modifier number” in the options field without quotations, and with an actual modifier number.
