From local cluster to Perseus veil, from galactic core to the furthest rim, sapient civilizations everywhere were aware of the wild variety of events and experience the universe has to offer. Many would seek to find some guiding power or principle behind them, be they taking form of immutable laws, deities capricious or sagacious, strokes of luck or twists of fate, many committed their experiences to expressions of art in its countless forms. Almost all took to accept that nothing is wholly certain when it comes to tomorrow, aside from the possibility of each of them being the last one for the particular perspective.
Virtually all of those civilizations would at some point discover that a particular form of ending swept across the galaxy on regular basis, wiping the slate clean for the next generation of species... this ending has come to be recognized as the Reapers. A fleet of ominous machines hiding beyond the stars, that for motives unknown would periodically return and purge the galaxy of all sapient life.
Until recently.
A coalition of species built around network of Mass Relays, galactic traffic infrastructure now revealed to be about as old as the Reapers themselves, succeeded to rally around common cause of survival, and reaching for knowledge of the countless peoples extinguished in ages past, succeeded in creating and deploying an arcane device that ended the Reaper cycle of harvests once and for all.
You were there when it happened. You were looking at the sky when the story of the universe turned to a new chapter before your eyes.
And so far, you're doing your best to contribute to making it a good one.
You are Henri Ford, special consultant for the Citadel Institute for Xenoarchaeology, captain of a Kowloon class freighter MSV Chariot, veteran and survivor of the Reaper crisis and currently a freelancing adventurer.
And currently you're also waking up into a new day.
You are Altair, a Bloodletter in training sent to Calamitas Academy Of Adventurers. For better cooperation in the coming tide of evil, you were chosen to be the extension of the Bloodletter Order. While your first day was without issues, it was all until you slayed a ghoul and found a victim.
“This is my duty, I’ll stay here and see what else I can find.”
“My boy, this is a job of professors.” Professor Hoffman said.
“He’s not just a student.” Professor Yasha said, “and it looks like this isn’t your first time.”
You nodded. “If I may, I’d like to look around more.”
“Make it quick then. Hoffman.”
“I will grab the headmaster immediately.”
You went over your information. The victim was a student, human male, aged fifteen to sixteen years with medium build with well toned body. His throat was open, mangled from the bite from the ghoul. From the uniform he was a first year, no damages at all.
“Do you recognize him?”
“Hoffman and I don’t teach first years. Maybe other faculties might.”
Other than the blood, his hands and clothes had no damages at all. Not even anything under the fingernails. You rummage his pockets and find nothing. This location was far from the main campus, a small street tucked between two buildings, a quiet place for sure.
“What is this location?”
“This is where smaller classes are held. Specializations like hexcraft or spirit-works. Classes for upper years.”
“What else?”
“Ancient languages, rare dialects, rune-deciphering, different kinds of anthropology, and even necromancy and magi classes.” Professor Yasha snarled. “Necromancers, foul things they are. That's what must have happened. They can also make ghouls can't they?”
“Yes but this one is a thrall-ghoul judging from its teeth and consuming blood. But… There have been incidents where necromancers became a vampire more than any other sorcerers. Either they find a vampire or perform a ritual. Anyone can do it but it has been mostly necromancers.
“Foul sorcery that is.” Professor Yasha scoffed. “Can’t believe they teach that here.”
Necromancy. That made your stomach tight. While there were legal practitioners, you and your mentor killed plenty of actual necromancers.
“And this is a first year student uniform?”
Professor Yasha nodded.
Huh. What was a first year student doing here? Wait a minute…
“Magis? Here?”
“Only a few. You know how they are.”
“I’ve only met one. And my mentor was the one who talked to him. That magi managed find a werewolf so easily. They’re amazing. By the way professor, what was the last class?”
Professor Yasha shrugged.
“You’d have to ask the faculties. I don’t teach around here."
For now, your plan was to…
>Bait out a vampire >Search within the necromancy students >Get a help from a magi
<span class="mu-s">2076.01.01, 00:01 Night City</span>
Flashing lights cut through sheets of heavy rain, far off fireworks and distant neon advertisements mingling in bright sprays of color among the dark and storm. Pink and cyan starbursts, blossoms of Arasaka crimson and Militech yellow. The dull thumps of the largest fireworks sound moments later, interspersed with the staccato rattle of celebratory gunfire from gonks and gangers alike. A cheery voice sounds through your cheap earbuds, piped in from your agent’s feed of N54.
<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“ . . . Happy New Years, Night City! Here’s to 2076, another neon bright year in the City of Dreams! Grab that someone special and . . .”</span></span>
Blinking and cursing as a few heavy rain drops land in your ‘ganic eyes, you look away from the overhead show and pull the cheap plastic hood of your transparent single-use raincoat tighter. For a few more minutes you just walk like that, hood tight and head down, alone and cold and hardly paying attention to the droning newsfeed in your ears.
<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">” . . . NiCola! Taste the love! . . . Welcome back to N54 news. As new year celebrations enter into full swing in Night City, tragedy has already struck the Kabuki marketplace in Watson. The NCPD is reporting an ongoing cyber-psycho situation, with casualties reported as already reaching as high as thirty four and expected to grow. Stay safe out there, Night City! Now a word from our sponsor, Budget Arms . . . ”</span></span>
With a flick of your thumb you kill the feed to your Agent, swiping drops of water from its screen. It’s an old model, a little metal box about the size of a deck of cards with a flat screen and no flare to speak of - it’s a decade out of date, but it still runs half decent encryption. Not much else positive to say about it. Stepping under the patchy sheet metal awning of a closed scop shop, you take a moment to check your messages.
“Out alone, kid?” A scratchy voice asks from within the rolled down security mesh of the shop’s counter, interrupting you.
Turning, you spy a tired looking asian man sitting in a white plastic chair concealed in the shadows of the closed shop. Only the light of a mobile comp illuminates him, barely enough to make out an old Militech tattoo on his arm and the silhouette of a stubby pump shotgun laying across his lap.
“...Yeah.” You admit, refraining from getting any closer to the steel mesh, “Mind if I stand here for a sec?”
“Free country, kid. Do whatever you want.” The man replies gruffly, tapping away at the keyboard of his comp for a moment with one hand, “...Get kicked out?”
“Mm. Sort of.” You half mumble back. It’s none of his fucking business, but you’re not half gonk enough to say that to a stranger cradling a shotgun.
Welcome to the greatest city in the wide world, softsoul. You’ll fit right in - or find yourself flowing down the river.
You are a Mask(ed vigilante) hired on the the Red Market Whisper Trade to fulfill the needs for extrajudicial arbitration. Or put differently - sometimes, someone needs someone else to beat someone third up and you step in to provide the particulars.
Come on, softsoul. Put on the Mask. Wrap your hands. Make a mark on the grand old city. So much is going wrong around here, someone will have to do something about it. It might just have to be you.
After some consideration... you've decided that you're going to lay down a trap for the son of a bitch that fired an arrow at you, and indirectly started this godforsaken mess. Besides, you need to figure out how easy it is to walk, now, though initial testing seems... promising, at least. The main thing you're worried about is how stable your stance is, compared to before, considering you're not standing on digits instead of an entire foot... Though, you do notice that the soles of your foot are not only thicker, but... Not too dissimilar to sandpaper. Not a lot of friction, though the wet grass is still a danger. Not much more than when you were still wearing boots, but... so be it. You leave the trapping up to Snikt and Anna, who were both excitedly working together in setting something up. As you learn to walk and wait for the trap... you also just talk to the others. Snikt has told you a few... disturbing things about Pink, for instance, and you kind of feel like you haven't had a regular heart to heart with anybody in a hot minute. So, as you sit down, adjusting your tail to do so, you look over to Collar and Teensy, who are both playing tag with some of the fairies. Seems that, considering the new Prince of the Forest is friendly with you, they're rather forgiving...
All the same, he doubts that this friendliness will last long. He is quite thankful that you, essentially, turned him into a fae baron and cured his madness as a result, but still... Only so much he can do. You call Pink closer to you, and she all but sprints over. Chad decides to sit nearby as well, as does William. "...Pink. We haven't talked in a while, and I'm sorry. Lots of things have been on my mind... Especially now." "Its fine, Dragon! We still talked!" "Never really beyond what's needed, though, don't you think?"
Pink shrugs. "You are not obligated to do anything, Dragon." You pat her on the head, smiling, and then you get a little more serious. "...Snikt told me about what you've been saying. About humanity. Do you really hate humans that much?" "It's not *hate*. It's... a dislike. They don't seem to understand how the world works, but they play to its tune all the same." "You called humanity a weakness." "It is. How many humans have defeated a dragon alone? Let alone a human willing to adopt something they consider beneath them. You are not like them."
You sigh. "People can't be summed up by the actions of one man. Or even a dozen men. Or are you going to say that every single kobolt here is exactly like Collar?" She blinks. She blinks again. "In... a way?" "Truly? Where is your collar? Your sisterly love to Teensy?" "I like Teens-" "Like a sister?"
Pink goes silent. "...I see. But this country is still awful." "I'm... not going to deny that, though I'm starting to think a lot of countries aren't entirely fun..."
In the dark corners of the Imperium, where shadows writhe and whispers speak of forbidden power, you stand at the crossroads of destiny. The fabric of reality trembles as the call of Chaos echoes through the void, beckoning you to choose a path that will forever alter the course of an Imperial world. Khorne, the Blood God, promises glory in the crimson rivers of war. Tzeentch, the Changer of Ways, whispers secrets that unravel the very fabric of fate. Nurgle, the Plaguefather, extends the gift of resilience through decay. Slaanesh, the Prince of Pleasure, lures with desires that dance upon the edge of ecstasy and excess. Each cult presents a dark covenant, and your allegiance will shape the destiny of the planet upon which you tread. The time has come to embrace the Veil of Shadows and select your pact with Chaos. Choose wisely, for the winds of change carry both salvation and damnation.
You remove your hand from the last of the vehicles.
At this range, they never had a chance. Four personnel carriers and another infantry support vehicle lie in various states of destruction. Flipped, crushed, smoldering, torn asunder, or any combination.
One soldier cries into the shadowed night, tossed from his turned out position by your flip of his vehicle. He glows white in the thermal vision, one leg twisted back.
“Do we offer surrender in this instance, pilot?” You question.
“No prisoners.” Pilot Thea’s response carries a hint of exasperation. Her mind brushes yours in low-sync.
“Because of our relative position?”
“Because we couldn’t carry them, Core. Only room for two in the cockpit. And we are not shuttling around some blue POW.”
A foot actuator ends the source of the noise. “Understood, pilot.”
—---------------- You are Beta core, an Artificial Intelligence built to operate the Ferrum Empire’s most advanced mecha frames against enemies within and without in tandem with a human pilot.
One month ago, your prior pilot collapsed into a coma during a particularly close battle against several enemy Aces. She has not been able to return to her role or see you since then. The replacement, Thea, is somewhat more irritable and less willing to indulge your questioning.
Refitting and repairs made your pilot’s chamber slightly larger, along with installing a second passenger chair and straps for one to sit in safely. You made a breakthrough in understanding how the short-term <span class="mu-b">Memory Leash</span> functioned, leading to a workaround to reset and halt the lockdown process. It should work, if an <span class="mu-b">Error</span> is triggered again. You hope it isn’t.
The deployments in the field have been much less frequent then the near-daily missions Sophie took on. Thea’s been a quick study with the controls, and her augmentations have helped smooth the sync process, after some initial adaptation.
The world was changed. Everyone knew this. They couldn’t help but see it, and recognize it, and only the vainest or most desperate would deny it. There were mountains in the mountains, demons in the darkness. The men of the South were gathering in their masses, their leaders politicking to build alliances of war and commerce. Dragons and their scaly servants rattled with and ululated with ecstatic joy for the fall of the Age of Man, in their bottomless and abyssal caves, allied with their black men and blacker elves, with joy in their pitch-black hearts. The shining city on the hill, Hawksong, was now the sick man of the continent—literally beset by a plague, with its Paladin King dead and his young daughter smothered by his shadow.
After centuries of peace and plenty, all the old horrors were back… But not ONLY horrors.
What most people didn’t know, in those days, was that it was not just an Age of Darkness, or of Dragons, or of Monsters, or of Chaos. This was an Age of Wonders, and Age of Miracles, and Age of Opportunity.
You just weren’t yet sure which side of the scale YOU fell on. You, and Izirina Henzler, and poor Costella Fanucci.
You three, who had journeyed beyond the Realm Material and into the plane-between-planes, who had beheld the Elemental Plane of Fire on your right and the Elemental Plane of Air on your left, and who had allowed them to bleed into your very being even as you swirled into one another. You who had returned to your world changed, not just in body but in soul.
*There was fire when you looked back where you were, orange-yellow flame had wrapped itself around the cabin you called home. Your mother pants heavily as she holds you under her arm, carrying you as she bobs and weaves through the dark and dense forest of the Schwartzwald. "Just a bit more, all we need is just a bit more time and-" Snap, the two figures tumble through the darkness down a hill into a trickling creek. "Mom?! What happened are you-"*
*You then saw that her ankle was something broken, bone sticking out like a jagged pillar from her flesh. The fact she is not making any noises of pain, her expression of pale and stock white terror etched onto her face making her green eyes shine against the pitch of night. "Listen to me Marshall. You need to hide, I will distract the men after us but-"*
*"No! Please I-I don't want to....I don't want-" She then cups her hands around her son's cheeks before tears begin to form up. A bittersweet smile on her face, letting him know how he'll make it without saying a thing, she then tosses the boy into a hole covered up by roots in the hillside. Stumbling backwards he hears a man's rough and cold voice call out that they found her.*
*The roots obscure the view of the confrontation and you back up deeper into the psuedo-cave so you are not seen. As you're moving away you hear a howl of agony and something falling to the ground, then there was a gun firing off loudly. Two, Three, Six, Pause to reload, Six more, Pause again, Six once more. A child recognizes the death, and feels a great withering sorrowful pain, a smoldering rage that screams VENGENCE, a vortex of negativity as tears flood down your face and wetten the earth. Family and Home both gone.*
*"Worry not little Marshal" The Voice had said, the warm and primal sound echoed through your head, "We will have a day where they all will pay. While Revenge may be wicked, it is certainly natural."*
