The stillness of the void is disrupted by the appearance of a dilapidated cargo vessel, its prow streaming with plumes of fairie-fire from its jump.
Behind it the miraculous tear in space and time that humanity barely understands has already collapsed. Blessedly unwitnessed by human eyes.
Before the hull has even had a chance to cool it crashes into the veil of micro-debris kicked up by the nearby asteroid field, wherein lies its destination.
As thrusters burn to induce the vessel’s drift towards the mining outpost it was so suddenly instructed to divert towards, the scant handful of crew within begin to stir in their cryopods.
None of them know yet that this shuffle of their cargo run is likely to change their lives.
But that is for later, for now there are questions to be answered…
===
Greetings and welcome to The Haunting of Ypsilon-14, a One-Shot in the Mothership TTRPG system. This is a very deadly Sci-Fi Horror game, so brace yourselves!
Mothership is a roll-under d100 system. We’ll be doing Bo2 here, to soften the edge just a bit. Generally if you’re rolling dice it’s because you’ve fucked up or haven't planned well enough anyway. Doubles are crits, if they’re above the Stat/Save you’re rolling against then that’s a crit fail. If they’re below, that’s a crit success. Where skills apply, they raise your effective score by +10 for Trained, +15 for Expert, and +20 for Master (you can stack them if you’re clever).
In the history of humankind, war has been a constant. Over resources, land or ideology, warfare has been the front at which humanity found itself time and time again. When dozens of atomic bombs peppered the United States of America in atomic hellfire more than 200 years ago, the world as it once was ended. Society and order ceased to exist, and anarchy reigned supreme. Some sheltered in Vaults, spared the worst of the suffering deep underground… or exposed to an entirely unprecedented form of it. In the ashes of the old world, a new one was born. The fledglings of humanity survived and forged a new world with brutal, unforgiving rules.
Raiding. Murder. Theft. Destruction. But also, hope. Hope that things could return to how they once were, or move in a new direction entirely, casting off the shackles of folly that led America to ruin. But with hope came fear and conflict, discontent and brutality. Every step taken was taken with bloody footprints. Because war… war never changes.
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It’s no secret to anybody that the landscape of America changed dramatically after the Great War. New creatures emerged from the irradiated wastes, the land shifted and became filled with new plant life twisted and bent into strange shapes. Even the ground itself was altered in many places. In one such case, the Outer Banks of North Carolina became the shattered, flooded Broken Banks. Flotsam and wreckage littered amidst drenched islands and raft-masses, while the mainland’s coast was filled with all manner of blasted boardwalks, trading posts and shantytowns. The further south a soul travels, the more flooded the land becomes. South Carolina is a mired, messy swamp patrolled only by the grandest of mirelurks and the most savage of tribes, while the untamed wilds of Florida boast drenchghoul cults and radgators of truly epic proportions. All in all, a severely inhospitable section of the wasteland.
Something very exciting was going on. Sure a fight between two cultivators isn't that uncommon nowadays, and it certainly isn't when an arrogant young master pushes their whipping boy a little too far while being closer to being their equal instead of their superior in all things. That wasn't what was exciting, though seeing that loud mouth called Barracuda get slammed face first into the floor of your recently constructed castle is quite cathartic, what's gotten your ears and tail perked up is what that whipping boy by the name of Heng has done. The sliver of natural primordial beast essence woven through his spiritual roots and rooted into his meridians, had somehow, through pure instinct or natural affinity, managed to perform without instruction, guidance or explanation a chimeric transformation. Something you didn't think could be done by anyone but a magical beast who stopped and meditated on their ability to take on a human form.
And while seeing the gentle eyed peasant boy go berserk and tear tufts of hair and claw the young master who had dared to try and tell you to send one of the students of your class on Beastial techniques away was a little entertaining, in the way that watching kittens bowl each other over and train to pounce by playing with eachother's tails was, it was that instinctive use of a fairly advance transformation technique performed by a novice of the Qi Condensation stage that had you so excited. But more than excited, you were curious, just how far Heng could go. While a beast attaining human form required certain insights and a deepening of intellect and comprehension, was the same true for Beasts?
Could a human even become a beast, even if they were overflowing with Primordial Beast Essence as high quality and refined as that which is produced within your own beast core.
Well, only one way to find out. You lift up a finger as Hai Xiannu whines and begs you to stop the very cat like fight between Heng and Suoyu, while her brother Hai Ma and her fellow pupils Xia Xiaofan and Kuángcháo gawk and watch in amazement, sometimes muttering about how the fight is going or some technique one of the two young men have just performed.
There is a ripple of bright, green the same hue as fresh spring growth or maybe Lian Luli's hair, ripples out from the tip of your finger as you connect your beast core and funnel a massive burst of the primordial beast essence churning within it through your meridians and release it from the palm of your hand and the ends of all five of your fingers. Cont
Amongst the squat, broad, and thickly-forested hills north and east of Hawksong, between the savage barrier of the cold Orcwilds and the lush plenty of the elves’ shrinking Silver Realm, there is a land called The Steelwood by those who live there. For centuries, it has been a place of constant (if often low-level and intermittent) conflict. Elf and Man, Man and Orc, Orc and Elf, all have fought and shed blood there, and their fallen swords, shields, and spears litter the land and give it its name. Each of them claims a birthright to this inauspicious area. Eash of them claims that their ancestors staked their claim first, before the others arrived.
But if you ask the Dwarves, they are all wrong.
Your party—The Monstrous Regiment—came to The Steelwood to earn a cut of a lucrative dwarven corporate contract. The contract was initially taken by another adventuring outfit calling themselves ‘The Delvers’, whom you met after an unexpected team-up hunting lake monsters, and whose technical focus would complement your party’s particular skillset: goblin grit, the Feycraft of a faun you found, a shrewdness born of a difficult and colourful life, and a certain occult secret up your sleeve. The Steelwood Expedition’s purpose: to find and explore the ruins of a buried pyramid among the hills, a mysterious megastructure belonging to the last of the long-defunct dwarven. After a brief break detour to pick up some local orc muscle by making a deal with local orc horde, you journeyed into the hills to survey for some potentially quite valuable ruins.
What you found was far greater, and much stranger, than any archaeological discovery you could have anticipated.
The pyramid had been plundered and illicitly inhabited by The Ettercap, a spider-faced fairy defector from the Chaotic Good gods of elvenkind. Deep within the hidden hill-fort, the disturbed demigod had laid claim to ancient wonders of a technology that predated even the dwarven race—belonging to a blue-green breed of GOBLIN, of all things—and turned the transformative power of the great bio-magical forge at its centre to a terrible purpose. Using the same processes which (as you discovered) had been used to give ancient goblins new soul and substance, and to create the races of Dwarf, Gnome, and Halfling, she has made purple-skinned and bug-eyed ‘foundlings’ from kidnapped kids taken from all over the Steelwood.
One half of your party was kidnapped, and nearly suffered the very same fate.
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 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 point.
Recently, you took the mantle of elder brother to twelve younglings; you won for the second time the local town's tournament; you get in some weird pact with a gardener and you broke through the first minor realm of second stage. All is nice and well - if you set aside your concerns regarding a certain prophetic poem including words about fated dao partner and the most-dreaded rightful fear of falling behind.
The soft song of a flute echoed through the sleeping hall, as Morgan was taking a knee whilst holding onto her sword with one hand. Anofelis was trying to do the same, wanting to show similar respect as Morgan. Kamara, Vinisha, Oreas and Chrysidus were also looking down as they surrounded the makeshift grave which Morgan had created. Laura was also respectfully bowing her head, as they were taking a moment of silence for Illimani. After having heard the news, Morgan had gotten most agitated and upset, wanting to deliver justice to the "crooks who murdered my creator". Of course, Laura and the others had calmed her down, and had helped to set up a funeral to at least honour his memory. They remained quiet for a few minutes, soon after listening to Annie's eulogy for Illimani. Though once Annie's eulogy has ended, Morgan would give some own final words to her creator as the music softly played in the background.
"Illimani. We gather here today to... honour your legacy. For years, you helped create subjects such as myself, and ensured that our kind was able to live peacefully and to become the best versions of ourselves we could be. It is a shame then, that we must part ways so suddenly and that you will not be able to see the fruits of your labour. Alas, we will keep going, despite your passing. We will keep fighting for what is right! We will keep protecting those we love and ensuring none shall suffer as you have. I am... sorry that I wasn't able to save you earlier. I wish I could have been better, that I could've been there for you in your greatest time of need. Alas, it wasn't meant to be... And unfortunately, it means the world lost another beacon of hope... Despite your loss, the light you brought onto us, will continue to keep the coldest nights warm, and the darkest nights bright. It will motivate us to keep going. To keep doing what is right. And we will never forget the many things you taught us..."
Morgan started letting out some tears now, clearly feeling more and more pained as she kept talking. "Goodbye, Illimani. Goodbye and rest gently. I hope you can still... look down from heaven, and watch us continue doing what's right." Morgan would lower her head, keeping quiet before sniffling some more. "L-Like you said when you f-first taught me how to wield a sword... 'this blade will do many great things in your hands'... I shall do such, I-Illimani... I shall do such..." There was a bit more silence, before the radio was turned off and Morgan would remain seated at the grave marker she had made. "Thank you, e-everyone, for joining me. I-I know he wasn't your creator, so you may not feel as strongly as I do, but... i-it means a lot to me." Vinisha would walk over and pat Morgan's back, whilst Kamara went over and gave her sibling a soft hug. "No, we do understand, Morgan. We felt the same when we lost Mona." Oreas said sombrely, also patting Morgan on her back.
<span class="mu-i">"Happy Birthday, Our Brave Boys. You are now twenty years of age and it is time you embark on your Youthful Journey so that you may learn and grow to return home as men. Make farewells to your family, your friends, and your neighbors, for they will surely miss you, but never forget the Memories you made with them, so you can share them to new friends you will make from across the nation. Make us proud and become the man we need to preserve and continue Our Memories." </span>
Every month, around 10,000 boys are shipped to Sleepy Waters for their twentieth birthday. They travel by rail or paddle streamer from their home village or town, most taking no longer than 16 hours on their voyage. It was a common sight to see so many old boys traveling during the last day of every month, carrying nothing but the clothes on their back, some cash for when they become hungry on their way to Sleepy Waters, and a slip of paper containing their personal details.
Sleepy Waters was not a pleasant sight to behold, entirely devoid from the expanse of farm fields and meadows nearly all boys are accustomed to. Those from the capital aren't as shocked as their rural counterparts but it was sill undesirable for its dull colors and muddy tracks, though the chimneys of smoke was more familiar to them. The boys entered Sleepy Waters on foot, forming a few of the longest lines under a canopy, turning and weaving to fit as many under to get away from the unfortunate rain.
Upon approaching the head of the line, one would come across an older gentleman in a dark uniform demanding each boy's slip of paper in exchange for a metallic tag with a string of numbers. He would copy the number onto the slip of paper given to him and call for the next boy.
***INTRODUCTION*** Greetings, this is not meant to be a conventional quest, instead mimicking some previous threads on /tg/ where I just shared my worldbuilding while drawing cute soldier boys. Often times people will ask questions about the setting or project themselves as a character in the threads, writing their thoughts, dreams, desires, and fears. I almost always entertain every remark and comment in the form of a drawing as the threads move onto a short story following the anons' until into a story's conclusion.
The real purpose of this quest is just for me to draw cute soldier boys.
The world has another side, one with secret societies and hidden powers vying for control. But it is not merely humans, nay. For millennia, creatures which a modern man considers fables have been battling in the shadows, both within their own, and others. Only the Magical Girls can slay the demons of humanity's suffering, and clean up the supernatural messes along the way!
But that, is for later. Every hero has to start somewhere.
- - - -
You have contemplated you life, and found it lacking. Nothing is going overly wrong, your future is looking decent, probably could line up a decently paying job in a few years if you made the effort. But for what? What drives you? What fulfills you? Would simply having more be better when the quantity is not the source of your unhappiness? No. You hate your life, not for the extent of it’s misery, but for it’s rotting mediocre stagnation. If you do not value what you have, discarding it should not be a problem. It still strung a bit, now it doesn’t.
So you are on your way, looking for fulfillment. All you found so far was discarded options
Your current search has led you to stand in front of a seedy club downtown. A sign above it glows a soft neon, presenting the letters G A M M A. Weird name. You don’t know if answers lies inside, but you do know that you never tried a place like this before.
How do you get in? Where does your confidence lie?
>They look like they check IDs at the front, but a good amount of junkies are smoking, every few minutes, a group goes in. The bouncer doesn’t look like much of anything either. Maybe you could blend in. (Social Stealth, establishes Instinct) >There is an alley next to the club. You saw some snake finish her smoke break and use the door. You bet they do it often enough to not bother locking it. (Breaking and Entering, establishes Finesse) >There is a balcony on the other side, it’s pretty cold, looks empty. Got a rainwater pipe right next to it, easy climb. (Urban Parkour, establishes Athletics)
Last thread, the Idol agency has been finally organized to run efficiently after a great meeting, you’re in the aftermath, preparing for the heist against the mafia. These are 2 unrelated events, but you combine them with your decisions. This is a stark reminder that you’re a man of many skills, not a person who can’t focus on the task at hand.
But you’re at an impasse. Your Bestie decided to pretend your plan isn’t your plan in the least subtle way imaginable, and was called out for it by Chio. When everyone else in the room realized that the ruse wasn’t a ruse, Amelia barged in to beg for the cookies your dear Clutz baked for you. Your sister was promptly kicked out. But the question still hangs up in the air…
“...Okay, everyone, I don’t want anyone to mention what happened to Ame. Understood? She’s going to try to stop me even if it’s true or not.” You ask Chio, Wilma, and Vortexia to be chill.
“Would she be successful at it?” Chio wonders if she can go for the neutral option.
“Don’t even think about it.” Wilma takes this very seriously.
“No one likes snitches.” Vortexia agrees.
“Not one bit.” You add.
“I-It wasn’t part of my plans, I wondered out of intellectual curiosity.” Chio changes her mind the minute you are against it.
“You’re not subtle at all…” Crossbill looks down on Mamariko.
“...Who are you to talk?” Wilma raises an eyebrow.
“C’mon, I said I was pulling your legs. You girls know my past and all. Joke didn’t land, it happens.” Crossbill won’t admit anything.
“I don’t believe you were kidding.” Vortexia can see through the politician’s bullshit.
“Sheesh, you’re turning me into a casual fan…” Crossbill doesn’t believe in the storm.
“I’ll take your heart back when you hear me singing!” Vortexia gets a little haughty. Chio appreciates the form, but she can see areas of improvement.
“We’ll see.” Crossbill goes back to bed to pretend to be ill… again.
This situation isn’t tense, but there are many unanswered questions. Do you like it when questions are unanswered? In their shoes, you wouldn’t. But how far will honesty lead you here? You gotta know what to do now.
<span class="mu-s">What do you do?</span>
>“Get your fat butt over here, Crossbill. Why are you back in bed? We have things to do.” Leave things unanswered and get out. >“Yeah, the heist is real. We wanna prank the local mafia out. It’s important.” You’re going to clean up the streets by pissing off the criminals. What could go wrong? >“Actually, I feel sick too…” Get in bed as well. You feel a fever… A *lazy* fever. >Write In.
"And when he woke up... the dinosaur was still there."
August lifted his copious eye-brows, and the imps of evil stared, expecting another word, both being completely paused in time with a yearning silence. The mask of seriousness fell off his lips the moment he doubted of how much said conclusion weighted.
"And that, ladies, was the shortest tale in the world; The dinosaur."
The thick fingers shook off the hoarded ashes from the cigarette. Perhaps now with that off the way, the bitches of the night will eat him apart; the question would be, is that a punishment, or the reward?
Roll 1/20 to see how well landed the wee lil' tale
