His wail was liable to wake the dead. His brother and two others held him back with a tender expectation that any moment he might test their grip. He did. It seemed he might even make it to her, but his brother caught a wrist and wrestled him back. The muddy thoroughfare was laden with people, silent but for an occasional sob rising into the cold morning air. All eyes were on the palanquin.
It was flat, open-topped, solidly built, unadorned. On it lay seven bodies, eight now as the Sonziz lifted her into the last of the open space. Fourteen, maybe fifteen years old. The cheeks gave it away, though they’d already started to wither despite the effort put on her by whichever amateur took the task. Skin brushed and clean, powder and pale cream, lips daubed bright. The other half of her face was sallow though, lips receding, skin starting to fall down into the canyons of her skull. There was a harsh line at the nose where the amateur had stopped, shaken no doubt by the sound of the bell. Nobody expected a second tithe.
The man wailed again. Higher pitched than one would think him capable considering his bulk. He spilled small, fragile pieces of her name into his hands as the fight left him, drop by drop.
“Mi-mir-m-e.”
His breath began to race, the fact that she was being taken becoming real. It did to everyone eventually. Some small, small spark of hope blossomed in him. It did for everyone, eventually. His eyes turned towards you. Everyone’s did, eventually.
“M-marcel! You can’t let them! She was free…they can’t take her, we already paid. P-please. GIVE HER BACK TO ME!”
He lunged for the palanquin with every mote of wrath left to him. He slipped his brother, the butcher, and the chandler, red-eyed with wet cheeks. He reached for her before you could speak…but it wasn’t fast enough, it never was. One of the Sonziz moved like a sunlit snake and the man’s arm was cracked in half at the elbow, flapping back toward his shoulder as the momentum spun him into the mud at your feet. The splatter sprayed out over your boots, his stoppered breaths made bubbles. He started crying again as you lowered yourself to sit on your heels.
“It’s over, <span class="mu-i">paire</span>. It’s over. There was nothing you could do. Remember that.”
Beneath the Bloodrise Mountain Range, at the westernmost edge of human habitation, there lies a lake. The same sun that lights the grey stone and green trees red and glad by dawn’s first light casts its colours in a beauteous cacophony upon the rippled surface of that body of water each evening, giving the surrounding city—and the barony which lords over it—the well-known name of <span class="mu-s">Sunset Lake</span>. In recent years, though, a shadow has fallen upon those mountains, and it is a shadow which has finally stretched out to swallow the wealthy fishing village and trading hub below it.
There are monsters in the mountains and, it seems, they also live in Sunset Lake.
A few days ago, a small group of strangers arrived in Sunset lake, drawn by tales of the mysterious monster said to lurk therein. This was not in and of itself unusual, for many parties of adventurers had arrived chasing those stories, the possibility of reward. This particular party, however, was strange because many would view them as numbering among the mountain’s monsters themselves: two goblins, a goat-girl sitting astride the shoulders of a living effigy of bundled branches, and two other creatures who defied such easy categorization.
There was <span class="mu-r">ZIth-Zi</span>, the apparent leader and utterly unplaceable in the taxonomic categories of modern racial philosophy: goblinoid in stature and (when she didn’t hide it) in mannerism, yet pretty and pink, shapely and symmetrical, pleasing to eye and ear and nose, and capable of casting spells… or, well, -A- spell, anyway.
And then there was her ‘sister’, like her shadow: <span class="mu-g">Cara-Zi</span>, or Carazzi, or simply CZ. She was green as a goblin, when one noticed her at all. She had an uncanny ability to elude proper perception, and to slip from close scrutiny. When one set eyes upon her properly, though, her oversized black robes hid much that was twisted and wrong even by the standards of goblinkind: scaly scutes across her skin like mosaic scales or scarification; horns upon her head, stubby affairs jutting up from her temples; hair all over, reddish-brown and rough; feet that almost, but didn’t quite, resemble the goat-girl’s hooves.
The monstrous company joined the hunt for the Monster of Sunset Lake almost as soon as they’d arrived. Zith-Zi seduced and insinuated herself into the festivities of a certain rival company to deduce the true nature of their quarry: an overgrown exemplar of those amphibious, dragon-adjacent creatures called ‘drakes’. Cara-Zi’s occult instinct uncovered unsettling magical contamination in the lake, where the monsters passed.
<span class="mu-i">"The United Kingdom is home to many different kinds of dangers.</span> <span class="mu-i">In particular, York and the area surrounding it have a Witch Manifestation every</span> <span class="mu-r">=</span> <span class="mu-i">days. Magical Girls are a needed resource in that area, but are volatile within it.</span> <span class="mu-i">I would wish all living there good luck, but luck will not save you from their clutches."</span>
<span class="mu-i"> - Excerpt from The "Territory in The U.K Guide" by £&!*@ *&"^^#@</span>
<span class="mu-i">"Life really can be pretty fairy-tale like at times, if you just try hard enough!"</span>
<span class="mu-i">"This new world is full of grace and wrath alike. I prithee a grand question: What to do to remind the world of virtue and modesty?"</span>
<span class="mu-i">- Viktoria Walker's Current Dismay</span>
<span class="mu-i">A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…</span>
<span class="mu-s">STAR WARS INTERREGNUM EPISODE III THE SEARCH FOR SANCTUARY</span>
>>REACAP of the last thread:
<span class="mu-i">The Jedi Knight FARREN GAELLE has returned to the planet AMAGI, where the JEDI TRIUMVIRATE eagerly awaits his arrival. With him are the survivors of the ill-fated KESSEL CONCLAVE, saved from the treacherous plot of JEDI MASTER SHADDAY POTKIN. The TRIUMVIRATE now counts seven new Jedi among their ranks, potential mentors for a new generation of younglings, and a massacre at the hands of DARTH VADER has been narrowly averted.
Bound by a self-imposed exile from EMPIRE space, Farren and his retinue have pledged their service to the MYLAR STAR ALLIANCE. At the command of SUPREME ARCHON KAULES KEIMANN, they undertake a vital mission to deliver aid to the famine-stricken planet ULSIND, devastated by the ruthless TOFF during the Alliance’s OPERATION SPHERE. But in the far reaches of a nameless system, an UNKNOWN ENEMY stirs. Awakened from a millennia-long slumber, a LIVING SHIP of coral and FIERY DEATH threatened to annihilate the convoy. Farren, confronting an enemy INVISIBLE TO THE FORCE itself, fought with skill and determination. Though poisoned and wounded, he emerged victorious, narrowly escaping death.
Now, with his strength renewed, Farren turns his focus to the training of his young padawan, CEYLA VIKOL, preparing her for the ways of the JEDI SHADOWS as DARK FORCES loom on the horizon...</span>
You are David Hardrada, founder of the colony of Thunor made up of ex-soldiers whom had laid stake to a world upon the edges of civilized space. Through struggles and dangers, you had found yourself, over a decade after setting first foot upon the world, hosting a foreign lord. Throughout the pleasantries, your <span class="mu-g">empathetic</span> nature had allowed you to read the man well enough to ensure you maintain a good enough relationship for the upcoming negotiations.
After you had retired after throwing a rowdy feast wherein people gathered, socialized, danced, and held a boxing match fighting each other to both went frustration and to have some fun. Unfortunately, you being born a commoner, you lacked the abilities to simply ignore a raging headache currently pounding and trying to break out of your skull. You once again find yourself having to carry out the duties as the reigning monarch (title pending) of Thunorians (name pending).
Trying to stay focused via the power of caffeine, you stare across the table at your counterpart - Margrave Mykell Oreskovich, a vassal of House Orion. Next to you sits your council, next to him sit all of the various officers whose names you, at this particular junction, are not really capable of remembering.
Much to your chagrin, Mykell appears to be entire nonplussed about yesterday, even though he drank much harder liquor than you had. The entire situation had now been more or less entirely dominated by Ashwin, your minister of foreign affairs, and whomever Mykell appointed. A man whose name you failed to catch, but his calm and even tone, similar to that of Ashwin’s actually, has been helping you keep yourself together.
Still, in matters such as there, potentially changing the fate of your entire peoples, it is only a matter of time before both you and the Margrave must make decisions upon the big issues. On this occasion – payment.
Warships are expensive, apparently. A lot more expensive than you had ever thought, being infantry, the most expensive thing you had personally had the displeasure of trying to replace was an APC, and were you damn glad that had not come out of your pocket.
Your scattered internal ramblings aside, even the rudimentary patchwork for the warships is going to drain your common material reserves and then some. Chances are the Margrave and his men will stay here a few months, and chances are, they won’t have enough food, or at least food that they are willing to eat, the same of course goes for water. One of the upsides of not being out in space but around the planet is unlimited shower rations, especially considering the fight these men and women went through.
There is a saying that when you have a hammer, everything begins to look like a nail. As sayings go, this one too can be interpreted in various ways, some of which seem deeper or more insightful than others. In one of the more obvious views it illustrates propensity of someone who has gained a new instrument developing an inkling to put it to use even in circumstances where a different approach would be preferable. The metaphor could easily be stretched even further, to include not only tangible tools, but also formal or informal authority, or perhaps distinctive paradigms and frames of mind.
Of course by that point the original metaphor becomes stretched and diluted to the point where one could be better served by finding a different one. Perhaps this is a point where we’ve placed the metaphor into position of the hammer.
Be that as it may, there is going to be a lot of hammers laying around this construction site, yourself being one of them.
This is story of the space archaeologist and freelancer Henri Ford and his valiant crew – Tufferson Kris, a fellow xenoarcaheologist, Lea’Fari nar Namek, a maiden undergoing her rite of passage, and Eve Ferrum, a woman built to be able to get where she is not supposed to go.
Presently, you are <span class="mu-b">Eve Ferrum</span>, an explorer, a friend, a seeker – and a machine. Synthetic woman tracing your heritage from Systems Alliance secret projects through reverse engineered Reaper technology, Cerberus perfidy and once again desperate Alliance scramble to adapt and perfect every resource at its disposal.
A lot had happened in the brief time between your first activation and the present day. After a brief period you could with some imagination call your childhood in a secret Alliance lab on Tyr you were thrust directly into the thick of the fighting against the Reapers in a desperate struggle for survival.
Even though you had honestly not expected to outlast them, fighting at the side of your makers gave you a sense of purpose, that had gradually developed into something more than just desire to see your primary objective fulfilled. You’ve learned of the dreams and hopes your fighting comrades kept carrying despite all odds stacked against them, sometimes to the bitter end; you’ve learned of the bonds they formed among each other, and even against the backdrop of your primary functionalities you’ve come to adopt something from that time into your core.
And it was a good thing that you did, as when the Reapers have been eradicated by the ever mysterious superweapon devised across multiple extinction cycles in a manner that skirted realm of mysticism, it was those fragments of your self that kept you alive.
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the smell.
Everything around you reeks of rancid acidity mixed with the musty odor of mold and fungus, like you threw up a really bad, really moldy cheese. The ground? below you is rugged, with random shapes jutting into your sides and back. Once you force your eyes open, against your tired, throbbing brain’s complaints, you see the world suffused in a radioactive green glow. No, wait, the world isn’t glowing.
You are. Your skin, hair, everything is <span class="mu-i">glowing</span>.
Looking down at your clothes, soaked in some odd, sticky fluid, you find yourself in better condition than you expected, albeit more than a little radioactive looking. You sit atop a pile of random junk- dirt, garbage, debris, and busted machinery, some of which is dated and some of which is so sleek and modern (despite the dirt and damage) that it seems out of place. Looking down at a speartip jutting out of the rubble a few inches from where you fell, you breathe a sigh of relief that you managed to avoid being impaled.
“The intake came on time, boss!” You hear a rugged voice ring out from behind you. He seems to be speaking some other, completely unfamiliar language, but you find yourself able to understand it perfectly as if it were in English. Wheeling around, you see a cluster of figures emanating light of different colors gathered in the distance. Your eyes are bleary- you can hardly make out any of the details, “Wait, is that Drop-In alive?”
“I think he is! Looks Terran too. He’s all yours, Mike!”
Terran- that means from Earth, right? What the hell is going on?
You see a gentle purple glow climbing towards you. Thinking fast, you pull the rusted spear that almost made you into a shish kabob out from the pile of detritus you’re sitting on. Managing to yank it out, you wield it to the best of your limited ability.
<span class="mu-i">"Did you really think you could succeed? With such a weight of sin, you never even stood a chance. Perish, now, and suffer, <span class="mu-s">as you should</span>, in the afterlife - for all eternity."</span>
...
"WELCOME, weary soul, to ALTERORBIS a-no, THE- world of adventure, riches, exquisite cuties, and- well, A LOT OF OTHER THINGS. Now let's set up your REINCARNATION properly..."
"..."
"..."
The voice whistles.
"Well, aren't you a strange bastard. Looks like with your particular set of TRAITS I can only offer you one of these options:"
[PICK ONE]
>Bone Tortoise [Undead] Arising from the largest, sturdiest facial shield bones of the Ragnatars, the Bone Tortoise is one of the hardest undead to kill for the inexperienced adventurer. The outer shell encases a vulnerable interior, the entire creature propelled by surprisingly nimble bony legs. Upon reaching its prey, it jump-slams it to death and feasts on the carcass. Like several other undead, it is capable of absorbing memories of the remains it gathers and reinforces itself with. Usually cracked open by bigger undead or those in possession of powerful piercing weaponry. Rank F- [Start in the Deadlands] Power: 5 Magic: 1 Charm: 0
>Ur-lion Cub [Feral] The giant Ur-lions symbolize valour to the mountain people, and their cubs usually have to employ plenty of it to survive to adulthood. Their mane and hide are not yet formed to be impenetrable to regular weapons, but they compensate for this with their size, being similar in that to common mountain lions. They pack the same strength and rapidly grow until adulthood. The cubs' roars are already deafening and disorienting to others, which they use to full extent to hunt down their prey. They are hunted in turn for their boiling blood, which is a minor alchemical ingredient. Rank F- [Start in the Mountains] Power: 4 Magic: 0 Charm: 2
>Black Hare [Spirit] Named so because of their lightning-fast locomotion method and similar shape to the regular hare, the Black Hare spawns where massacres of animals take place. They are bigger than their ordinary "cousins" and much more malicious, possessing razor claws and sharp teeth to slay their foes, and seemingly capable of fading into shadows. They fear bright light and are usually inactive during daytime. Rank F- [Start in a Forest] Power: 3 Magic: 2 Charm: 1
<span class="mu-i">Earth. Fire. Air. Water. Only the Avatar can master all four elements and bring balance to the world. But the new Avatar, a timid young Water Tribe girl named Itiqqa hasn’t even begun to master herself. Can she bring balance to the world?</span>
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Welcome to Avatar: The New Age! As the opening and name of the quest imply, this will be taking place in a similar timeframe as Legend of Korra, though Aang died a few years later and a lot of the stupid shit from the comics and Korra won’t be making an appearance. I’m not saying this will be a fixfic, but I am saying that the only good part of this franchise is the original series. A couple of Korra episodes and like 2/5ths of the contents of the novels are okay too, I guess. What I’m saying is, don’t expect magic carpets, dykes, enbies, or to be able to metagame too hard. Now, without further ado:
=====
<span class="mu-s">Previously on Avatar:</span> During a tour of Air Temple Island, Ainu, a Kyoshi Warrior and new arrival in Union City, had a chance meeting with the new Avatar. The new Avatar, Itiqqa is a diffident young girl who feels unready to take on the responsibilities of the Avatar. Ainu, along with Itiqqa and Noyon, a streetwise teen Ainu met who turned out to be an airbender, quickly found themselves on the run from both the Union City police and the White Lotus who were both searching for the missing Avatar. After escalating encounters with the city’s gangs and the radical Equalists, the trio was seemingly saved by Tarrlok, a member of the United Federation Council.
