<span class="mu-i">Once upon a time, there was a stricken land where there was no such thing as day, nor morning, no sunrise or sunset, but endless dark. It was alone and obscure, on an island surrounded by waters as black as the sky. Yet the wind carried whispers of warmth and light, so the sad peoples of this land, intoxicated by the drink called hope, entreated their king to find the mythical sun and bring it to their lands. The king of the dark vowed to bring the morning to his people, and departed.

After five years, while the king did not return, the morning did come, with all of the light and warmth that could be dreamed of. Yet while the people were happy, the new king’s heir, his granddaughter the crown princess, was skeptical of this new light. So, she ventured over the dark waters towards the light, and finally, she found a great tower atop which burned a sun nothing like had been spoken of, nor what seemed to create the new day.

There she met her grandfather, and demanded of him the truth. Was there a sun, or no? Were they living in a day that was just night under a mask? Her elder, sad and weary, asked the simple question of if she could tell the difference. What distinguished the False Light from the Dawn?

She could not answer, and returned home, keeping the secret to her grave. Yet, friends and followers of Ange, what if the Dawn that comes is false? What if it is so convincing that none of us can tell it true? What if indeed, the facsimile created is the true one after all?</span>

-The Heresy of the False Light, Apocryphal Speech said to be performed by Disgraced Socalist and Disciple of Anton Ange, Aster Du Langue

You are a thrall, a slave, bonded to the house of the Chieftain of this village in order to pay off your late uncle's debts, under whose scornful eye and ready hand you had been formerly raised.

Though the debts are formidable, your labors these past seven years have diminished them to the point where a release seems no longer impossible. You cannot claim that it was by your diligence alone that this was accomplished; the Chieftain's generosity also played a substantial part. He took you into his own home, to serve as a companion for his only son, and has always dealt fairly with you as he does with all his subordinates. Indeed, he seems more eager to see you freed from bondage than perhaps even yourself. And it is that sentiment, along with a hundred other kindnesses he has shown you during your time of service, that compels you to remain with his house, even after your freedom is achieved.

It is an outcome not entirely unwanted by the Chieftain either, for your service has revealed the possession of certain worthy talents.
>You have a natural genius for sword-skill. A quickness of eye and hand that are unmatched in the village, which you have developed into a kind of preternatural sixth sense for danger.
>You have a gift for making others feel at ease. Your good looks and skill as a raconteur are contributing factors, but it is your naturally sunny disposition that charms all who meet you.
>You have a prodigious gift for symbols, figures, and other abstractions. Your sense of measure is especially keen, making you an ideal craftsman, shipbuilder, or even sailor

In a dark place, a <span class="mu-b">made-man</span> struggles against his bonds. Before him, several tools glimmer and sway gently along the wall, the strange bald druggist who knocked him out playing with them. The room is barely illuminated from the streetlights, passing cars, and electric billboards of Level 4. True darkness and silence is not common here.

“...It's always women, prostitutes. Transient kids. People who won't be missed. That's no fun. I think doing it to men is much more fun; but not because you're a boy. More because it's not somebody you'd expect. It could be <span class="mu-i">anybody</span>.”

<span class="mu-b">”You want money? I got money. Pacelli connections.”</span>

“You will be next great creation. Worth far more then any amount of dirty criminal money.”

<span class="mu-b">“Who da fuck... wait, you're from Level 2?”</span>

The man doesn't say anything, instead the stranger brandishes a razor, testing its sharpness against a finger, turning to the mobster. He looks over his captive, eyes looking for the juciest piece to cut first. The mafioso tries to pull out from the rope, the chair squeaking. He sweats. Bribes will certainly not work.

<span class="mu-b">“You'd be smart to let me go, psycho. I'm a dangerous man, and I know dangerous people!”</span>

He grins at the mafioso with a golden tooth.

“Exactly. That's the fun part.”

<span class="mu-r">This is the end of the world.</span> It's also the birth of a new one, or an old one, depending on who you ask. Maybe it's more like an overdue arranged marriage.

You might not have been fully aware, but the world used to cast a Shadow: a separate realm of spirits, kept away by a barrier that only a certain few were ever meant to cross. Spirits are capricious, rarely logical, and often dangerous beings composed of the essence and energy of all things real; scuttling reflections with their own arcane hierarchies and motivations.

But every wall has its rats, and the barrier between your world and the spirit world was no exception. The Beshilu are a nasty manner of demon - derived from and connected to the spirit world, but fettered to the world of flesh, and gifted with many terrible abilities. They massacre and they multiply, and their only desire has ever been to tear down that wall between worlds... to gnaw at its foundations in greater and greater numbers, until the wolves could no longer keep them at bay.

They succeeded.

Too many tears. Too many crumbling wounds between worlds. The gauntlet was sundered, and when that wall crumbled away, the world of mortals and the world of spirits were merged into one. In those first terrible moments, everyone on Earth could hear a trillion shrill voices screeching out in triumph, and swarms of rats swelled across streets and forests in writhing tides.

The fabric of reality is now like a sieve, the threads wavering apart and stretching in new directions; space and time operate differently. The sun no longer rises, or sets, and light instead seems to meander from one place to the next according to whim. Places seem to stir and shift, reacting to their occupants in sometimes unpredictable fashion. The rules have changed, and will likely change more, but things will never go back to the way they were.

That was three days ago, and it would be a stretch to say the dust has settled, but you are adjusting to the chaos. You're a survivor, and while you may not fully grasp what's going on, you're not unfamiliar with the supernatural. You are determined to knuckle down and make your way in this fucked up new world....

>Cont'd

It has been millennia since humanity became a star faring race. Enough time for stellar regimes to have risen and fallen, for technologies to be forgotten and relearned and for a diaspora of life; both human and alien to spread across the galaxy.

The Raihan Empire is but one splinter of the human diaspora. At its height the Empire spanned eight star systems but eventually corruption and decay set in. The Empire collapsed, its great works crumbled, its worlds became isolated. For a thousand years it was so…

Until a new warlord arose on Raiha, one that managed to quell the disparate factions fighting over the Throne world. When all his enemies were vanquished he marched upon the palace district where the remnants of the Imperial family cowered. However, instead of seizing the throne for himself Arcturus Garan pledged himself and his army to the service of the remaining Empress and took the title of Lord Commander.

Together the Empress and Lord Commander began the process of rebuilding the Empire, first securing the home system, then bringing each of the wayward colonies back into the fold.

Five out of the original eight colonies have been absorbed back into the resurgent Empire. Only the systems of Noto, Higg and Kornen actively resist annexation. Together they have formed the NKH Defence Pact, or simply the Pact.

Now the Pact must guard its independence against the growing might of the New Raihan Empire. The odds are not in their favour, they are outnumbered and outgunned, but the Imperial Forces have not yet regained their full power and the war is not over yet…

((This quest is an indirect sequel to Space shipyard quest, knowledge of previous threads is not required but it will do much to add context. Previous threads can be found here: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?searchall=space+shipyard))

Welcome Back! Due to some new job shenanigans this is a bit late but I hope you guys enjoy the new cover art for this thread. Last time we played; Mark had accepted a night shift working the guard detail for Bruce Wayne, suspected target of Kal. C. Late and Anarky...

Previous threads: https://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive.html?tags=Gotham%20City%20Beat%20Cop%20Quest

======

"Let's put Bunko and Chen in the car by the road. No offense to 'em but Bunko's a little lazy and if he can take a shortcut patrolling he will."

Hawthorne chuckles dryly with a nod.

"Looks like you already got the next lesson taken care of. It's important to know your strengths and weaknesses but it's better to know your fellow officer's. Because when shit really hits it, it helps to know what to expect."

"Like with you?"

"Right. You know to be there to help me pull the boot out of their ass when I'm done with em." He chuckles with a wry grin that could be taken as cocky. But the glint in his eye lets you know it's well earned.

A conflict of muffled voices at the front draws your attention and just as fast as he grinned, the smile is gone and his jaw is set as he marches stiffly to the front. You watch him freeze in the door and a vein begins to creep up his neck.

"Bunko." He says in a seething whisper. "The man said no shoes..."

=====

The meeting between you all is short. Hawthorne makes his position clear, outdoor patrol goes to Banks and his partner while Bunko and Chen handle the main road. There's hardly any time for small talk as the butler, Mr. Pennyworth, is less than subtle in his desire for their to be as few people in the manor as possible. Hawthorne sets the channel for your radio checks and sets them for the top of every hour. Everyone nods in quiet agreement and you break for your patrol routes until Banks catches you by the arm for a quick moment.

"Hey D, just wanted to ask you about Kimble real quick. I worked under him and everything but we aren't like... tight or anything. But I know he feels kinda shitty because he gave me a hard time over the undercover stuff and he didn't know about-"

You cut off his rambling.

"On the clock, Banks. Whaddya need from Kimble?"

"I just wanted to invite him camping. Let him know it's water under the bridge, y'know?"

"Sure thing man, I can let him know. I'm sure he'd be interested, military dudes love camping right?"

Banks shrugs but lets out a relieved chuckle.

"Guess we'll find out. Have a good shift, D."

"You too, Banks. Be safe."

You watch him head out with Costas but you can't help but notice Costas' expression as he glances at you over his shoulder. Eerily reminiscent of the first glance you got from Rogers at the gym. His eyes flick over your shoulder and he quickly turns away, you glance yourself and see a stern faced Hawthorne.

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."

(1/2)

"We should keep moving and catch up to the NPC. My transformation only lasts a minute and we should make the most of it." You say motioning to the next cave entrance. Ryuji nods and tears his glaive free from the zombie just as Irene finishes her trance. The three of you regroup and begin to run through the cave system once more, all pretense of stealth lost. Not helping was the fact that Ryuji was constantly gushing and asking questions about your abilities.

"What else can you do? How long is the cooldown? What buffs do you get? Did the coat come with the costume?" He asks, eagerness overtaking any sense of restraint on his curiosity. "I don't know anyone who's ever gotten this far!" He concludes. You suppress a small sigh building up. You had expected him to explode with excitement given his love of the game but you hadn't really expected to see him get this excited. Still, you couldn't help but share a bit of his enthusiasm. How long had it been since you had eagerly spoken about the game with someone just as passionate instead of trying to avoid the conversation with non-answers? You pull back your helm, allowing it to fold back behind your head and somehow vanish causing Ryuji to let out a noise that sounded like a mix between a squeal and roar of excitement.

"It folds back..." He manages to eek out.

"It's on a 5 minute cooldown. So it's really more of a boss fight kind of ability though right now I don't think we have the luxury to hold back big CDs. While I'm in this form, these are considered two handed weapons." You say raising your fists. Ryuji's jaw drops.

"Waitwaitwait. You're dealing two hander damage with your fists alone? I've seen how fast you can swing those things and you're telling me they can hit as hard as a warhammer?" He asks.

"Yup. Only while transformed though. Untransformed I have the Brawler's [Powerful Fist] skill but it seems to scale better because I can't really wield anything else." You continue. "Also, I'm considered to be wearing light armored outside of my transformation and medium while transformed. Stacks with the bit of damage reduction my class gives. Class seems to give me a handful of abilities from other classes to pick from on level up but it seems to lean towards fighter and brawler skills." You pause for a moment. "But I get this feeling that there's more to it. Almost like the game is keeping note of what I do and adjusting for it. I got a weird quest regarding another player on the tutorial island and now I'm expected to grow under strife, whatever that means. For the moment it seems my class progression is locked until I meet some kind of requirement. Nothing about this class is straight forward and the power seems to compensate for it." You say, drawing your helmet back on. "If I'm honest...that's the fun part."

Thread #2: http://thisisnotatrueending.com/qstarchive/2025/6259613/

>Fed job takes you to a fairy tale.
>There is a robot in the fairy tale.
>Get cursed with a ghost.
>Met some of your co-workers.
>Broke ghost curse, sort of.
>Fed job takes you to fairy lands to find a missing person.
>Now, it's time to split up, team!