Welcome back. Seeing as we got cut short last time I am going to start off with the final update from Thread 12 and include the update I had planned for the day the site went down at the very end. So if you want to skip the 'recap' and get right to the new vote you can scroll to the bottom.
"Kimble, toss me the shotgun. I'll pull guard while you head up first, then the Warden'll follow after you, then Hawthorne." You state confidently with a hand extended.
"You can't be serious, I-I'm handcuffed!" The warden shouts at the same time.
"Yer hands are in front of ya, quit whining." Hawthorne barks, shaking his head. Kimble, however, looks at you with a raised brow.
"You sure?"
"You've got the most experience. At least I'm guessing." You turn to the warden. "Which is exactly why you'll be following him. Anything goes wrong he's your best chance at getting saved and with Hawthorne right behind, I think you'll be shocked how easy it is to get up that ladder."
"And if you do anything slick you'll have a long time to regret it on the way down." Hawthorne growls.
The warden gulps quietly and nods his head. You accept the weapon from Kimble and toss the sling over your shoulders and get used to the weight of it. "Any quirks I should know about?"
"It's got slugs in the tube, so if you have to shoot.. y'know. Aim."
"I'll try." You state as you check your sight picture.
You all stand there, outlined in dim moonlight, dark silhouettes on the edge of Blackgate. Yourself on the edge of something, at least you have a lingering feeling you will be. You push that feeling and your thoughts on the mysterious vortex away as you take your place by the door, weapon in hand, and Hawthorne looses a gravely order.
"Get ready, Kimble. Don't let this softbody fall."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Kimble replies with a dry bite.
You hear the clatter but only allow it a brief glance as the aluminum rungs of the rope ladder drag across the rough roof. Kimble takes a few steps and hops up, grasping a high to mid-bar and ascending, the warden hesitates for a few seconds before you hear a dull thud and a hiss of pain.
"Move your ass." Hawthorne barks, followed by the haphazard scuffing of shoes and punctuated by a shrill exclamation as the warden manages to grab a bar and slowly begind to pull himself up.
"Running out of roof here, Kimble." Hawthorne shouts, you can't help but notice how much closer he is to you now than a few moments ago.
"Get.. the..fuck... UP!" Kimble spits through gritted teeth as his fingers close around Quinn's tie and he pulls with all his force.
There once was a king, a king from a small but prosperous island.
The people were happy, the fields grew with abundance. The ports were bustling as the palace gleam with riches accumulated over generations. But the king was not satisfied.
He wish for more, with ambition and envy he eyed the islands around hem.
One day he found a crown, from whom or were been lost, but the crown allowed hem to control any monster he wish. To instantly tame any monster he lay he’s eyes on.
One after another, islands fell, entire cities massacred due to the resistance they put up, those who surrendered seeing an entire generation turn spades into spears. A entire generation of mothers, fathers, sons and daughters marched to war to satisfy the ambitions of a single man.
One kingdom fell after another, until the entire Shining Archipelago was under the kings thumb. But such was not enough for the king, he crave the world. A fleet of ships was constructed to move he’s entire army to the nearby contents. Fortresses was built to increase the numbers of he’s monsters. Mages, Wizards, and Alchemists were hired, kidnapped, and blackmailed to make the beasts more deadly, more numerous.
Eventually group of heroes rose up to challenge the Mad King. They go from island to island, disrupting the planned invasion, slaying monsters, and setting fire to the fortress hatcheries. At the final battle one by one they fell until on he’s last blow, the last hero slay the King.
The King was dead, but not all was won. The monsters the King once controlled were no longer subservient. Without warning, without direction, the King’s army was slaughtered by their own war beasts. The remaining fortress hatcheries spilled monsters onto the lands as the sea monsters for the invasion sunk most of the fleet.
One by one the islands fell once more. Creatures prowled and hunted those who fled, on land and by air those who stayed were devoured. Entire families starved, trapped in their own homes as day and night became too dangerous to tired. (1/2)
-3E 140, 3 years after the War of the Red Diamond-
Your father forged the armor. Your mother wore it into battle. Your uncle lost it.
“You what?” Your voice dripped with venom as you glared at him. “How do you lose daedric armor?”
Your uncle frowned, resolute. “It was just gathering dust on that mannequin. I had people to pay.”
“Mother left it to me in her will.” You soften your look as best you can. “Who did you owe money to?”
His eyes glanced down before he told you. You took in a deep breath and sighed. It was better than lashing out. It wouldn’t do any good. “…And I knew that was the most valuable set in the collection. I didn’t want everything to go.” It was true. As you look around the basement, many were the display cases of artifacts, weapons, armors, clothing. Your mother and father both traveled all over Tamriel, first as soldiers for the Empire, then as sellswords and adventurers. They planted roots when they had you. Mother continued to adventure in the region, but your father tended to you and the house.
“There’s a lot of history here. Every corner of the Empire is represented,” you walk between the aisles as you speak. Old Imperial newt-scale armor across from Alik’r desert garb. Khajiti carved walking staffs resting in a Dwemer vase. Skaal hunting gear atop Argonian stone pedestals. Wanderers and collectors - you recall a few pieces you added to the collection.
But that daedric armor was special. It was the only thing here that your father smithed himself. Everything else was for the shop. But not that. Not for the armor his wife wore, and now his child. If it was here, of course.
But where exactly is here? >A) Vote for the starting province. >1. Black Marsh >2. Cyrodiil >3. Elsweyr >4. Hammerfell >5. High Rock >6. Morrowind >7. Skyrim >8. Summerset Isles >9. Valenwood
As you pass by a large High Elven mirror, you give yourself a quick lookover.
>B) What is your gender? >Male >Female
>C) What is your race? Vote for one. >1. Argonian (+1 rank to Lockpicking) >2. Breton (+1 Conjuration) >3. Dark Elf (+1 Destruction) >4. High Elf (+1 Illusion) >5. Imperial (+1 Speech) >6. Nord (+1 Blunt) >7. Redguard (+1 Blades) >8. Khajiit (+1 Sneak) >9. Orc (+1 Heavy Armor) >10. Wood Elf (+1 Archery)
>Ranks in the different Skills will be explained alongside tge rules in the next update. The ranks are Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, and Master.
(Okay, that was a lot. I'll be answering questions after I get off work. Thank you for your interest, and welcome to Inheritance Lost!)
Ninety-Nine waited until the sisters arrived. Sitting on top of a rubbles, armors torn, she stared at her hands and claws. She failed. Her comrades laid dead, the camp destroyed, and no news of the battle. The distant thunders of artillery and zaps of pulse weapons echoed, Ninety-Nine watched the guardsmen moving about, but she found herself with the quartermaster of the company that arrived with Tobias.
Ninety-Nine walked across the field, covered in a spare with burnt edges and torn from being pulled under the debris. While this was no robe, the tarp covered enough to keep her from shame of her body. Though she had to admit, freely walking not encased in armor without the derision or disgust liberated her a small part of her worries.
“I need weapons.”
“Weapons, a—agent?” The quartermaster said with a nervous stutter. “We don’t have much to spare as of the moment. Maybe one.”
Various heavy armaments stood against the wall, along with few grenades and melee weapons too small for her to find. She saw a heavy stubber and a lascannon being the only heavy weaponries available.
“What about things to hit with?”
“Chainswords and bayonets but nothing for your uh… stature.” The quartermaster said.
“Give me…”
>The Heavy stubber >The lascannon
Ninety-Nine looked around the rubble, looking for a dependable material to make a weapon out of. She found…
>A rebar with debris >Spare chainsword chains, in which she wrapped around her hands to forearms >Write-in [Encouraged]
QM NOTE: Been a hot minute since I did this, please be patient! ANNOUNCEMENT: I'm reenlisting, I'll tell you guys when I go baclk
You've always longed to be reincarnated into another world, have an unfair cheat skill, and be surrounded by beautiful women in skimpy outfits.
Your name is John Doe— and the fantasies that so many desired were a reality for you.
You were even able to find purpose and dedicated yourself to something you loved to do— building.
Giving idle materials shape, seeing machines come to life with a whizz or a whir or the hiss of steam was something you'd never regret. Work was difficult, and took time, but it was all worth it in the end when seeing a new creation. Also you were reincarnated with cheat powers: You were what this world called a Savant— an engineer that could instinctively, since birth, understand and create special items called artifacts as well as construct impossible machines; mechas and clockwork robots and walking pieces of artillery were a common sight the land where civilization crept in and inevitably brought in Savants with it.
Steampunk was the norm in this world. The 'tags' that held reality together made it stay that way. Steam power was the most useful energy source in this universe, though you entertained thoughts of making combustion engines instead of steam ones— dragging the world into a dieselpunk era— but you haven't experimented with much other than electrical currents and steam.
Also something to note, in this world harems and slavery were commonplace. The happiness women had from being slaves was all thanks to the influence and masochistic fetishes this world's foremost creator had: The Goddess of Artifice and Creation herself, Herta.
She also happened to be your wife, the first of seven others, and the one you 'kidnapped' from the Heavenly Realm. Her only desire is to be used and abused by your body and words. Despite how arrogant, stupid, and reckless she could be, she also happens to be the woman you trusted and loved the most in this world, always been at your side helping and devoting herself to you.
Anyway, you have a total of seven women in your harem— all of them your 'slaves'. Because of Herta both consciously and subconsciously influencing the moral values of this world (a concept that hasn't fully processed in your mind), and because the gender ratio was skewed to have more women than men, there was no shortage of eager ladies willing to serve men.
Actual chattel slavery was looked down upon. This crime, among others, and anything that went against the Bondage Accord, were fought against. But more serious threats were treated with much more seriousness— 'mental corruption' being a constant threat. Many organizations around the world actively fought against these evils. It was a staple of life at this point— taking the form of Adventuring Guilds and the Knightly Orders— these organizations acting with enough autonomy to cooperate.
But that's all besides the point. Right now you were in the merchant city of Centria, visiting the relatives of your kitsune wife.
It has been almost a week since the CCCP was dissolved by the General Secretary, with a large majority of the various ethnic republics formed in the aftermath of the Great Patriotic War by imported populations having gained their independence. Their journeys to statehood have been long awaited by their peoples. However, in the general confusion and chaos which followed the collapse of one of the world's superpowers, one region within the malaise was forgotten. Unclaimed by almost every other group, at least by virtue of no real historical claim to what had been Russian land for centuries.
Oskovia.
Having been established for the Oskov peoples, themselves descendants of Slavic tribes which had inhabited the Urals before the very concept of Russia existed or the Mongols rode their armies from the east, the Oskovia CCP had been a prosperous but small republic in comparison to their immediate and surrounding neighbors. For as long as the CCCP had existed, there were no issues with any in the region. Now, this has changed.
For the first few days, the regional government was silent on the matter of the entire west of the country splintering into ethnic republics. The Belarusians, Ukrainians, Kravo, Gorodniks, Cossaks in the south and a number of others all broke off from the Union; leaving Oskovia completely alone and independent as a result of broad language, and as many would come to find out, the very local party deciding to pick up and leave back for Moskva.
What local apparatchiks remained scrambled to figure something out, and that's where you come in. You, whoever you may have been in your previous life, doesn't matter. You have been selected to form the Central Committee of the Emergency Crisis Council, the de facto governing body of what is being called the Republic of Oksovia. Never mind that no elections have been held, and that no one within the nation asked for it to be created.
At the heart of the enemy base, when you felt you were cornered into an uncomfortable situation, you went straight to the boss and challenged him… to a Go-Kart Race. Since they began, Flame Duels have been all over the place, and this one is no exception. And what puts it over the edge is the rest of the competition. You’re not in a 1-on-1 duel with Jielun, but a full race with 8 participants — and all of them are your allies in what feels like the luckiest coincidence ever. To be fair, some were orchestrated; most of them were not.
It’s You, Jielun (your target), Vera, Aurora, Nina, Constance, Suan De, and Jesse. What an odd group.
Still, spiritually, your sole opponent is Jielun. The only objective is to beat him and no one else. Everyone else is here for flavor, or to make the race more fun! Esperanza’s flying referee was ordered to make this both entertaining and efficient. Probably all inspired by your feedback during the Tournament at the Bubble Dimension.
With no previous experience behind the tiny wheel, you’ll play it slowly to understand the vehicle’s nuances.
“Welcome, everybody, to the EXTREME… Go-Kart Racing! Codename’s Crossbill, and I’ll be commentating alongside the ever-trustworthy but totally unprepared, Clutz!” Crossbill enthusiastically starts the broadcast.
“Huh? Are we streaming this?” Vortexia is utterly confused.
“And also… this woman we found waiting outside the van!” Crossbill points at Kushi. “Why did you let her in? Was she eating some trash and you felt bad or something?”
“What is this? What are we watching on this tiny screen? Is this some kind of… <span class="mu-i">video game</span>?” Kushi sounds disgusted.
“She’s the ally Mr. Noon recruited. Like the whole thing with the cake.” Clutz explains. “I’m not entirely sure if it’s a good move, but I told her who we are.”
“And I’m here to help, I suppose.” Kushi doesn’t know if she can do much at this point.
“Oh, I imagined her older. Being such a grump and all.” Crossbill chuckles.
“Watch your tongue, woman.” Kushi didn’t like that.
“Let’s do this over. I’m Crossbill, Phil Noon’s bestie. Nice to meet ya.” Crossbill extends her hand for a handshake..
“Bestie? Like in best friend?” Kushi raises an eyebrow.
“Mhm, we’re so tight, he helped me escape prison.” Crossbill laughs.
“You keep mentioning that, and I’m beginning to think that it’s not a joke.” Vortexia wants definitive lore.
The vibrant plaza bustled with crowds. From old couples basking in the sun on a bench to newlywed families out for a stroll with their new baby, the streets were packed with people and activities. Bullheads and blimps soared through the sky without fear. Street performers danced and juggled while musicians played a peppy tune with an old acoustic guitar.
How long has it been since you’ve been in a walled kingdom?
Months? Years?
You shook your head. The time did not matter, not anymore. This was a new chapter of your life.
