<span class="mu-i">You feel it in a pattern, hitting your head, always in rhythm, like the march of a one-legged soldier. The swiishing sound of rustling leaves accompanies the beat as you are dragged by your leg, somewhere, by something, in a place you do not know. It remains foggy and unclear, yet you cannot think why, as if it had always been so. The visage above you is muddled into a sea of green. A forest, perhaps? You try to turn around and look, then try some more with little success, unsure of how to even move. The thing that hits your head must be the rocks on the ground, yes. You are certain of it. It is not an comfortable feeling. You feel you will be hurt seriously if this continues.</span>
<span class="mu-i">You try to raise your body, yet you cannot will it to do so. You feel so weak and lethargic. You feel so tired. Such a simple act seems impossible to you now, no matter how hard you try. But why were you trying? Yes, the thing carrying you, the man. You try to look, but yet again, your eyes themselves seem to be unable to comply, blinking slowly and tiredly, a blurry form just at the corner of its fields.</span>
<span class="mu-i">You try to call out to the man, to try to get him to stop, and what comes out is nonsense, garbled and unsure. Can he not hear you? You want to stop. You try to move your hands, to grasp upon a root, to stop these hurtsome rocks, but when your hand grasps upon the root, you feel pain, and quickly let go, quickly falling past you as you continue to be pulled. There must be thorns in the roots...if you hold on, you will surely be hurt. Yet if you do not, the rocks will do the same. Is there nothing else? Must all your choices lead to pain? You want to stop...you need to stop...stop...</span>
You are a goblin. An irrefutably evil, cruel, disgusting and green creature. Behind your beady black eyes lies no strength of character, no purity, and no soul. You are a disgusting and foul little thing.
Well... that was the consensus surrounding goblins for centuries but amongst the academic world there is an oft-maligned but growing movement surrounding goblin studies. Professor Zolar of the prestigious MIT (Magic Institute of Temporal) conducted an intense field study of goblin tribes and hypothesized that goblins were nurtured rather than born into evil.
To test this theory he would travel to various goblin tribes and slaughter the entire tribe except for a singular goblin child. If the child cried and wailed for the loss of their people and family that means it has empathy. If not, then it's evil.
This simple experiment was conducted hundreds of times destroying entire cultures, languages, and rich oral histories, and vivid traditional art. At the end professor Zolar concluded with statistical significance that goblins were in fact not naturally born evil to great acclaim and received the Nobel prize in monster studies along with great funding.
His next great experiment is to raise a goblin from birth to adulthood and nurture him to be a loving, exemplary, and GOOD goblin/person. He rented out a great mansion, hired innumerable servants, stockpiled nutritious food and recruited the greatest minds of the Imperial Empire for this purpose.
The goblin will be raised like a king.
That goblin is not you, however. Instead you are the hireling of a decidedly less successful, less intelligent, and more scrupulous "rival" professor named Girgga. Girggas was a peer of Zolar as an undergrad but because of his focus on trying (and failing) to pick up Elf sorority girls he quickly got left behind Zolar in grades, internships, and connections. He was left behind and took up an nontenured track position as a professor of introductory goblinoid studies at a crime-ridden, inbred, idiotic party school on the outskirts of the empire called the University of Alabama. And after Zolar had married his Elf crush that was from the same department he vowed eternal revenge.
Once news of Zolar's new experiment came out he had drunkenly proclaimed that he had secretly been raising a goblin long before Zolar and was going to shock the world to the riotous laughter of his peers.
He was of course lying, but Girggas has always had a tenuous relationship with the truth and ended up recruiting you.
2510, the Office of Naval intelligence reexamines the Carver Findings and the improved report building upon the prior findings by one civilian scientist, Catherine Elizabeth Halsey, then aged eighteen. Oni's projections matched the grim conclusions of Carver's report up to the year 2525. However, the independent research performed by Halsey predicted a far darker outcome of the projected conflict between the Inner and Outer Colonies of Mankind, that the inaction of the UNSC would spark a war that lasted at minimum for three decades and with the lowest estimated causalities surpassing five billion. The worse case scenario Dr Halsey predicted, the collapse of space fairing human civilization. Upon presenting her independent research to the Office of Naval Intelligence, Catherine Halsey accepted a position within Section III's Special projects division, to conceive a solution and counter to the anticipated interplanetary conflict.
2511, The second generation of the failed super solider project ORION, is initiated, and swiftly renamed by Halsey into the SPARTAN II Project to distance it from the deficiencies of the prior program and the radical shifts from the original project. The most controversial being the selection of the candidates, Young Children selected for their genetic disposition to superior physical and intellectual traits, raised from age six upon and taught warfare and militaristic values to achieve a supreme understanding of war and instill utter loyalty to the UNSC's interests. To screen for select suitable candidates for the program, a database was constructed through the Outer Colony Vaccination program. Initial funding allowed for three hundred candidates for the program, but budget cuts and relocation to other covert and top secret projects, reduced the candidate pool by half.
2517, One hundred a fifty children suitable for conscription into the SPARTAN II Program had been found through the Outer Colony Vaccination Program. However, before the collection of the subjects could begin, the funding available to Halsey and her project was further reduced. In another timeline, the initial suggested reduction of halving the Program's available resource again by half, may have gone through, reducing the tally of the first class of Spartans to a merely seventy five. However, coincidental factors, including the disappointing results of other blacksite projects and a certain high ranking official being caught suddenly ill when budgetary discussion were held, had reduced the loss of funding to the SPARTAN II program by one third instead, for a total of one hundred candidates. Children who would otherwise have lived their lives as civilians, ignorant of the horrors of war, both between the colonies and a threat yet to emerge, are in this version of events, instead chosen and taken from their homes to be trained and raised into SPARTAN super soldiers Cont
she cheated on my friend with her best friend, do what y'all want with their information. Angeli Anahí Lara Llactahuaman 70721036 (DNI) +51 922 708 991 Benjamín Renzo León Puris 70965362 +51947863780
ONE COLD DAY IN HELL you SATAN are chilling in hell when you are approached by ???? LORD OF ALL CREATION, AND A SINGLE CHERUBIM CALLING YOU BY your nickname: which is ?????? >please enter a NICKNAME
HEY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE
What is your response?
>please enter a response followed by MORALITY CHOICE:
>OFFER GOD ALL YOUR $ -causes ???? >TELL LIE , offends god, begin battle >TELL TRUTH causes bonus 1 >DANCE causes you to feel SAUCY
Me and some friends got a random notification from a chanel we are not subscribed to and we are trying to decript it. Can you all help us https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqL0GNY_EOA
“Ollie, I offer you a gift in exchange for your service. Understand that if you accept, we are bound eternally. And I would be happy to have you,” The silver-haired girl explained. You had heard the rumors about Monette. That she was reclusive, weird, crazy, but still respected and somewhat feared. And now, without warning, she’s broken into your bedroom, sitting on your windowsill. “I’m a witch. I can grant you nearly anything you desire as long as you sign a contract with me.”
You are Oliver, a 17 year old boy who has been taking care of your little sister since your parents passed. It’s been hard, having to balance a job, school, getting bullied, and taking care of your sister all at the same time. Sometimes, you just wished you could escape.
“Do your contracts pay?” You ask.
Monette chuckled and crossed her legs. “How’s your sister Ollie? I hope she’s well. I see her at school sometimes but she seems afraid of me and… I don’t want to bother her.” The moonlight made her eyes shine like emeralds. You take this as a yes. You weren’t sure that you really believed this whole witch thing, but you had always had a crush on Monette, and here she is breaking into your bedroom. You aren’t sure whether you agreed out of fear or arousal.
“Okay, sure. How does it work, is it like a piece of paper?”
“Simple actually. You think of the gift you want, close your eyes, and then we shake hands. That can be an ability, or a magical item, or even something mundane like a million dollars - but don’t wish for something mundane please, you won’t be a very good servant without something useful. And don’t worry, you’ll get along great with my other two thralls. Millie and Cassandra - I think you’ve already met them.”
Cassie is your tomboyish childhood friend. When your parents passed she was always there for you and Lily, and you deeply care for her because of it. Whatever you’re getting into - some occult ritual or just basic chuuni behavior - her being there makes you feel a bit better.
Millie on the other hand is a different story. You don’t know much of her aside from that she’s friends with Cassie. Other than that, she seems quiet and reserved. The “always in the corner” type girl, reading books or sleeping off her latest all-nighter.
GIFTS >Shade: Gain a ghost of yourself that you control and can move anywhere as long as you are touching. >Step-on: Create small, invisible platforms underneath your hands or feet on command. >Starlight Lantern: A shrouded lantern that when opened transports the room and its contents into deep space. The room is considered isolated and antigravity (but still breathable for balance purposes) >Metalwater: A small vial of liquid metal that the user can shape and bend with their mind, making all sorts of useful objects. >Reasonable Write-ins of a similar power level to this.
The world lived in a magocracy for as long as anyone can remember, the upper classes being those who have mastered the arcane arts and the rest of society being the peons who would do their dirty work. Every settlement had a powerful wizard who was the lord protector over the people there, with life and death authority. Many of those wizards used their prerogatives to do horrifying experimentations with the people.
One day, some kind of disruption in the flow of mana cut off the wizards from their powers. The people rebelled and started to murder their wizard masters.
What every wizard learns from basic arcane theory is that the energy that power magic has to come from somewhere. Most wizards drain the metaphysical plane of demons, just "below" our own world. This causes destruction in large scale and chaos to unfold there, but the wizards don't care - it is just a bunch of demons. But this simply ceased to work on that fatidic day, and most wizards were unable to adapt quick enough.
Many have heard some rumors that some wizards managed to retain part of their powers by using alternative sources of mana.
You're one such wizard, and your powers come from the forbidden art of:
> Soul drain. The soul of a being is located in their head, so if you capture and shrink heads you can use people's heads as material component for spells. Works with monsters and animals, but they tend to have far less mana than humans. The head of a wizard and some magical creatures causes far more powerful effects to occur. > Blood magic. Blood contains a little bit of magic. By spilling copious amounts of blood - yours or someone else's - you manage to cast the simplest of spells. More complex or powerful spells require large amounts of sacrifices, preferably in rituals, so that you can muster all the power. > Mana powder. By turning anything with magical powers into a fine powder and snorting it, you can use magic for a very short time. Grinded dry brains, dry blood, broken magical items, mana crystals, demon horn - anything with magic can be snorted and turned into magical power. > Write in
You stare at the door outside. It would be easy to put all this out of your head and just keep it moving. But it doesn't feel right.. you cast a glance at Batman and find he's already staring at you. The unsettling glow of Batman's eyes from beneath that cowl of his make you nervous. Hell, everything about this place makes you nervous. An hour ago you still thought of 'magic' and 'spirits' as possibilities. Chances in an infinite universe, things you never really believed fully but still left the door open for. Only now the door is wide open and you've stared into what's behind it directly and according to John it's done it's share of looking back. Is this really your place? No. It isn't, you weren't meant for dark delves into haunted asylums with masked crusaders. Yet it seems every time you fight to return to normalcy, for the privilege of an honest job, you're exposed more and more to how much deeper the rabbit hole goes. How comically small your role in the world is. You'd laugh if it didn't always feel like the joke was on you. But through all of this bullshit you've never lost sight of what you've stood for, the world wasn't your problem; Gotham and the people in it are. You look again at this man, this Batman, and it feels like another reflection.
Maybe he's meta, maybe he isn't but he's still a person. Someone who had desires, maybe the same ones as you. Just a man who wanted to protect his home. You remember when you first saw the photos in your dad's paper, his suit wasn't much more than stitched kevlar and sports pads despite it his presence was inescapable in the City. He seemed like a manifestation of Gotham's anger, finally fighting back to halt the grinding boot that was turning everyday people into a paste and looking at him now you aren't sure you recognize the man clad in pristine body armor, trimmed with technology that borders on science-fiction. It makes you think, would you from a few months ago recognize yourself? Your own words to Question echo in your head, maybe it's better to just focus on the things you can act on. This is out of your depth and it may be out of his as well, but you can still help where you can.
"You're out of your depth too." You start. "Your utility belt won't be as helpful against the things John's looking for as you think, and given everything he's said about you, you'll just end up drawing attention to both of you if you go with him."
"Maybe." Batman grumbles. "But I don't trust him to wander that place by himself. Even if it was empty."
"Gee, thanks mate." John mumbles, rolling his eyes wildly as he reads his tome.
"If anyone should be his backup, shouldn't it be another magician or wizard or something? He can't be the only one, you guys mentioned someone earlier."
"No." Batman says firmly. "I'm not bringing anyone else into this, I won't risk them."
"But you'll risk me?" You ask, genuinely taken aback.
"You were already in, whether you liked it or not."
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-i">You are L2S Trollhunter Fiona Jarnafeldt,</span></span> and you think you’re in trouble. Big trouble.
Earlier today, you were directing a pair of engineers through the stormdrains with your compatriot, L2S Manhunter Saemus Fahy, as the workers installed a drone nest used to observe the squatter city and plot out the encroaching attack on the city. The mission went fine, that’s not the issue. The squatters have successfully reverse engineered the technology from a pneumatic suit they stole months ago, you put them down handily, and a team is on the way to pick up the bodies for processing. That’s perfectly fine.
While on the mission, your radio transmission was hijacked by a strange caller who claimed to someone named Zephyr, a member of a clandestine research team serving Mother Nature’s Providence known as the Old Oaks. On the call he made a mortifying claim: that no amount of hard work or effort will get you to the promotion you seek, that no number of slain monsters however fierce and fearsome they once were really matters to your ends. The only way to earn this promotion to earn the life and family you’ve been fighting to earn is to sell your soul and morals and to kill a child of the city’s overpopulation. A brand of loyalty seared in to the back of your mind for the rest of your life.
Zephyr went on to say that everyone around you in any place of authority has done this. Your mentor, the stormwatch director, even your parents had to have done this. It was either this, or winning the lottery, if you wanted to bring that child that you always wanted, always seeing, haunting you like a ghost, into the waking world. He then made you an offer to try and destroy the system. You took off your radio; you did not want to hear any more of that seditious thought.
You thought that a complete dismissal would be enough to prove loyalty for anybody who happened to hear what was said.
But then a man in black arrived to direct you to an L4 operator’s office.
