<span class="mu-s">Monday</span> <span class="mu-s">Grid Sector 11873, Defensive Position "Razorback"</span>
The Bradley 1A5 kept firing with it's auto-cannon at the incoming target. One of it's tracks, the left one, was damaged. The rack of guided missiles had been emptied days ago and there hadn't been the chance to refill them.
Quartermaster "Godmother" was inside the basement of a ruined house, missing it's second floor and portions of the first. The structure of plywood would provide minimal protection or cover, which was why he was underground.
Beside him was Jack Price, the Engineer from MARS Incorporated, now a Lieutenant in what remained of the Armed Forces.
Finally, if he was still alive, was Capt. Harry Grand from the Air Force. - - In the basement was a Javelin guided missile, loaded, but with no available reloads. There was also MARS MPAR, a laser guided upgrade of the FGM-172A SRAW project. That system and a single reload were bundled together. Both would require firing from outside or the precarious top floor.
The other explosive options were the drum fed, six shot 40mm Milkor MGL.... OR three disposable AT-4ERs.
There was closed crates that may or may not have additional supplies, but the three of them didn't know how to operate that many weapons outside the rocket launchers and a basic M16A4.
There was the blowtorch and Quik Patch case, if Jack wanted to try repairing the Bradley.
It was late in the afternoon, as staff were starting to wrap up testing, check-ups and other activities in the deeper parts of the facility. However, whilst most subjects were being brought back to their containment, this was not the case for Kaenum. In fact, she was currently following Catherine to a place she hadn't visited before. "So, who are you bringing me to?" Kaenum asked calmly, looking around and noticing that there were a few guardsmen around, which made her both curious and concerned. "Her name is Edith Astor. Codename, PW-87. I designed her with Roraima. However, after she refused to do what Roraima demanded of her, he... punished her." Catherine said in a regretful tone, Kaenum giving an understanding nod. "I fortunately managed to take full control of her, ensuring Roraima doesn't hurt her further. Unfortunately, she has been rather scarred by the experience. Which is why I was hoping that you could help her out. Perhaps give her some therapy to help her cope with things."
Whilst Kaenum was saddened that a subject had to suffer so much under Roraima, she was optimistic that she could help out here. After all, she had trained quite a bit when it came to therapy, and knew that she could help anyone out with enough time. "Of course, Catherine. I'd gladly help out." Kaenum responded, Catherine smiling with relief, as the two headed towards the secluded and relatively well-guarded chamber. Until finally, the two would reach the large set of doors leading to the chamber. "Will you be joining me?" Kaenum asked to Catherine, who paused before reluctantly shaking her head. "I want this to be between you and her. I've talked with her a bit, but... I could not get her to talk much. She needs someone else. Another subject..." Kaenum nodded again, taking a deep breath before looking ahead. "Very well then." With that, Catherine would give a nod to the nearby guardsmen, before taking a step back.
Kaenum stepped through the door after it opened, entering the small space which separated the outside world from the containment chamber. Though once the second set of doors opened, Kaenum was met with a rather neat and homely looking room. Clearly, Catherine had tried o decorate the room in such a way that it helped Edith feel more at home. Though, given how things looked eerily untouched, it had not been too effective. Not to mention, the fact that Edith wasn't really doing anything in the room. Kaenum spotted her in the corner, sitting on the floor and facing the wall. "Go away..." Edith mumbled in a worn-down voice, Kaenum remaining calm and quietly entering the room. Kaenum looked over the subject, quickly noticing all the combat features Roraima had clearly given her. Those large and long wings, those clawed hands and her stature all were traits meant to appear intimidating. And yet, Edith appeared more sombre than scary. "Edith, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kaenum. I am here to talk to you."
“HAHAHA, FOOLISH HEROES, KNEEL BEFORE MY GRAND MAGIC!”
Your skeletal body, adorned in robes that have lived longer than any human has breathed, lords over the fallen party of heroes. Your ultimate <span class="mu-s">Origin Magic</span>, though incomplete, has proven more than sufficient to take on the pathetic mortals sent to their knees before its might. Miasma-smoke fills the room, spewed by the necromantic fire left in the wake of your destructive magnum opus. However, to your incredible satisfaction, the Holy Sword itself, the only weapon capable of striking you down, lies corroded beneath the hero’s tattered frame, little more than a sparkly pile of smoldering slag.
Yes, your ultimate victory has been achie–
Pain unlike any you’d ever imagined stabs through your very being, a thin, needle-like blade jutting out from the cluster of mana animating your undead body, destabilizing it, causing your very being to quiver and weaken. Something is wrong— something is very, very wrong. . You collapse to the floor, your head snapping 180 degrees back to see just who had landed the killing blow. If your eyes could widen, they would: the Hero Michael, who you had thought collapsed in front of you, stands proudly behind you with an unknown blade in your back.
“H-how?”
“Lich King Atrebor,” the hero declares, his obnoxious condescension shamelessly leaking into his words as he drives the blade even further through your ribs, “you may have been wary of me, the possessor of the Holy Sword, but you paid far too little attention to my real strength: my friends.”
You turn your eyes back to the party: an illusion, a paltry trick, dissolves from the worthless entourage of the chosen one, revealing a golem in place of his second in command and that same eternal loser, Reinlock, in his place.
“Impossible!” you roar, “I was certain! He– he had the holy sword! He acted just as you would!”
“I’ve been chasing that bastard’s back my whole life, you undead bastard.” Reinlock snickers, blood trickling from his broken lips, “I know him better than the back of my own hand.”
This is infuriating but… it matters not. Your phylactery, the real vessel of your existence, is safe, in an unknown locale far from here. Or at least, <span class="mu-r">that’s how it should be</span>. Golden cracks start to form on you— first on your body’s mana core, then on your bones, then, horror of horrors, on your <span class="mu-i">mana itself</span>. “What trickery is this!” You scream, your rage powerful enough to shake the foundations of your castle.
You are Lieren of Nothing, philosopher of some renown, Hunter of some skill, Primarch of the 2nd legion of the emperor of mankind's space marines, grand architect and head of the Long-Jian ministry of development, friend of the oppressed, enemy of tyrants and husband of the living ship Kanzeon, among a great many other things, including dabbler of the secrets of the old ones and poet of some skill.
Presently, you are above an uncontacted world of a substrain of humanity, using a mixture of high technology and sheer telekinetic force to create a monument from the debris left behind by the skirmish with an ork fleet, combining together the metal hulls of the ships that were lost in the battle to form a monolith of burnt and sundered still, that Kanzeon is engraving with the names and histories of the crews of the ship. It is to honor their ultimate sacrifice for a cousin of mankind that had not even known they'd been threatened.
A cousin you shall soon meet personally, the envoys that were sent had all agreed that your presence and company would be most welcome as they traveled beneath the frozen surface of the unnamed world to meet with the representatives of the city states, that the aspirants of your legion had, while you and their senior and future astartes brothers waged war against the pirate fleet, had managed to get in contact with the abhuman race. They had taken your challenge to learn how to solve the communication barrier with a society that did not know the sky above their mines existed, yet alone of the worlds beyond their worlds with great gusto and had devised a novel means of breaking that barrier. Which they had done themselves, to prove it'd work. They'd started by sending dummy distress signals near to the surface, which allowed the abhuman miners to realize the source must be coming from beyond their world of rock and stone.
And then followed by sending transmission to the groups that had figured it out, and providing proof of a world beyond their mines. Somehow, this was not met with skepticism or derision by the rest of their societies, but rather a rush to be the first to make contact with the "Uplanders" as the underground dwellers called the aspirants and you supposed everyone else
There was some grumbling, when an Astartes that had been left on the planet to watch over and run the boys through drills had happened upon and discovered what the aspirants were getting up to, but the response from the rulers of the four blocs, which were formed by councils of elders that represented the interests and vendettas of various clans and families, had been one of intrigue and praise for such "Clever little beardlings". Cont
<span class="mu-s">INTRO</span> (Please do not skip this)
◕ Fatale Albion is a Spin-Off of Lumina Canima’s “Meguca Royale”, taking place in the U.K. Three players are currently taking part in this game. They each will answer to their own prompts with their own characters. This Quest will have major spoilers for PMMM, so if you haven’t watched it yet and don’t want me to ruin it for you, watch it right now or else. If you still want to read and participate in this quest then I’ll have something to show you.
◕ In the previous thread: Abigail and Stephanie successfully stop a stabbing in school caused by a Familiar by using bravery, connections, and a rifle from the Victorian Era. They commiserate over the escalation that the Witch is causing, more violent and targeted actions will make the building inhospitable. Megan and Oliver decide to escalate in response by bringing guns to school. In a different part of York, a girl named Emily is Contracted, smuggles a body, and enters her paradise with the help of a strange but helpful girl named Marisa. Abigail is now asleep in class, Stephanie is going to cause a localised blackout, and Emily will explain her way of life.
<span class="mu-s">OTHER STUFF</span>
>Can I also join in the suffering?
I’ve decided that I’m accepting new players for now. Just fill in this Contract Form and you’ll be all set.
Name: (The name of your character. Shameless Self-Insert or not) Appearance: (The garish looks of your character. Clothing descriptions are also welcome.) Quirks: (Personality traits, how they behave. Examples of how they act in specific situations are good. This space is vague intentionally, but remember: Simplicity is power and Brevity is the Soul of Wit.) Wish: (The Wish that you made with your Incubator. Your magical ability and theme is influenced heavily by your Wish. Make sure to be careful, some wishes have unforeseen consequences.)
Your sprained ankle barely carrying you. The dull throbbing pain in your head at least numbs the pain in your shoulder and forearms. Though it does little to quell the pain in your side from your broken ribs. You glance over to the group of people behind you. Dressed in black school uniforms, roughly a dozen of them.
They are all standing roughly ten-fifteen feet behind you. Looking at you with hate, and some fear in their eyes. They are clumped up together like posing for a group photo, and do not advance on you. Even though they've been kicking the hell out of you a minute ago. Then a long shadow descended from the direction the sun was setting, and covered you all. Forcing them to back off as if something physically pushed them away.
"Go on! Get out of here!" their leader yells, but does not cross the long shadow. Whatever curses leave your mouth, they are barely a whisper, you cough as you continue. Away from them, away from your home. Following the distant figure that casts that long shadow.
You look down upon yourself, and verify that your strongest asset is still there, surviving the battering.
>Your fist, you always had the meanest right punch >Your leg, it started with kicking ball and soon it became kicking people >Your abs, rock hard and keeping your organs mostly protected, helping stamina >Write-in
It is nearing a year since you, The Courier, fought and secured independence of the Mojave from domestic and foreign powers. Mr. House was put on ice, the NCR got sent packing and even the mighty Legion tucked tail and fled back East.
Now, the New Vegas Directorate, your new government, faces as many challenges as it does opportunities. Industry is rapidly expanding and agriculture is now firmly established while migrants from around the wasteland flood in looking to change their fortunes.
But the Boomer Blight, an engineered plague from parts unknown, is spreading throughout the Wasteland and little looks uncontainable. You continue to walk the line in courting both the NCR and the Legion, seeking to be a stable power between the two warring giants.
A new player comes into the picture and he brings with him hundreds of Enclave descendants eager to start again. You have agreed to welcome them into the NVD but time will tell if you can hide their influence from the NCR while keeping other factions happy.
With the looming NCR election, the hostile President Kimball seems poised to lose to the unknown Allgood Murphy while Caesar continues to see you as his Augustus, urging greater cooperation between both nations.
The one-year anniversary is rapidly approaching and while a grand celebration is planned, existential threats lurk everywhere and with Mr. House on the loose, you can be sure you’ll see him one last time.
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>
Your name is Shelly Suzume, and you’ve finally discovered what really happened to you all those years ago. About your condition, your mind, and the mess it’s become.
Unfortunately, the truth isn’t good news.
After a retrieval mission was abruptly changed at the last minute, you decided to take matters into your own hands and infiltrate the Black Sheep Family’s headquarters. You’d been here before. Partially, at least. But with the city under blackout and Grimm swarming the outskirts, this seemed like the perfect time to go deeper.
And, somehow, it paid off.
You found her. The scientist who once worked as a nurse back at Haven Academy. Cerise. You interrogated her, accidentally broke her nose, and finally learned what really happened to you. Why your mind fractures the way it does. Why children flinch when they see your eyes. Why… you’re the way you are.
To put it bluntly, Grimm-infused Dust emits waves that warp the brain in unnatural ways. That’s what happened to you. No cure, at least not yet, and considering how experimental this whole thing is, you’re not even sure if one even exists. But you’re not about to stop looking.
Cerise asked for your help finding someone. An associate of hers. You agreed, partly because you’re not a monster, partly because you needed her alive and cooperative if you wanted answers.
Then came the elevator. A tight, hidden shaft buried deep beneath the mountain. Halfway down, the power started to flicker. You tried to stabilize things with your Semblance, but it didn’t hold.
Long story short, the elevator crashed. You got off light. Just a few broken fingers and toes. At least you’re alive.
Cerise isn’t… that well. She’s unconscious, with a hit in the back of the head, and without Aura to heal herself.
Now you’re trapped deep in the Black Sheep’s hidden laboratories with a dying scientist in your arms. Given what you’ve heard about this place (The experiments, the lack of ethics, the vast number of unholy secrets), you have no idea what’s waiting for you down here.
But one thing’s clear. You have to save Cerise. Mostly because she’s probably the only person in Remnant who can help you fix what’s been done to your mind.
The much applauded winner of the Magical Beast Tactician's Contest, Mi Wanpisheng has lost all of his bluster and cheekiness now that's he's been brought before you to recieve his reward. The ice tailed macaque is holding his tail in front of himself, his almost human face spread into a shy grin as you lounge before him, preening the back of your paw as he is guided forward by one of his Sect's elders. As his master and adoptive father had business with the Weiyupo of the innocent witch courts, but a little birdy er, well Yujijiao told you they were just exchanging care tips for young magical beasts.,
"Wanpisheng" You savor the victors name, drawning it out in a way that you realize might sound slightly threatening as the kid who your own, bunny eared kids had become so fond of so quickly winced and barred his teeth, trying to replicate a human's smile rather than baring his fangs at you like an impudent monkey
"Yes, your highness" He addresses you with a courtly bow, very much resembling a sniveling eunuch despite what you'd seen to be his ordinary, bombastic personality
"Your sect and mine are neighbors, we share many of the same borders and also a fondness for beasts" You explain, imperiously and booming as you rise from your pile of cushions, the elder stiffening and smacking the Macaque on his backside to make him remember his posture "But your temple doesn't host any wild royalty, now does it?"
"I understand, seat of the palace, that you consider few other magical beasts to be primordial nobility" The elder, whom you do not know by name, face or deed states and you smirk, amused by his cheek to interrupt you while the great Huanliuxue was speaking
"You understood correctly, its a matter of evolution and presence, and dignity" You explain, nodding, deciding to keep the mysteries of magical beasts a bit more mysterious for a bit longer "There are three, living, Wild Princesses [野生 格格, Yěshēng Gége], myself and my sisters, The Geges"
"The very same who lead the armies of giant insects against the Ling Chuan alliance?" The elder asks, catching on quickly judging by the sparkle in his eye and the way he's stroking his beard, like a merchant eyeing up coins or a flesh merchant eyeing up a pretty girl
"Yes, Tiexingege and Jionghuagege" You answers excitedly as the confused Wanpisheng suddenly stiffens, gritting his teeth as he stammers and lets go of his tail
"Ah ah, your highness, I am honored beyond words to be offered" He starts and you smirk, tail flicking as you understand immediately that its Tie Tie that's making him so hesitant to accept this grand privledge and rare offer. She is a bully. Cont
