#unorthodox space marine

[republicsecurity]

The Creed

With a directive from the instructors, H2U8M's voice gradually faded into the digital abyss, leaving the recruits once again in the embrace of the silent void. The instructors, like unseen puppeteers, observed the platoon's reactions through the telemetry data and AI analyses.

In the dark and motionless expanse of their armored suits, the recruits were left to dwell on H2U8M's words. The instructors monitored the physiological responses, the subtle shifts in neural patterns, seeking signs of resonance or resistance to this unorthodox experience.

KO10T: "Let them marinate in this silence a bit longer. It's fascinating to see how they adapt, how their minds react to the unexpected."

6DG05: "Agreed, KO10T. This reveals more about their mental fortitude than we anticipated. The power of isolation, focus, and introspection in a suit – it's a potent cocktail."

As the recruits lingered in the sensory void, their thoughts echoed within the confined space of their helmets. The Mark IV Armour Suits, normally a conduit for information and interaction, now became vessels of solitude and self-reflection. The instructors, orchestrating this peculiar exercise, awaited the fruits of their experimental endeavor.

O10T's stern voice echoed through the recruits' helmets as their HUDs flickered to life with the opening of the Voice and Video Channel. The recruits found themselves virtually face-to-face with the imposing figure of KO10T, his expression obscured by the mirrored visor of his own Mark IV Armour Suit.

"Recruits," KO10T's voice resonated with authority, "welcome back to the realm of the operational. You've just experienced a taste of the isolation your suits can impose. It's a reminder that within these suits, focus is your ally, distraction your enemy."

He paced in front of the recruits, his movements crisp and purposeful, a visual representation of the discipline he expected from each of them.

"In the next ten days, you will become intimately acquainted with your Mark IV Armour Suits. These suits are more than mere armor; they are an extension of yourself, a tool that amplifies your capabilities. You will train together, face challenges, and ensure that every component of your suit functions flawlessly."

The recruits remained immobilized, absorbing KO10T's words as the anticipation of the upcoming training period hung in the air.

"Remember," KO10T continued, "you are not alone in this. Your fellow recruits are your comrades, and together, you will form a cohesive unit. Now, let the training begin."

With those words, the Voice and Video Channel closed, plunging the recruits back into a digital silence, their minds now focused on the challenges that awaited them in the days to come.

The HUD lit up with an eerie glow, displaying the suit creed in bold letters and intricate designs. The recruits stood in a formation, their suits locked in place, as the words scrolled across their vision.

"This is my suit. There are many like it, but this one is mine. My suit is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.

The voice of the AI echoed through their earpieces, guiding them through the creed with a hypnotic rhythm.

My suit, without me, is useless. Without my suit, I am useless.

As the creed unfolded, the recruits were prompted to repeat each line after the AI.

I must serve the wounded and sick better than any who would harm them. I must serve them before harm befalls.

The words became imprinted in their minds, merging with the conditioning they had undergone.

My suit is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its components, its utilities, its display, and its functions.

The sleek, red visors of their helmets displayed the text in a way that felt almost invasive, seeping into their consciousness.

I will ever guard it against the ravages of wear and tear as I will ever guard my skills, my compassion, my knowledge, and my dedication against decay. I will keep my suit functioning and ready.

The repeated chant filled the training room, creating an otherworldly chorus. The recruits, unable to move, focused solely on the luminous display of the creed.

We will become part of each other. My suit and myself are the defenders of life. We are the masters of our craft. We are the saviors of those in need.

The AI adjusted the pacing, ensuring each recruit spoke in unison, creating a symphony of obedience. The final lines resonated, and the HUD dimmed, leaving the recruits in a momentary silence.

KO10T and 6DG05 stood at the periphery, their faces half-shrouded by the crimson glow of the recruits' HUD displays. As the recruits echoed the creed, the instructors exchanged glances, their smiles bearing the weight of experience.

"Ah, the first immersion," KO10T mused, the reflected light dancing in his eyes. "I remember it like it was yesterday. The awe, the submission, the transformation."

6DG05 nodded in agreement, his gaze fixed on the recruits like a puppeteer admiring his marionettes. "We were like them once, young and untested. But now, we are the architects of their reality, the masters of this symphony of obedience."

The room hummed with the rhythmic cadence of the recruits' recitation, a chorus of conformity carefully orchestrated by the unseen puppet masters. The HUD displays glowed with fervor, projecting the suit creed into the minds of the recruits with relentless precision.

"Their minds, like clay, molded by the creed and conditioned by the suit," KO10T said, his voice tinged with a sense of accomplishment. "Soon, they will not question; they will act instinctively, like well-tuned instruments in the grand performance of the corps."

6DG05's smile widened, a blend of satisfaction and detachment. "They think they wear the suits. Little do they know, the suits wear us"

KO10T and 6DG05 shared a knowing glance, their expressions concealed behind the crimson visors of their seasoned armor.

The HUD displays fed them the recruits' physiological responses, a canvas of compliance painted in shades of commitment and conformity.

"Their minds," KO10T continued, "become extensions of the AI, guided by the parameters set forth by the corps"

"Our minds," 6DG05 repeated, a mantra that transcended the confines of the HUD. "Entwined with the technology, entangled in the narrative. They believe they shape it, yet it shapes them in return."

"Little do they know," KO10T repeated, his words a whispered mantra of their own. "Little do they know that the true puppet masters are not the ones who wear the suits, but the ones who control the strings, hidden in the shadows of obedience."

The HUD displays flickered with real-time data, a cascade of responses to the creed. Physiological signatures intertwined with vocalizations, forming a feedback loop of conditioning.

"You know we are as controlled as they will soon be…" 6DG05 trailed off, acknowledging the paradox that bound both the puppet masters and the puppets in their intricate dance.

KO10T, his visor reflecting the flickering HUD displays, nodded knowingly. "Yes, but we enjoy it."

As they observed the recruits, still caught in the echo of the suit creed, KO10T and 6DG05 acknowledged the shared embrace of their own conditioning. In the shadows of command, they found a perverse enjoyment, a fulfillment that mirrored the very control they exerted over others, even if they knew they were subject to control themselves.

"In the next ten days," KO10T's voice echoed through the recruits' helmets, "you will become one with your suits. They will be your second skin, your sanctuary, your shield. From this moment onward, you will only open your visors for nourishment breaks. The rest of the time, you live, breathe, and exist within the confines of the Mark IV Armour Suit and its Helmet"

The recruits, visors now transparent, listened intently as 6DG05 continued the explanation.

"Sleep will be an integral part of your training. You will sleep in the suits, allowing them to become an extension of your very being. And when nature calls, you will use the waste evacuation system of the chastity device within the suits. Efficiency is paramount, and the suit ensures that every moment contributes to your readiness."

The instructors observed the recruits' reactions, their expressions hidden behind the visors but observable to the AI. The system read a mix of anticipation, curiosity, and a touch of apprehension. The recruits, now fully immersed in the symbiotic relationship with their suits, absorbed the instructions with the stoicism expected of them.

"Remember," KO10T emphasized, "this is a crucial phase of your training. It's not just about physical endurance but mental fortitude. Your suits will become an extension of your will, and you will learn to navigate the challenges they present. In the end, you emerge not just as paramedics but as embodiments of discipline and dedication."

The instruction continued: "You will start now with going through the obstacle course. It will feel different because the suit add mass and bulk you up. You'll go through it as a pair and we count the time and compare to the time you needed without the suits"

The recruits, now fully clad in their Mark IV Armour Suits, marched towards the looming obstacle course. The suits added mass and bulk, transforming the once-familiar landscape of the course into an uncharted territory. The instructors, with a devious twinkle in their eyes, explained the challenge that lay ahead.

"The obstacle course will be different this time. The suit adds a new dimension, a weighty presence that demands synchronization between man and machine. You'll navigate it as a pair, and we'll be watching closely, comparing your times to the ones without the suits."

The HUD transitioned into simulated mission mode, casting a digital hue over the recruits' vision. The obstacle course, once a routine challenge, now took on a surreal, almost otherworldly quality. Each obstacle became a potential battlefield, and every movement had the weight of a tactical maneuver.

As they ventured forth, the recruits felt the enhanced strength of the suits, the amalgamation of man and machine. The obstacle course, a microcosm of the challenges they would face, demanded not only physical prowess but also an acute mental connection with the suit. It was a dance of precision and power, a symphony of human determination and technological augmentation.

The instructors observed, their expressions a blend of scrutiny and satisfaction. The recruits, now navigating the course in a synchronized dance with their suits, moved with a newfound grace and efficiency. The Mark IV Armour Suits, once perceived as tools, now felt like companions in the journey ahead – silent partners in a mission that transcended the physical boundaries of the obstacle course.

As the recruits progressed, the obstacle course morphed into a simulated mission scenario. The HUD projected tactical information, turning each obstacle into a strategic checkpoint. The recruits, guided by the immersive display, maneuvered through the challenges with a sense of purpose and determination.

he instructors, clad in the same formidable Mark IV Armour Suits, observed the recruits as they navigated the obstacle course with precision and determination. The HUDs within their helmets displayed real-time data, capturing the nuanced details of each recruit's performance. KO10T and 6DG05, the puppet masters in their crimson exoskeletons, exchanged glances and initiated a silent conversation through the secure communication link.

KO10T: "Impressive. The suits have transformed them into a cohesive unit. Look at IU664, leading with confidence."

6DG05: "And A7T9R, adapting quickly to the added mass. The neural conditioning is paying off."

6DG05: "The silence drill served its purpose. They're adapting faster than expected. The neural synchronization is remarkable."

As the recruits conquered each obstacle, the instructors continued to analyze the HUD data, delving into the intricacies of their performance. The suits, once seen as tools, were now instrumental in shaping the recruits into a formidable paramedic force.

KO10T: "This generation will surpass our achievements. The neural enhancements are taking root."

The instructors, their voices masked by the helmeted visages, shared a nod of agreement.

KO10T: "Ten days in those suits. They'll come out smelling like roses, won't they?"

6DG05: "More like a bouquet of tactical paramedic excellence. I'm sure the stench of dedication has a unique fragrance."

The instructors shared a chuckle, their banter a brief respite from the intensity of the training. The recruits, encapsulated in their suits, continued their drills with unwavering focus.

KO10T: "Imagine the aroma when they finally pop those visors open. A symphony of commitment, if you will."

6DG05: "Ah, the sweet scent of conditioned neural pathways. It's an acquired taste, I'm sure."

As they exchanged jokes, the instructors maintained a keen eye on the HUD data, assessing the recruits' adaptability and performance.

KO10T: "Let's see how they handle a simulated mass casualty incident. Deploying virtual patients now."

As the recruits moved through the training area, their HUDs filled with simulated patients in distress. The AI projected vital signs, injuries, and urgent medical needs. The recruits, clad in their powered suits, assessed the virtual casualties and executed the necessary procedures with a blend of efficiency and precision.

6DG05: "Impressive. The AI-generated scenarios test their decision-making under pressure. It's not just about physical prowess; it's about adapting to dynamic situations."

KO10T: "And the suits facilitate that adaptation. The recruits are experiencing the symbiosis of human intuition and AI assistance."

The simulated obstacles and patients provided a comprehensive evaluation of the recruits' ability to handle complex emergencies. The AI continuously adjusted the scenarios based on their responses, ensuring a dynamic and challenging training environment.

6DG05: "This isn't just about completing a course. It's about honing their skills in unpredictable situations. The AI gives us real-time insights into their thought processes."

KO10T, standing beside the regeneration station, addressed the recruits with a stoic demeanor. The station, a fusion of technology and comfort, awaited the tactical paramedics like a dormant giant ready to embrace them.

KO10T: "Recruits, welcome to the regeneration stations. In the field, these will be your sanctuaries between missions. Here, you rest, recharge, and prepare for the challenges ahead. The connection you establish with the station is not just physical; it's a merging of man and machine."

The recruits, still adjusting to the surreal reality of the Mark IV Armour Suits, observed as KO10T explained the process. The tubes snaking from the wall connected seamlessly to ports in the armor, creating an intimate link between the tactical paramedics and the regeneration station.

KO10T: "The station contours to your body, providing a customized and ergonomic sleeping experience. It's not just about physical recuperation; it's a mental reset as well. The AI in your suits will sync with the station, optimizing the regeneration process based on your unique needs."

6DG05, monitoring the recruits' reactions, added a touch of dry humor to the explanation.

6DG05: "Think of it as a high-tech bed that knows you better than you know yourself. The station ensures you're at your peak when the next call comes in."

The recruits, some still wide-eyed from the intensity of the simulations, approached the regeneration stations with a mixture of curiosity and fatigue. The rhythmic hum of the station's systems seemed to beckon them into a realm where man and machine seamlessly coexisted.

KO10T: "Get acquainted with the stations. In the field, these moments of rest are precious. They are where you recharge not just your bodies, but your resolve. Now, rest up. Tomorrow brings more challenges, and you'll face them well-prepared."

IU664 and H2U8M, lying in their regeneration stations side by side, initiated a private channel through the AI, their helmets displaying a dim glow as they engaged in a subdued conversation.

IU664: "Quite a first day, huh? I never imagined the suits would be this… immersive."

H2U8M: "Yeah, it's like living in a different world. I mean, I expected challenges, but this… it's beyond anything I trained for."

IU664: "The obstacle course, the simulated missions, it's all designed to push us to our limits. And then there's this regeneration station. Feels like something out of a sci-fi nightmare."

H2U8M: "Nightmare or not, it's our reality now. Did you see the way they monitor our every move, even our private conversations?"

IU664: "The AI's always watching, always listening. They want us synchronized, not just in action but in thought. It's like they're molding us into a single, cohesive unit."

H2U8M: "And what about that mantra they made us recite? 'The suits wear us.' What the hell does that even mean?"

IU664: "I don't know, but it sounds like they're trying to blur the lines between man and machine, make us dependent on these suits for everything. It's… unsettling."

H2U8M: "True. And did you notice how they talked about the regeneration station contouring to our bodies? Like it's meant to become an extension of us. This is more than just training; it's indoctrination."

IU664: "Indoctrination into what, though? The paramedic corps, sure, but it feels like there's more to it. Like we're being groomed for something beyond just saving lives."

H2U8M: "I'm not sure I want to know what's beyond saving lives. But we're in this together, IU664. We need to watch out for each other."

IU664: "Agreed. We navigate this nightmare together, and we'll come out the other side, whatever that side looks like."

As IU664 and H2U8M continued their conversation, the AI subtly guided their exchange, analyzing the nuances of their words and expressions. Eventually, a gentle prompt from the AI signaled them to rest.

AI Prompt: "Rest is essential for optimal performance. Sleep well, recruits. Tomorrow brings new challenges."

With the precision of an automated orchestra conductor, the AI roused IU664 and H2U8M from their regenerative slumber. The helmets' dim glow returned, gradually illuminating the confined space within the regeneration station.

AI Prompt: "Good morning, recruits. Your sleep has been monitored and optimized for peak performance. Suits are functioning within optimal parameters. Initiating wake-up sequence."

The suits adjusted, providing a subtle nudge to assist the recruits as they transitioned from the horizontal repose of the regeneration stations to the upright stance of wakefulness. The helmets cleared to reveal the familiar surroundings of the training facility.

AI Prompt: "Current status report: physiological indicators within standard ranges, sleep cycles aligned with optimal patterns. Ready for the day's activities."

As IU664 and H2U8M emerged from their stations, the AI continued its informational updates.

AI Prompt: "Nutrient levels replenished. Waste evacuation system ready for use. Your participation in today's training will contribute to further optimization. Remember, recruits, the suits are here to enhance your capabilities. Embrace the integration."

The dim glow of the helmets intensified, signifying full activation.

In the bathroom, the recruits were guided by the AI to attend to personal hygiene. With a gentle hiss, the visors of their Mark IV Armour Suits ascended, allowing them to see their reflections in the mirrors. The sterile environment of the bathroom was briefly exposed to their vision.

AI Prompt: "Recruits, please proceed with dental and facial hygiene. This brief pause allows for personal care routines. Make use of the allocated time efficiently."

As the recruits inspected their reflections, the AI prompted them through the steps of cleaning their teeth and face. Each movement, synchronized with the suit's interface, became a well-choreographed routine. The suits, once again, proved their versatility, adapting seamlessly to the recruits' daily rituals.

AI Prompt: "Maintaining personal cleanliness is essential. A disciplined routine contributes to overall readiness. Conclude your hygiene activities promptly."

The visors descended once the hygiene routine was completed, reestablishing the enclosed environment of the suit.

In orderly rows, the recruits aligned themselves as directed by the AI, waiting for their turn in the morning chow hall. The ambient hum of the facility accompanied the recruits' anticipation as they stood encased in their Mark IV Armour Suits.

AI Prompt: "Recruits, as you await your nourishment, recite the Paramedic Corps Pledge. Let the words reinforce your commitment and purpose."

The AI's voice resonated through their helmets, guiding them through the recitation of the pledge. The recruits, in unison, echoed the words that encapsulated the ideals and dedication of the paramedic corps. The rhythmic cadence of their voices, amplified by the suits' communication system, created a sense of unity within the assembly.

Recruits (in unison): "In service, we stand united. With courage, we face the unknown. For the wounded, we are the healers. In the face of chaos, we bring order. Our armor is our shield; our duty is our oath. We are unwavering in our resolve."

AI Prompt: "Well done, recruits. The pledge echoes in unity, a testament to your shared purpose. Nourishment dispensing will commence shortly."

One by one, they approached the serving station, where trays were meticulously loaded with carefully measured portions of nutrient-rich food.

As each recruit received their tray, the visors of their helmets lifted, revealing faces temporarily unshrouded by the sleek, reflective exterior.

IU664's gaze lingered on H2U8M, a rare moment of unobscured connection in the regimented routine of the paramedic corps. Across the table, their crimson-armored forms seemed to soften, if only momentarily, as the visors retracted for the morning meal.

IU664 (raising his tea cup): Quite the view without the visor, isn't it? Feels almost human.

H2U8M (nodding): Yeah, it's like a brief respite from the metal embrace. Almost forgot how faces look.

IU664 (smirking): Faces, expressions… sometimes, I wonder if the suit's trying to erase our memories of being regular folks.

H2U8M (smiling): Regular folks, huh? Feels like a lifetime ago. How's the morning treating you, IU?

IU664 (leaning back slightly): Same old routine. The suit, the pills, the chow. Makes you appreciate the little things, like a cup of tea.

Instructor H2U8M approached the table, his visor retracted, revealing a face that mirrored familiarity more than the polished crimson armour ever could. The recruits paused mid-conversation, acknowledging his presence.

Instructor H2U8M: Morning, recruits. How's the day treating you so far?

IU664 (saluting): Good morning, Instructor. Just enjoying our moment of visor freedom.

Instructor H2U8M (smirking): A rare luxury, isn't it? Thought I'd drop by and have a word. How are you both settling into the routine?

H2U8M (recruit): It's… different, sir. Getting used to the suit, the protocols. Feels like living in a controlled environment.

Instructor H2U8M: Controlled, yes, but for a reason. You're not just paramedics; you're the first line of defence. The suit is your ally, your shield.

IU664 (nodding): Understood, sir. It's just a bit overwhelming at times.

Instructor H2U8M: Change always is. But adaptability is a trait we cultivate. You two can talk to us, share your thoughts. It's crucial to maintain mental resilience.

H2U8M (recruit): Thank you, Instructor. It's good to know there's support.

Instructor H2U8M (leaning in): One more thing before I go. Did you take your morning medication? Compliance is key.

IU664 and H2U8M both nod, lifting their empty cups as proof.

Instructor H2U8M (smiling): Good. Stay focused, follow the routine. You'll find your rhythm.

IU664 and H2U8M finish their meal, return the trays and align with the rest of their platoon in a line in the chow hall. The platoon stood in a disciplined line, visors descended, reducing the outside world to a dim and muted existence.

In the quietude of the visors, they waited for the next set of instructions. The rhythmic hum of the ventilation systems and the distant murmur of conversations created a peculiar sense of isolation, even in the midst of their comrades.

The AI-generated prompt blinked on their HUDs, signalling the resumption of their training schedule. The visors intensified their opacity, shutting out the chow hall and its sounds completely. The recruits stood in silent anticipation, their thoughts contained within the sealed confines of the Mark IV Armour Suits.

The visors dimmed further, reducing the ambient light to a soft glow as the AI initiated the recitation of the Suit Pledge. In unison, the recruits began to recite the words that had become a daily ritual, their voices echoing within the confines of their helmets.

"This is my suit. There are many like it, but this one is mine."

IU664's voice resonated with a blend of familiarity and determination. The suit, once a foreign entity, now clung to him like a second skin, a testament to the symbiotic relationship forged through training.

"My suit is my best friend. It is my life."

H2U8M echoed the sentiment, feeling the weight of the armor that had become an extension of self. The camaraderie among the recruits was palpable, bound not just by shared experiences but by the collective acknowledgment of their dedication.

"I must master it as I must master my life."

As the words lingered in the air, a sense of purpose enveloped the recruits. The mastery of the suit was not just a technical feat but a commitment to the profound responsibility they carried as paramedics.

"My suit, without me, is useless. Without my suit, I am useless."

The recruits felt the truth of these lines deep within, an understanding that their effectiveness relied on the seamless integration of man and machine. The suit was both shield and sword, a conduit for their skills and compassion.

"I must serve the wounded and sick better than any who would harm them."

The pledge invoked a sense of duty, a calling to excel in the face of adversity. In the dimly lit chow hall, the recruits stood with a shared resolve to be unwavering guardians of life.

"I must serve them before harm befalls."

The words hung in the air, a solemn promise to act preemptively, to be the shield against the encroaching shadows of affliction. The recruits embraced this commitment with a silent determination.

"My suit is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother."

In the quietude of their enclosed helmets, the recruits reflected on the intimate relationship they had cultivated with their suits. It was a bond forged through training, trials, and an unspoken understanding.

"I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its components, its utilities, its display, and its functions."

The HUD within their visors pulsed with data, a visual representation of the suit's intricacies. The recruits, now attuned to the nuances, navigated the complexities with a proficiency born of repetition.

"I will ever guard it against the ravages of wear and tear."

The pledge resonated with the recruits' dedication to the meticulous care of their suits. The constant exposure to harsh conditions demanded vigilance, and they embraced the responsibility with a sense of stewardship.

"As I will ever guard my skills, my compassion, my knowledge, and my dedication against decay."

IU664 and H2U8M felt a surge of pride as the pledge emphasized not just the physical aspects of the suit but the intangible qualities within themselves. The commitment to personal growth and resilience became a beacon in their shared journey.

"I will keep my suit functioning and ready. We will become part of each other."

The recruits felt the synergy between man and machine, a fusion that transcended mere functionality. The suit was not just an instrument; it was an ally, an inseparable companion in the pursuit of their noble mission.

"My suit and myself are the defenders of life. We are the masters of our craft. We are the saviors of those in need."

As the final words reverberated, a collective sense of purpose filled the air. The recruits, bound by the solemnity of the pledge, stood as guardians, masters, and saviors, ready to face the challenges that awaited them in the world beyond the visors.

[stainlesssteellocust]

I haven’t engaged with Fate in years because ughhhh but let’s combine what I remember with my warhammer kick

Celestine is a counter guardian if that still works in the Grim Dark Future, fuck knows what class

Yarrick is warped by the Ork’s belief field; unorthodox class, legend of Dracula sort of thing, who knows

Turns out Goge Vandire was a sympathetic saberface a la Nero, you just know that’s the sort of thing they would do

No most space marines are not able to be heroic spirits/servants, nor even most custodes. The Primarchs are (or are some sort of chaos equivalent I can’t be bothered to remember the complex lore). Robby and Lion can be temp-summoned before zapping back into stasis like Artoria supposing this is before M42

The bananas are the sort of guys where the narrator goes “oh no! Each of these soldiers is as powerful as a servant!” and one duels a character or two in single combat, but then later you cut through em in a dramatic fight. Space marines range from ‘powerful enemies most humans can’t handle and need their servant to fight seriously’ all the way up to that sort of ‘can take a servant/HS on defensively or if their personal abilities cause a good matchup’ tier that bazett and ciel used to be in

Sigismund is a Heroic Spirit though, as are the Legion of the Damned. Ditto Valdor if he’s actually dead. Dante should be but he is, of course, somehow still alive. Also Kesh as an Assassin just to annoy people. Her Noble Phantasm is Bomb

Uhhhhh

Creed brings the souls of everyone who died at Cadia like a futuristic Ionioi Hetairoi

Cain is either an Assassin who can act like a Saber through skill and slipperiness a bit like Kojiro, or a Saber relying almost entirely on the class attributes and panicking under the surface. Either way his NP involves Jurgen’s melta.

Xenos entries include Farsight (any one of Saber, Archer, Rider, Shielder or maybe even Berserker) or they would except he isn’t dead. Aun’va, who is deader than a doornail, is either an unorthodox Caster with illusion AIs and super-charisma or a Ruler with much the same.

Zandrekh, who is kind of dead, shows up with his Command Barge as a Rider. Orikan is a Caster ofc. Eldrad would be too but I have no idea what he’s up to

Trazyn is very noticeably not a servant but he does end up with command seals and summons one

[roughtimeminicomics]

The Lords of Order (Warhammer 40K Concept/AU)

Chaos. Destruction. Death. War. These all are descriptions of the Warhammer 40K universe. There is no hope for any civilization there, especially when the forces of Chaos keep growing in masses. But what if… what if there were new factions that came to help establish order across the universe? Powered by the magic of new gods? Gods of not war, chaos, death, or tyranny? But Gods of Order?

These are the Lords of Order. And these are their Hordes. Their Factions. Their Armies.

_____________________________________________________________

The Lord of Tactics: Boreus

Boreus is the Lord of Tactics, Logic, and Planning. Thus she strategizes her every move. And there is no greater tactician. She is the opposite of Khorne in almost every way except for her incredible strength and power. Let none be deceived, she is a fighter and a warrior. Her many champions wield her greatest weapon, that of a Battle Axe. Her personal faction is simply called the Tacticians. Any Space Marine who comes to serve her is filled with the knowledge of every battle ever witnessed within their universe. Thus they are deadly on the field not for sheer power, but sheer intellect. They can plot every blow, every shot, every shout within milliseconds of stepping onto the battlefield. Their weapons of choice are battle axes and long ranged bolter.

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The Lord of Alliances: Negis

Negis is the Lord of Alliances, Community, and Protection. She cares deeply for every single living life in the universe, and thus makes every move she can to protect the innocent. But like every god, she is a powerful foe to face. Negis’s magic is unparalleled, capable of ripping entire landscapes apart with a single swish of her hand. But seemingly her greatest form of magic is the curing of those who have fallen to Chaos. No matter how lost their soul, Negis’s magic is far greater. She can’t reverse the mutations, but she gives those mutations new meaning and new power. Her personal horde is called the Order of Redemption. Every servant of Chaos she cures becomes a part of this horde. They are given a new life, a new name, and a kind new leader to follow. These soldiers mainly come in the form of Space Marines. These soldiers of her horde are very advanced for how diverse they are. Negis’s troops all have the incredible gift of Regeneration, so things like the loss of limbs and even their heads mean NOTHING to them.

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The Lord of  Protection: Vesskix

Vesskix is the god of Protection, Defense, and Leadership. She is the most outspoken of the Lords of Order, and has a bad temper. But Vesskix is an incredible leader, capable of leading incredibly successful campaigns to defeat the forces of Chaos. To take it up a notch she is a master of siege warfare and technology. She is vastly more intelligent than her fellow Lords of Order, and is capable of devising incredibly unorthodox plans that not even the best Necron tacticians can understand. Her personal army is called the Siege Masters, and she convinces members of the Iron Hands, Iron Warriors, Imperial Fists, and Salamanders to join her legion. They are gifted with incredible technology to help them build and advance their weapons and armors. The Siege Masters have more vehicles, Dreadnaughts, and just weapons in general. 

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The Lord of Honor: Kel

Vel is the god of Honor, Valor, and Trust. Kel is seen as the weakest of all her fellow Lords of Order, but in truth she is the most powerful, preferring to keep quiet and only speaking when she feels like something must be done and must be done fast. Kel has no quarrel with being a bit sassy as well, willing to go off on anyone. She is the only Lord of Order who had a face to face interaction with one of the Chaos Lords, that being Khorne. A World Eater marine present to witness states that even Khorne seemed uneasy at seeing Kel. Kel’s legion is called the Honorbound. The marines here are hand picked by Kel and her chosen “Primarch.” They are the most honorable and respectful Space Marines from across all the legions. When they join her legion, they gain enhanced sense of their previous ones. Runes and Glyphs form on their armor and weapons, giving each Marine a unique playstyle compatible with their personality and skills!

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[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard Volume 37

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

If you'd like to do an interview, let me know!

Let’s meet our next author:

@demora00 / Demora00

How many fics have you written?

I have 16 published fics. A few for SC aren’t published anywhere and many more for other fandoms have died with ancient websites or disappeared the way physical notebooks have a way of during various moves.

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

January 7th, 2022

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3. 

First thing, if it’s a line, or a quote, or a picture, I’ll open my prompt folder and just stick it in there to marinate and come back to when I know how to use it. 

A few times, I’ve been lucky enough to go “oh wait” and open a brand new doc right away and just start writing. Sometimes I’ll take voice notes or send voice memos to friends if I’m driving and tag them #carthoughts for quick reference. 

I rarely write in order. Most of the time, I'll start a scene, get stuck but know how I want another to go, so I'll swap. More often than not there's some frankensteining. I'll moan and whine about it to @doug-judys-blog or Trickiwoo about it throughout. I know it's finished when I've edited it so much I hate it. Finally one or both of them will beta. @doug-judys-blog is the best cheerleader I could have dreamed of. They always know how to get me out of a "no words just vibes" spiral.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

The last fic I wrote that wasn’t a drabble was about selective mutism. [Some things I still can't tel you] It’s a physical manifestation of anxiety that isn’t often spoken about except as a trauma response and I feel like I managed to capture all the other little things that come along with it in a very tangible way.  I love that Patrick, who is still a person used to struggling in private with so many things, can trust David and show vulnerability without it being a stress point for their relationship. There's something really soft about that kind of trust that ultimately very romantic to me.

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Do it. Get a beta. Get a cheerleader. (One can do both!) Hell, ask that compatible weirdo you kinda sorta vibe with in that fandom space to be a sounding board. Our fandom is so welcoming and talented, there's always someone willing to help.

In your mind, what’s the most important element of good writing?

I need writing to make me feel things otherwise what’s the point? I don't mean 'tear out my heart' intensity every time, but if the writing doesn't evoke something for me, I'll be hard pressed to keep reading. 

Tell me about a story that you wish you could write but that you’re not quite ready to tackle.

The last night Ted and Alexis have together and the aftermath of that. Really deep dive into Alexis' feels and sit with it for a while. It's somehow more tragic because we as the audience know that they are incompatible, but the love they have is real. But sometimes love isn't enough, and it's a real sign of growth for both of them, if a tragic way of doing it. 

Weirdest thing you’ve googled as research for a story?

Cowboy and rodeo terms. I don’t know that that’s weird in and of itself, but the reasons for the research were unorthodox.

Outlines - yes or no?

Yes, if not in a classic way. I usually do just point forms and terrible broken sentences, vibes, placeholders with attached comments and that works just fine. Sometimes whole conversations that need to happen but I don’t know quite where to put yet.

Tell me about your current WIP if you have one.

I have a few I’m working on and flip between as my attention span wanes, but I’m most involved in my first long fic. I don't want to give too much away, but it's a cerebral sci-fi mystery with Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind vibes. I started working on it a few weeks ago and it's taken over. It's completely different than anything I've done so I'm quite nervous about it, but I've been reassured it could be as amazing as I see it in my head. I’ve already written myself into and out of a corner, so you could say it’s going well lol.

[zadakhan]

The Renovare Sect is a group of brilliant tech visionaries within the Adeptus Mechanicus that strays from mainstream ideology after a grand revelation that dared to defy all known conventions, in service of the Omnissiah's grand truth.

The Origins of the Renovare Sect: Innovation

Centuries ago, during a time of great turmoil within the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Renovare Sect was born from a radical thinker named Magos Verdon. He was a brilliant and audacious technologist who rose to the higher echelons of the Mechanicus, till he uncovered truths that dared to challenge the entrenched beliefs that had been held so holy.

A Quest for Knowledge

The journey of enlightenment embarked upon by Magos Verdon traces its origins to a serendipitous encounter with an ancient, forgotten tome concealed within the depths of the Mechanicus archives. This dusty relic revealed a profound insight, one that would ignite a burning curiosity within Magos Verdon. It spoke of the Omnissiah's divine plan as an ever-evolving creation, a relentless process of growth, renewal, and advancement—something far grander than the mere veneration of established technology. Magos Verdon saw in this revelation a path not just to knowledge but to transcendence itself.

Divergence from Tradition

With the flames of newfound insight blazing in his mind, Magos Verdon embarked on a personal odyssey to challenge the orthodox tenets of the Mechanicus. With each passing day, his beliefs veered further from the well-trodden path of mainstream doctrine. In his eyes, the reverence for established technology was just one aspect of the Omnissiah's grand design; a singular facet of an intricate mosaic. Magos Verdon passionately believed that innovation, adaptation, and the embrace of the uncharted were equally sacred acts of devotion.

The Forge of Renovation

Together with kindred spirits, Magos Verdon gathered a cadre of like-minded Tech-Priests and Enginseers. These visionaries, who shared his quest for the truth, saw the beauty in pursuing unorthodox technological pathways. They found a secluded sanctuary on an isolated and arid world within the Segmentum Solar. Here, they established their clandestine haven—the "Forge of Renovation." This secret forge became the crucible of transformation and innovation, where the fusion of ancient and xenos technology forged new horizons.

Facing Insurmountable Challenges

The Renovare Sect's groundbreaking approach to innovation and adaptation didn't go unnoticed. Stellarax Unyielding, a chapter of Space Marines renowned for its relentless struggle to adapt and survive for the sake of the Imperium, sought the enigmatic Magos Verdon and his Forge of Renovation. They recognized the potential synergy between their unorthodox methods and the results achieved with xenos technology by the Renovare Sect.

Alliance Forged

When the forces of Stellarax Unyielding proposed a close alliance in dire times, it was an offer that had aligned with the objectives of the Renovare Sect. Their collaboration gave birth to a clandestine partnership, a union forged in the fires of necessity. Stellarax Unyielding offered combat expertise to safeguard the Forge of Renovation, protecting their technological treasures.

Confrontation with the Mechanicus

Unavoidably, the mainstream Mechanicus hierarchy and Inquisition took notice, viewing the Renovare Sect as heretics who deviated from the sacred teachings of the Omnissiah. Inquisitors, the enforcers of the Emperor's will, were dispatched to scrutinize the sect's activities. An impending clash loomed as mainstream Mechanicus castigated them as traitors.

Bellum Novare, 972.M32

The stage was set for an epic confrontation. The Mechanicus, Stellarax Unyielding, and the Renovare Sect assembled on the sacred world of Mars to engage in a battle of intellect. This legendary debate, known as the "Bellum Novare, 972.M32," lasted for weeks. Each participant displayed unwavering resolve, and cold hard logic that boiled over into burning bouts of fury in their debates. The stakes were nothing short of the sect's existence.

A Compromise and Secret Vigilance

At the debate's conclusion, a fragile compromise was reached. The Renovare Sect agreed to maintain their activities concealed from the wider Imperium, a vow of secrecy that would become a pivotal pact. The Mechanicus, albeit grudgingly, acknowledged their right to exist and operate. The Inquisition, a staunch upholder of Imperial purity, granted permission for Stellarax Unyielding and the Renovare Sect to pursue their mission under strict surveillance.

This was not all, the Inquisition decreed a dual mantle upon the Sect and Stellarax Unyielding, that of exile and vanguard in the forgotten, war-ravaged precinct of Enagal XVI. An abandoned sector designated as an insurmountable bastion against a relentless tide of xenos incursions into the Imperium.

Enveloped by an age-old psionic tempest, dating back to the 35th millennium, the sector was perceived as impervious. The exiled factions were tasked with putting this notion to the ultimate test.

The Legacy of Renewal

Over centuries of relentless dedication, the Renovare Sect has thrived in obscurity, hidden from the scrutinizing gaze of the mainstream Mechanicus. Their commitment to the sacred principles of innovation and adaptation has persisted, evolving and deepening as time marches on. The alliance with Stellarax Unyielding continues to grow and adapt, echoing the sect's core belief in the inexhaustible beauty of technological renewal. Their legacy of renewal and innovation has become a whispered tale among the stars, known only to the select few who dare to question the boundaries of conventional technological dogma.

[exiliumsfools]

The Fall of Vervainia Part 3

“I can’t talk about what’s happened next in this book. Secrets. But I think I might be safe where I am. Hopefully this will all blow over.”

-Riella Cobble’s Diary, The 7th of Trainusam, 2100

  We had walked almost all through the night before we found anything of interest. Many people had had the same idea we did. Every store was closed, or broken in to. Cars were wrecked along the roads, and buildings were locked up tight. The guards, or what was left of them, seem to have made their way back to the castle. There were few places left to check out, much less that had anything worth taking.

He was teaching me the whole time though. He was teaching me how to step quietest, how to recognize the signs of thieves and what they meant. How to set up distractions to make stealing easier. What to do if we were caught. He taught me quite a lot, though I had only a few hours to train. I got a lot of practice sneaking around, but little else. He was in the middle of teaching when it happened.

“So, in fact, it is not always better to run if you get caught. If you can see who’s caught you, it might be better to--”

His ears perked up and his head swiveled to the side. We were in the back of an empty shop after running from someone Aiden deemed dangerous. He motioned for me to be quiet. I followed his gaze. Several of the wooden floor boards were moving. Some dust and dirt shifted, and then a trap door lifted from the floor. There were a pair of eyes peeking out. They were a bright yellow. I couldn’t see anything else, but I met their gaze, and the trap door immediately slammed shut.

Aiden rushed over and lifted the door up, revealing a ladder leading down into some sort of underground passageway. Without hesitation, he jumped down and motioned for me to follow. I jumped, moreso fell, down into the tunnel and landed on my butt, yelping in pain. Aiden was already 10 steps ahead of me, in a half-crouch, keeping his hurried footsteps quiet. I tried to keep up with him, but I knew being quiet was a must right now, and I didn’t trust myself to run as quietly as he did, so I followed from a distance.

We had run a good distance, and made several twisty turns at Aiden’s discretion. I couldn’t tell where we were going or why, but after what seemed like forever, Aiden motioned for me to follow him. I did, and I peeked around the corner to see what was up ahead.

There was a half-elf girl in a deep black cloak being scorned by an older half-elf woman.

“You need to be more careful, Gina. We cannot be making mistakes. And you shouldn’t have run straight to me after you got caught, you could’ve lead them-- Oh Gods damnit, Gina!” The older woman had spotted us.

Aiden turned to me and smirked a little before he stepped out, clasping his hands together. I followed him, lost as to what to do.

The older woman pinched the bridge of her nose as Gina profusely apologized.

“Night, ladies! How are you gals doin? Because me and my friend here are in an awful lot of trouble, I’m sure you know that though. Can you see the grime on our faces? We’ve actually been out and about since the explosion.” He sniffed the air. “You two bathe recently?”

The older woman turned to him. “This is none of your business. You don’t have the skill to rob either of us. Keep your pride in tact and head somewhere else.”

Aiden feined insult and looked to me then back to her. “Oh, we weren’t going to rob you ma’am, not at all! I just figured you two had somewhere safe to stay, somewhere that might have something to eat.”

“And why would you think that?”

“Well, like I said earlier, seems to me you’ve taken a bath recently. There's not many places left in the city that have running water AND were not destroyed enough to cover the both of you in ash and dirt. Oh, and by my estimate,” He licked his finger and it to the air, smugly. “We aren’t far from the castle.”

“I’m not going to entertain you any longer, thief. Be on your way.”

Aiden wagged his finger. “Nuh-uh-uh, you don’t have a bluff to call, but I do. Lets say you two are agents of the crown. How quickly do you think I could start a riot over the castle trying to sneak out and steal from the very people they swore to protect?”

“What proof would you even have?”

Aiden outstretched his arms and turned in a circle. “Well, this isn’t a sewer, is it?”

The older woman sighed and prayed. “You wouldn’t. The people need the crown right now. Law must triumph over this chaos.”

“We’re awfully hungry, aren’t we, Riella?”

I nodded, then hugged my stomach and grimaced dramatically.

“And you two won’t kill us, will you? After all, Law must triumph over chaos?”

“Gods damnit, Gina.”

“Sorry, Nilus.”

Nilus shook her head, and the two of them took us in. We learned they were called Foxes of Vervainia.

[gaytog]

Did i just read wholesome meme discourse ffs the human race is doomed

God put me on this Earth to overanalyze literally everything and overanalyze literally everything I will.

[dragon-in-a-fez]

Do you know any good words to use instead of mature/immature or do you think that those terms should be used despite their ageist leanings in the same vein that "stupid" and "idiot" are used despite their ableism leanings?

very similarly to how I feel about “idiot”, I’m generally of the opinion that they’re not the worst words you can use but there’s almost always a better one.

I was recently talking to someone about how I generally prefer “dumbass” to “idiot” because to me the former implies malicious or deliberate ignorance, which is more worthy of scorn than a perceived lack of some variety of intelligence.

in the same vein, why call someone “immature” when you can call them, say, “emotionally incompetent”? not only does it avoid nonsensically blaming youth as a concept for the perceived failings of an adult, it’s also way more descriptive.

[magic-missle-blog]

Ghost division 2 – The belly of the beast

2nd story in what will hopefully be a series. Roughly 6k words. Hope you enjoy

:readmore:

Four missiles streaked through the darkness of space from the canadation destroyer as it smashed through the human battle group.

The warship TDF Glasgow rocked as a missile impacted the hull. Point defence had taken out three others but the fourth slammed into the starboard side.

“Damage report!” the captain shouted as he swivelled his command chair to face the tactical officer.

“The hull plating is scorched and buckled, but no internal damage. We were lucky.” The tactical officer replied, shouting to be heard over the various alarms and beeps in the small bridge.

“We cant rely on luck. If we get hit again its your head!” The captain growled. His hair was cut close to his scalp and a sheen of sweat reflected in the bright yellow light on his dark skin.

Tactical officer Rotchford nodded. Her brow furrowed as she quickly typed into her console. “don’t worry I’m on it, I’ve analysed the firing pattern and I can probably take out most of the missiles, its those fucking fighters and energy weapons I cant do a thing about.”

Just as she finished speaking a swarm of small locust shaped fighters buzzed passed the ship, pelting the armour with energy weapons.

Turrets tracked the fighters, spitting hypersonic tungsten shells. One of the Canidation fighters exploded, the rest of the group took evasive action and continued on the attack run through the human fleet.

The ship rocked again and various alarms clamoured for attention. Lights on the bridge flickered.

Captain Conroy nodded and straightened his uniform. He brought up a tactical display on the console built into his chair.

Five Canidation warships had engaged the fleet of seven Terran defence force destroyers and the humans were loosing badly. The Canidations had the firepower and faster ships. Fighters swarmed over the fleet firing kinetic weapons and lasers, some with great effect.

He watched as another of the fleet exploded. That was the second ship they had lost. The battle had been raging for what felt like hours but in reality it was only 30 minutes. The Canidations had dropped out of hyperspace in this remote system to ambush a Human supply run. The freighters had escaped unharmed but the escort fleet couldn’t leave, not without leaving this Canidation battle group free reign to attack other convoys.

“Shit. That was the Newcastle!” the first officer said “Fleet captain Broadie…he was a good man”

The computer screamed out a proximity warning as another salvo of missiles streaked towards them, but true to her word the tactical officers new point defence programme took them all out. She returned fire with the main cannon as the destroyer elegantly swung around, scoring a direct hit to the Canidations engines. The insectoid ship vented atmosphere and appeared to lose power as running lights flickered out and the ship drifted

The other enemy ships moved towards the remaining fleet.

“Scan that ship, is it dead?” Conroy commanded the science officer as the warship rocked under more impacts

“yeah it appears… Fuck” the science officer said as his console went dark and the lights cut out.

A few moments later the ships emergency power kicked in and the lights came back on, but dull red colour. His console lit up. “ yeah its dead. I think. Scans are all over the place.”

Conroy nodded, as the most senior officer left in the tattered fleet he assumed command.. “signal the fleet. Lets get the fuck out of here...but slowly, I want to draw them away from that damaged ship.” He plotted a course that would take them deep into the Oort cloud of this system.

The remaining ships of the Terran defence force broke off the engagement and retreated. Caught by surprise at the sudden change in tactics, The Canidations stopped dead, recalled the fighters then followed, slowly gaining ground on the slower terran warships.

Glancing at his command console captain Conroy opened fleet wide comms. Signalling the other commanders he said “Listen up people. Once we are in that cloud drop sensor decoys try to buy me some time . I’m going to double back and capture that ship.”

The crew looked at him in astonishment

“Damn” said the first officer. “And I thought today was going to be a quiet day.”

************************************

The war against the Canidations had been raging for 3 months, and the Terran empire was losing.

The Canidations ships were more advanced, and they had the numbers. The only saving grace is that the Canidations were fighting two other larger empires. Humanity, as a relatively new race to the galactic stage, hadn’t been seen as a concern. Almost an afterthought.

No one knew why the war started. Canidations were a reclusive species. They had no trade with the wider galactic community, no embassies, no contact at all. No one really even knew if “Canidation” was their species name. They stayed in their home systems, A group of a dozen or so stars a few light years around the Canadathon, their home world.

A decade ago the Canidations has blasted out of their home system with an over powering military force and attacked a neighbouring world without warning. Everything was a viable target to them and they didn’t take prisoners…or at least they didn’t keep them alive for long.

For ten long years they attacked and destroyed any neighbouring species, expanding their empire. The first races, unused to galactic warfare on such a scale had fallen quickly. Other species had tried to build up their own military force but simply didn’t have the infrastructure in place and couldn’t come close to the Canidations speed of production. It seemed like for every Canidation ship that fell two more would take its place.

The Canidations were an insectoid race, they looked like an unholy amalgamation of a spiders body with a praying mantis torso, like an insect centaur. They didn’t seem to capture any world they won, they destroyed it. Left it a lifeless husk, took any easily accessible resources then moved on like locusts. Maybe they would be back to terraform it later, maybe not. No one knew.

The destruction on such a scale seemed senseless, and completely alien. Not even the best human generals, phycologists or philosophers could come up with a reason for this carnage.

What was known was they had a lot of ships. More than every other military in this region of space combined. They had been building up for decades and it seemed like now was the time to unleash their might.

******************************

The Glasgow had ducked behind a dwarf planet in the Oort cloud and waiting while the remaining fleet had drawn the Canidations away, then used a risky in system jump to get back quickly to the battlefield. They had scanned for survivors of the destroyed Terran ships but unfortunately found plenty of debris but no life signs.

TDF Glasgow slowly drew up alongside the crippled Canidation vessel, comms jammers at full power blocking any communication from the hulk. It had been few hours since the shot had crippled the Bug ship, but it was still drifting without any main power, its engines dark and cooling.

It looked like reserve power had kicked in and there was several Canidations on the main hull close to the breach in what looked like dark space suits, although it could have been their flesh. Conroy didn’t know enough about the species to tell. It was obvious the Canidations were trying to repair the damage.

The insectoid ship was large, at least half again as big as the Glasgow and followed an unorthodox design. It was nothing like the sleek Terran ships, whose lines were reminiscent of the war planes that fought in earth’s skies in the 20th century. Human ships were long and sleek, with swept back retractable wings protruding from the mid section to allow atmosphere flight when fully extended. Canidation was bulky, and looked like a flattened pinecone and close range scans showed it be highly modular.

The bridge appeared to be at on top of the bulky front section. Conroy guessed below this would be weapons, crew quarters and the like. Engineering and the ships drive core, and sub light engines must be located in the tapering end. Cannons clustered around the front with turrets in two rows along the top and bottom of the ship.

Conroy assumed there would be about 60 or so crew on board. Terran destroyers had a crew of 30 plus 10 marines. Not good odds Conroy thought.

“Easy to build, quick to swap different sections out if needed” Science officer McCallum said as he looked over the data.

Conroy nodded to Commander Paulson, the first office. “Pauly, get a boarding party ready. Find any intel you can get your hands on but don’t take any stupid risks. Focus on engineering, medical, ship deployments, shit we can find to kill these things.” Looking at McCallum “what do they need?”

McCallum brought up all the information he had on Canidations, which wasn’t a lot.

“Scans show gravity and life support is still active and the ship has atmosphere, although I use the term loosely. Their air is made up of 30% oxygen, 15% Co2, 10% Hydrogen sulphide, the rest is nitrogen, water vapour and trace gasses. Average temperature is roughly 30 degrees Celsius and humidity is close to 70%. Gravity is low, roughly 0.6G. So basically your walking into a hot sweaty hellhole that’ll smell like Satan’s ass. Enjoy” he finished with a laugh.

Paulson looked at the captain “Gee thanks Boss, you give me all the best jobs. Breathing units all round then.” He saluted as he left the bridge.

“Mac…what killed this ship? Did we get a lucky shot?”

McCallum looked over his reading for a few moments. “Yeah, very lucky. Looks like there is a weakness around the main engine core on this ship. Plasma exhaust has weakened the hull armour in a small area right above the main power linkage, its little better than paper. Must be a design flaw…if that shot had hit even a few meters on either side it wouldn’t have made a dent.”

Rotchford laughed. “luck had nothing to do with it. It’s pure skill.”

She grinned

Conroy rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah if you say so” he said grinning. Conroy didn’t mind a bit of banter with the bridge crew. He felt it build camaraderie and they all worked better as a result.

Turning to Macallum he said

“Deep scan this bitch, I see what else you can find, anything that’ll give us an edge.”

From over the other side of the bridge the tactical offer said “Captain, I think I’ve found something too. The missiles on the ship are armed.”

Conroy looked over “So?”

Rotchford brushing her brown bangs that had escaped from the severe bun on her head said “Our missiles auto arm a second after launch to prevent any accidents, these appear to pre arm before launch, Probably as soon as they find a hostile ship. Once direct hit could detonate the entire missile battery. The armour is thick but the launch tubes are vulnerable . “

“Comms” Conroy said excitedly “Tight beam the rest of the fleet and let them know what we’ve found…might give them an edge.”

Turning back to tactical

“Why would they do that?”

Rotchford shrugged. “not sure. It does mean the missiles can be fired much closer then we can shoot. Out missiles travel so fast that by the time they arm they’re a couple of hundred kilometres away, makes them useless for close engagements. By pre-arming them they get around that problem. Makes it almost impossible to shoot them down when the bugs get in close.”

Minutes passed slowly. Soon the boarding party was on board a small ship to ship shuttle and on route to dock with the crippled ship.

The shuttle did a quick fly over the damaged section and fired small arms at the Canidations working on the damaged hull, Killing the repair team. The aliens magnetic grips kept the bodies stuck to the hull like bugs splattered by a windscreen.

McCallum looked up “I’ve found something else captain, it wont help us now but I think we can take advantage of it.”

He put his display on the main screen, All eyes turned to it.

“I thought about using some kind of plasma weapon to weaken the armour of the whole ship, and that’ll probably work, we don’t use plasma tech, but I’m sure the weapons experts back home can build something.” He took a breath “Anyway, that got me thinking, Plasma is basically really hot ionized gas. Its expelled as exhausts right away as too much heat inside the ship it bad. As you know its almost impossible to loose heat in space, so we use active cooling systems to…”

Conroy interrupted before McCallum could go into a lecture on the finer points of starship heat management. “Get to the point”

Mccallum looked sheepish “Sorry sir, anyway, the Canidations seem to use radiator panels, they’re well armoured but vulnerable to excessive heat. A focussed laser beam could overload them. If they cant loose heat they’ll cook inside the ships.”

“Well done Mac, get everything we’ve found so far and bundle the data ready for transmission back to HQ”

Minutes dragged as Mccallum compiled the data.

Everyone was on eggshells, watching the boarding shuttle latch on to the Canidation hull and begin cutting through. Tactical constantly scanning for any Canidation ships that might be inbound. Conroy wondered how the rest of the fleet was fairing. The TDF ships were more manoeuvrable than the larger Canidation warships, so as long as they kept in a dense part of the Oort cloud, dodging comets and dwarf planets then the TDF ships should have an advantage.

*****************************

Inside the shuttle the atmosphere was tense. Paulson looked over the assembled combat team. All had breathing units over their lower faces. The units would filter out the harmful gasses and reduce the oxygen pressure to something breathable, but as they weren’t full space suits or fully sealed Paulson knew the stench would get through, he grinned inwardly he hadn’t told the team what the Canidation air was like, he wanted to see the reactions.

The ten member boarding team all had dark grey combat armour, and each carried a small side arm and a combat knife. Eight also carried an assault rifle with enough ammo to take on a small army, the other two combat engineers carried various tools and computer equipment. Their mission was to hack into any systems they could find and mine it for data.

The shuttle bumped into the hull and latched on. A magnetic tube made an air tight seal around the hatch. It opened to show a sold hull. The engineers immediately started cutting to gain access. It was slow going. Armour that can withstand heavy ship weapons wont easily fail to small plasma torches.

Sargent Waltham stepped up next to Paulson. “We’re ready to go” She said coolly.

Paulson nodded. “Get in and secure the area. Set up fire lines kill anything that’s got more than two legs.” He said to Waltham.

She was tall, blonde, very pretty in hard way. People, especially men, tended to underestimate her due to her looks, thinking she was just a made up barbie doll. Paulson had thought the same thing once, until she kicked his ass in hand to hand training. The first round he went easy on her and he was flat on his back in 5 seconds. The second round he went all out, and to his credit, he managed to last a full 7 seconds before she had him pined, face pressed against the floor and his left arm twisted up his back. Waltham, like all the other,s had earned her place in the combat team, but unlike the men she had to continually prove she deserved to be there. This constant striving for perfection had made her one of the best solders Paulson had ever worked with.

The thick hull armour fell inwards with a heavy thunk. The sound echoed around the shuttle. The stench of rotten eggs filler the small enclosed space and everyone wrinkled their noses.

“For fucks sake… is this ship full of farts?” Jones, the lead combat engineer said.

Paulson grinned. “Ok move out. Slow and steady, I don’t want any fuck ups.”

The team moved slowly into the alien vessel. The interior was dark, smelly and hot, lighting was a deep red that cast odd shadows. Paulson didn’t know if this was normal or if it was due to low power.

Waltham took her place first in line as the engineers cleared the hull and opened a portal to the interior of the ship. She directed one of her team , Ramerez, a young marine on his first away mission , hang back and guard the shuttle just encase they needed to make a quick exit.

Ramerez took position just inside the the shuttle door, he pulled a couple of boxes containing emergency supplies across the entrance and dug in.

The rest of the team followed her lead, with Paulson acting as rear guard, scanning the corridor behind him with a quick practiced eye.

One of the marines whispered in a low voice “damn, this is weird.”

“what is? Looks like a normal ship corridor to me” Paulson said

“sir...that’s what I mean. I expected...well dirt..or tunnels like that old movie ‘Aliens’. You know, the one where the dildo bursts out of some guys chest and all these Marines hunt it down? I mean they’re bugs for Christ’s sake..but this just looks normal.”

Paulson shook his head.“Lay off the old horror flicks. Keep it together”.

Looking at a handheld scanner Jones said “looks like there might be a room down the corridor to the right, I’m reading power spikes, it could be a place I can hack into there systems.”

The team crept inward, the low gravity giving them a bounce to their steps. They were searching for a room with a computer access, but all the could see were long featureless corridors. The came to a junction and as they passed a blast of plasma energy almost took Walthams head off. She Pulled back just in time, lightning quick reflexes saving her life. As it was the plasma shot singed her combat helmet.

Risking another blast, Waltham popped her head around then quickly pulled it back. Three Canidations waited around the corner, plasma rifles at the ready for another shot.

Pulling a flashbang from her belt she leaned out and expertly tossed he weapon into the centre of the group, a second later a loud BANG and a FLASH of bright light lit up the corridor. She could hear a smattering of legs as the Canidations fell back. Her and two of her team ran around keeping low and opened fire. The sound of the assault rifles sounded odd in the dense air. the Canidations tried to return fire but there shots went wide, scorching the metal bulkheads, obviously still blinded by the light. The skirmish was over quickly.

The team crept up slowly to the dead aliens. One in the was headless. Its body twitched, a dark yellow fluid pumping from its neck. The other two were still. Red faceted eyes that took up most of the head were dull and lifeless. Mandibles closed tighter than a vice.

Bullets had ripped the skinny top part of one in half, and the others larger thorax between the spiders-like legs was riddled and leaking the same yellow fluid.

The team looked at the corpses, they were…creepy. They unnerved the humans just looking at them. Jones knelt down and pointed something out. “Look, this one has a couple of cybernetic legs. That one has a cybernetic head…That’s so weird. Gives me the creeps.”

Paulson looked. “Why weird?”

“Think of what this means. They use medical tech to repair wounds. Replace missing limbs like we do. You don’t think of bugs caring for individuals I guess. I assumed they would be like a hive, like ants or termites just mindless soldier’s, disposable and replaceable. Maybe they’re more than that.“

One of the other marines, Patel a tall solid build man with a cold gaze said in a whisper “They’re like spiders, I fucking hate spiders. Normal spiders are bad enough but these are super sized fuckers with guns. “

He shivered as a cold chill ran down his spine. Taking one last place at the dead Canadation he walked slowly past, rifle ready for another attack.

As the team moved on one of the corpses stood up with a clatter. It swiped at a passing trooper with its upper limbs, razor sharp claws sliced across his face and chest, cutting flesh and the scoring deep cuts on his combat armour. He fell back shocked. The headless alien thrashed about, seemingly attracted to the noise the shocked humans made. It tried to reach for another one but a burst of fire from Waltham’s rifle tore through its thorax . the alien twitched again then fell back. She crept up, gun ready and kicked the corpse. No reaction. It was truly dead.

Patel looked a mess, his face had been cut to the bone, but he’d live. Two others helped bandage him up.

“fucking fuckitty fucking spiders! “ he shouted and kicked the corpse, holding his wounded face and blood soaked bandages.

“get back to the shuttle” Waltham commanded him.

He nodded, his face screwed up in pain, The bandages soaking with blood. He got to his feet and headed back the way he came.

Paulson looked at jones “What the fuck?”

Jones shrugged “I’m no medical expert, but I guess a head shot wont kill them. Maybe they keep their brains in there ass or something, I guess the head is just for eating and seeing.” Pointing to the Canidation with the cybernetic head “Maybe loosing the head for them is just like loosing an eye for us? Or maybe they’re like cockroaches. We should drag these things back to the shuttle. Medical back at HQ would have a field day.”

Paulson nodded “team, forget headshots, aim for the centre mass.” He directed a couple of team member to take the most intact body back to the shuttle “Keep it under guard…just in case”

The diminished team made there way deeper into the ship. Paulson was aware of the time he was taking, he knew The Glasgow couldn’t wait forever, but he wanted more than a few dead bugs. Soon they came across an empty room. The door was closed but a kick and a shove and it slid back into the wall. The team entered. Looking around, there was a lot of electronics that Paulson couldn’t guess the function off. Jones quickly set up his scanner. Pulling open a panel he found circuit boards. After quick scan he attached a lead from his scanner to one of the chips.

“If i can hack this, this should give me access” he worked quickly The rest of the team took up positions around the door. Paulson moved to the back of the room and signalled Waltham.

“thoughts? He said after she walked over

Waltham shrugged “they don’t seem too tough. Decent weapons though.“ she pointed to the plasma rifle she’d captured.

“hows things between you two?” he nodded to Jones

Relationships were against regulations but as long as it was discreet no one really minded. It could be lonely in deep space.

Waltham smiled. “he’s sweet, like a puppy. Always eager to please. But utterly fearless too. He could be a great soilder, but likes his gizmos too much.”

“Yeah jones is a good one.” Paulson agreed. He’s been friends with jones for years. They grew up in the same town went to the same high school, and went through training together.

Minutes ticked by. Jones had attached a large data cube to his scanner. He came over to the pair while the data downloaded “. I can copy the full ships hard drive. Shouldn’t take long. There’s not a lot of data, mainly seems to be the ships opperating system. Seems pretty basic. I did find something interesting though, I found ship schematic. We’re not far from a path to fire control. Its down the end of that corridor out there. “

Paulson thought for a second. “no, we have enough we need to get back”

Just as he said that his communicator beeped. It was the shuttle “Sir, get back here we need to go! A Canidation warship is on approach, ETA 7 minutes!”

“Ok people pack your shit up, we need to get out of here! Double time!”

The team grabbed there gear and quickly made there way back into the corridor. Several canidations ran down the steel hallway, the hack had triggered some kind of security protocol. These Canidations didn t have weapons but they moved so fast in the lower gravity that the quickly closed the distance, soon it was a melee, claw against fist.

****************

Alarms cried out for attention on the bridge of the Glasgow. A Canidation warship was closing in.

“eta?” asked Conroy. His calm voice a counterpoint to the frantic activity on the bridge.

“roughly 7 minutes until weapons range. I’ve contacted the shuttle”. maccalum replied.

Conroy nodded. Looking at the helmsman her said “keep that bug ship in between us. We’re smaller and so keep us in its shadow and hopefully they won’t get a weapons lock.”

Nodding, through helmsman fired up the thrusters.

“’ll try time get a target lock on the missile batteries.” Rotchford reported as she programmed the ships turrets.

Captain Conroy starred at the main screen, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the arm of his command seat.

Paulson tried to get a clear shot as a canidaton reared up on its four rear legs. It brought its full weight down on Waltham. Its mandibles opened and snapped closed right over her head. Only her quick thinking and combat helmet saved her from decapitation. She ducked her head and trusting the hardened carbon nanotube and ceramic construction she head-butted the bug right in its open mouth. Mandibles crunched against the helm. The force of through blow and the weight of the bug staggered her for a second, but years of hand to hand training came to her and with a twist and a flick she grabbed the alien and slammed it against the bulkhead. The lower gravity and adrenaline giving her almost superhuman strength.

Her combat knife flashed on the low light as she stabbed the mantis like torso. There was resistance then with a crunch she forced the blade through the carapace. The bug shuddered and wrenched. Flailing its limbs then it was still.

The skirmish was over as quickly as it started. Looking around Paulson shouted “sound off”

A chorus of voices said “here” or “i’m good”

A few troopers took minor injuries but no fatalities.

They sprinted down the corridor. The sound of gunfire brought them up short. The bugs were trying to capture the shuttle. Paulson knew if they lost that they were dead.

A scream echoed down the steel corridor. One of his men had fallen. Canidations pressed on.

“We need a distraction” Paulson shouted to Waltham over the blaring alarms.

“i have an idea. Hold here for a few seconds”

With that she sprinted back the way she came. Moments later an explosion rocked the ship. The lights and gravity cut out, then seconds later they came back on. The unprepared soilders hit the ground but were quickly back on there feet, the Canidations were not as lucky, they were a tangle of legs and claws further down the corridor.

Seizing his chance, Paulson shouting a battle cry and his boarding party fell in the bugs from behind. The battle was short and brutal but they pushed through just as Waltham returned. Her hair was burned and armour scorched.

“What the fuck did you do?” shouted Paulson

“I overloaded that plasma rifle and tossed it in the fire control room. I think we need to get out of here, that room is burning and it’s right next to the missiles”

Once everyone was on board the hatch slammed shut and the shuttle detached then raced back to the Glasgow, just as another explosion ripped through the Canidation warship. A series of smaller explosion’s rocked the ship them with a blast like a supernova the power core blew up. The shuttle was caught in the fireball but escaped with minor damage.

Paulson looked at his and bruised team as the shuttle pilot plotted a course back to the Glasgow.

Paulson pushed one of the Canidation corpses to the side, making down room in the small shuttle. He sat next to the body of a young man, almost a boy. Ramerez. It was his first tour, he was 18 and fresh out of boot camp. Ramerez had taken a plasma blast to the chest. His armour was burned through. Mercifully he had been killed instantly.

************

Conroy watched as the Canidation ship exploded. The shuttle streaked towards the hanger.

“well... shit” he said “get the shuttle on board and get ready to bug out”

calls of “aye” and “yessir” Echoed around the bridge..

The Canidation warship closed in, spitting fire and death at the Glasgow. Point defence destroyed the incoming missiles but the ship rocked from impacts

The Glasgow returned fire, turrets pounded the underside of the Canidation ship as it passed overhead passing through the expanding could of gas and debris.

The helmsman kept a steady course until the shuttle was back in then started evasive manoeuvres, he would have to hold the ship steady for a few moments to allow the hyperdrive to spin up, but the Canidation ship was not making it easy.

“Shuttle is on board. Prepare for Jump in 3...2...1...”

The ship lurched to the side and spun almost 90 degrees, crew members were thrown around the bridge like sticks caught in a hurricane. Alarms blared.

The main lights were down, red emergency lamps cast an eerie glow. Groans came from the crew

Rochford pulled herself back into her seat. Blood running from a head wound. She checked her console “sir..the hyperdrive core has been hit. We’re venting plasma and atmosphere...main power is down. Weapons down....the Canidations are coming around for another pass...”

Before Conroy could respond an explosion tore through the bridge as a missile impacted the armour surrounding the command center.

A ceiling panel that had been knocked loose earlier in the fight fell with a resounding crash pinning Conroy to his command chair and knocking him unconscious. Bones snapped under the force of the impact.

Rochford as the most senior officer left standing opened ship wide Comms “all hands. This is commander rochford. The captain is incapacitated abandon ship. I repeat abandon ship”

She moved as quickly as she could to try to help Conroy, Macallum was at his side trying to move the panel. “mac..leave him. We need to go...” she grabbed his arm “come on...move it soldier” macallum looked at the damaged viewscreen. The Canidation ship was baring down. Any second now it’s main cannons would finish the job. They were out of time.

White hot plasma blasts leaped from the Canidation vessel tearing across the cold black darkness. Promising death to the Glasgow.

A flash and a massive lurch pulled maccalum and Rotchford off their feet, but it wasn’t a weapon impact. It was the lurch of a gravity field forming a few miles away as a ship dropped out of hyperdrive.

A dangerous and potentially fatal move – a single miscalculation could have dropped the new ship right on top of them - but it saved the Glasgow. The rest of the fleet, the few ships that remained had jumped back to help. The TDF New York had jumped In front of the plasma blasts. Taking the hit that would have finished the Glasgow off. It opened up with its main cannons, rail guns blasting the armour above the Canidations missile batteries. Another Terran defence force ship TDF Cardiff jumped in behind and opened up on the bugs with everything it had. The Canidation vessel was powerful, but it couldn’t withstand the combined firepower of the vengeful human warships.

Explosion and explosion, hit after hit. The Canidations withered under the combined firepower and with a final flash it vanished as it’s fusion plant exploded.

The TDF Glasgows communication system beeped for attention. Maccalum moved slowly across

“This is captain Yoshimoyo on the New York. Prepare to receive medic and engineering teams. Your information won us the day Glasgow. All Canidation vessels have been destroyed. This is the first human victory in this war...”

“This is science officer McCallum. “thanks for the help. That was a risky move I owe your helmsman a beer. Captain Conroy has been injured. We don’t know how bad, the ship has taken heavy damage.

*****************

Weeks later Captain Conroy stood in front of admiral Wong.

Conroy had spent most of the time unconscious. His injuries sever, but with advanced medical skill, talented doctors and a dash of luck he had made a full recovery.

“Captain” the admiral began “I’m glad to see you’re back on your feet. I’ve out an official commendation for yourself and your entire crew. The information you fought so hard for will prove invaluable in this conflict”

Wong continued “The data contained ship specifications, technical manuals, training documents and recent fleet movements. With that information we’ve managed to push the Canidations back in a number of theatres , you and your crew have saved thousands of human lives. We all owe you a debt captain.”

“Thank you sir...i'm eager to get back to the Glasgow sir, to get back in the fight.”

The admiral shook his head

“I’m afraid not Conroy. The Glasgow was heavily damaged and will require months of repairs and refit. We can’t have a seasoned crew out of action for so long. You and your crew are being reassigned.”

Wong passed a pad to the captain

“Our newest, most powerful warship. The TDF Lucifer. You’ll be part of a task force – the ghost division. The Canidations are throwing more and more ships against us, and while we’ve slowed the advance to a crawl we are still loosing. You’ll go behind enemy lines and fight a guerrilla war. Do everything you can to bring the bugs down. Everything is a viable target, including the Canidation homeworld. Teach them to fear the wraith of Earth.”

End

[thelordofdarkreunion]

Watchers in the Shadows

Another plot important story, with the what I am terming the Shadowed Lords.  I have also found a solution to the very important question of “How to make sure the Inquisition just doesn’t murder everyone.”  I own none of these characters.  Enjoy.

“History requires two parties - the historian and their audience.  Without that, one is just talking to oneself.  So kindly stop screaming and you might learn something.” - Trazyn the Infinite, guiding human guests through the Prismatic Gallery

“It is our duty to protect those who are important to future events, those who might save the face of the galaxy, those chosen by prophecy - blah blah blah.  I’m just here to kill things.”  -Revenant

Aboard the Novus Galactica

The Watch Fortress was a miracle of human technology and ingenuity.  This particular one was mobile, a great boon for its occupants.  As soon as diplomats and Inquisitors were dispatched to these strange, newly found galaxies, it had been deemed by the High Lords of Terra that a permanent force of Throne Agents should be stationed in each.  Unfortunately for the Imperium of Man, and, perhaps fortunately for everyone else, they were currently only able to transfer a small amount of the resources they wanted to one singular galaxy.  At the moment.  The time would come when they would fully operate there, the agents of the Imperium hiding in every shadow, behind every crevice, always watching, always waiting.  The fight against the xeno, mutaint, and heretic never ended, after all, and these new galaxies provided ample examples of each.  

The newly anointed Lady Inquisitor Amberley Vail stood on the tiled stone floor of the Watch Fortress, looking out high cathedral windows into the black void of space.  Inquisitors were all technically equals, though in practice some were more equal than others.  Senior and powerful Inquisitors were given the honorary prefix Lord or Lady to denote that they were, in fact, just a little more equal than their peers.  Since she had been the first to discover, and make contact with these eight new galaxies, it would be her duty to oversee all investigations in them.  A great honor.  

At the time, though, Vail would just be investigating each one in turn until more Inquisitors could be spared.  Already she was given her choice in team, and her retinue was here, with more hand-picked agents to come.  And, of course, the operatives the High Lords and Ordo Xenos had seen fit to give her.  With the technology found in these new places, she could now contact the High Lords directly, if necessary, and they could monitor her progress.  As such, they had seen it fit to grant the Watch Fortress a cadre of Officio Assassinorum operatives, one from each Temple.  They were in cryo storage below, except the Vanus operative, currently hard at work gathering every scrap of data she could.  

Should she require pure power instead of singular agents, a Kill Team of the dreaded Deathwatch was on hand.  They were newly formed and called up, but each member was hand-chosen by the Inquisition, and, if rumors were to be believed, the Custodian Guard themselves.  Right now, they were settling into their new home, their weapons drills already ringing through the training spaces.  The Kill Team also served a second, more sinister purpose: if Vail was to go rogue for whatever reason, they had orders to hunt her down and destroy her.  She harbored no illusions of their ability, and, of course, had no intention of turning traitor.  Better had fallen than her, though, so she did appreciate the contingency.  

At the moment, more Marine heavy weaponry and armored vehicles were on the way, along with a regiment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers.  More things to be added to the armory of the Imperium in this new galaxy.  

Vail paced, then went to her cognator, located next to the Vanus operative, still absorbed in her work.  She sat down, and began to type.  Secrets would be revealed, and the Inquisition would act upon them.

Unknown Location

The room was dark, as it always was, only illuminated by the blinding glory of a nearby star.  No one came here, no one knew of its existence except two organizations.  Two organizations that almost none knew of.  A massive man, power armored bulk hidden by a simple white robe, sword strapped on to his chest, stood side by side with another individual clad in black armor and greatcoat.  A tight fitting black helmet with glowing red lenses covered the second’s face, and as it spoke, the voice that emanated from within was corrupted and rendered untraceable.

“We must begin.  Our list is complete.”

“Unorthodox, yes, but it must be this way,” spoke the second, a reverberating deep base echoing from beneath he white hood.  “What of Inquisitor Vail?  Should she find… certain things, it would not bode well for our plans.” 

“I am handling it as we speak.  Drake shows promise.  It was good to act that quickly, but in the end, the Shadow Broker, the Mechanicus, the Inquisition, the Scoundrels, ONI, the ISB… none of them are good enough to face us.  Vail will hear no word of it.  Stability will be preserved.  Just as we must preserve the Scoundrels themselves.”

“Indeed.  It must be restated: they are key to future events.  I suggest we get moving.”  With a nod to each other, the two figures disappeared into the shadows.

Unknown Planet

The ground was icy and cold, some dead world in the middle of nowhere.  It didn’t even have a name, so remote it had never been discovered.  Of course, there were those who could find it, should they really wish to.  One such individual stood here, examining strange patterns in the snow.  Well-groomed black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, held in place by a circlet of gold.  Despite the bone-numbing cold, the man did not shiver, black and green tunic still in the frigid air.   A heavy crack of displaced air sounded behind him, and the black haired man turned around, smiling softly to himself. 

“Ah.  Can I help you?” he said in a polite and cultured voice.  The two figures, one massive and wearing a white robe, the other of medium height and wearing a black coat, stepped forward.  The black haired man stood, noting the weapons, the size, the strangeness of these newcomers.

“Loki of Asgard.  We have need of your skills,” responded a metallic and synthesized voice from the black coated silhouette’s mask.  This elicited a small, oh-so-sly smile from the black haired man.  

“Yes.  I’m sure a great many people do.  What’s in it for me?”

“Name your price,” came a deep, reverberating voice.  Loki thought quietly to himself, then spoke.

“Done,” replied the tall figure.  

“Now, what do you need me for?” asked Loki.

Hammond Robotics Lab-77431

A metallic abomination of red and grey stood above Dr. Marshall.  It was humanoid, but all metal; unnaturally tall and spindly.  He squirmed quietly, inching away from it on the cold surface of the laboratory floor.  Blood was splattered messily over the surface of computer banks and grey plastic workstations.  Marshall silently prayed that the guards were on their way.  He had just enough time to press the panic button as the… thing slaughtered the two guards and his three colleagues.  Now it stood over him, head tilted at an unnatural angle.  

“No one is coming to save you.  No one ever was.”  It’s voice was horrible, gravely, and grating.  Marshall whimpered.  It spoke again.  “You can beg for mercy.  It won’t help, but go on.”

“Please… please.  I don’t even know what you are!  Why would you want to kill me?”  The thing snarled and pinned Marshall to the wall with one metallic hand.  

“You made me a killing machine.  Who am I to argue with programming?”  The abomination’s synthetic eyes seemed to glow.  “Look into my eyes.  I want to remember this.”  

“No!  NO!  No-”  The begging cut out with a horrifying, gurgling scream as the thing ripped out his throat.  It gave a malicious laugh.  A new voice spoke.  

“Revenant.”  It was a statement.  “We have need of your services.”  Revenant turned around with a snarl, only to find himself face to face with three of the most odd individuals he’d ever seen.  A smooth faced, black haired man in a green and black surcoat, smirking at him.  A figure in a black coat and black armor, it’s face hidden behind a mask with glowing red lenses.  A giant, wearing a white robe, with a sword strapped to its back, its face hidden behind the robe’s cowl.  

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand?” sneered Revenant.  

“If you can, which I doubt,” replied the black haired man.  The figure in the coat held up a gauntleted hand.  

“We have need of your services,” it repeated.  “As payment, we can fix you or kill you.  Your choice.  But you must do as we say.”  Revenant seemed to consider the deal.  

“Done,” he replied eventually.  

“Good.  Now, there’s work to be done.”  

Star Wars Galaxy

Belsavis

Imperial Outpost Planet

The New Republic had, in its infinite wisdom, sent a team of commandos to capture a small Imperial outpost planet in the middle of smack-dab nowhere.  Sargent Underwilth was quite displeased by this, as had the entirety of the rest of her commando group, from Private Nikeer all the way up to the Captain.  It would be a long, boring, and completely useless mission, and for what purpose?  Grab a completely insignificant Imperial fort that could house a battalion and a group of shuttles at the absolute maximum?  Why?  Send soldiers to die for that?  She hated High Command for it.  Hate-d.  Past tense.  At the present moment, she was cursing the name of every single New Republic official she could remember, from the major who had briefed them to Princess Leia herself.  Saying things had gotten a bit out of hand would be the understatement of the millenia.  

“I need fire at 1-2-7-4!  Immediate effect, whatever you’ve got!” screamed the comms chatter.  The Imperial stormtroopers crouched next to her looked warily in the direction of the lieutenant whose scream was cut short over the comms.  Captain Pai, the commando leader, was dead.  Major Vekk, commander of the Imperial garrison, was now in charge of both the stormtrooper and commando contingent.  Underwilth had never thought she would be fighting side by side with stormtroopers.  They were terrible shots and propaganda-fueled idiots, holding on to the crumbling remnants of a tyrant.  Desperate times, though, called for desperate measures.  She nodded at her mixed group of Republic and Imperial soldiery, and, as one, they stepped over the ledge of the wall they were crouched behind.  A withering storm of blaster bolts rent the air, many going wide as their users panicked.  It was enough though.  

The bolts slammed into the metal abomination, many ricocheting harmlessly off its bones with high pitched pings!  Underwilth had no idea what these things were, or why they were here.  The commando team had landed, everything going well, and had infiltrated the fortress, only for an army of metal skeletons to show up.  They were spindly and humanoid in appearance, with elongated skulls and arms much thinner than a human.  Their odd appearance didn’t matter, though.  Horrible weapons had rotated, spitting sickly green beams of light at the now combined defenders.  Everything that was touched by those beams died.  Captain Pai was disintegrated where he stood.  Atomized without a sound.  

The defenders had fought back with everything in their arsenal.  Blasters didn’t work.  Grenades didn’t work.  Cryo bombs didn’t work.  Only massive, coordinated firepower would stop these undying invaders. 

Scorch marks appeared on the metal skeleton that Underwilth’s group drowned in fire.  More and more blaster bolts found their mark, staggering it.  Underwilth screamed at them to keep firing.  Eventually, slowly, it toppled into the dirt.  Underwilth’s group let out a great cheer.  It died in their throats when they saw what was happening.  The metal abomination, light faded from its eyes and limbs blown off, glowed with the same sickly green light as its eyes and weapons.  Limbs reattached themselves.  Blaster pockmarks faded.  Internal wiring affixed itself.  It stood, and glowing green eyes snapped on once more.  

Beneath the Surface of Belsavis

Trazyn the Infinite, Overlord of the Nihilakh Dynasty, Archoevist of Solomance, and Curator of the Prismatic Galleries walked through the underground tomb complex covered by the Imperial outpost.  He had come to... acquire the artifacts, weapons, and species in the tomb underneath.  Unfortunately, a group of the idiotic humans that inhabited this galaxy had decided to build a fortress right on top of it.  He didn’t even spend the processing power wondering about the humans.  Mere insects.  His soldiers were there to defend his archaeological expedition, and if the humans wanted to attack them, well, that was their problem.  

Trazyn was, quite frankly, disappointed over this particular galaxy.  It wasn’t that there weren’t ancient and important treasures to plunder: no, far from it.  The things he could find here almost rivaled his own galaxy.  Almost.  It wasn’t that.  

It was that the people of this place had absolutely zero appreciation for history.  It was utterly infuriating.  Trazyn was the historian.  The lives of entire species meant nothing to him.  He was as old as the stars themselves, able to see eons as they stretched out in front of him.  The reason he did any of this in the first place was to preserve history before time or battle erased it.  His entire planet was one massive museum, with exhibits stretching back some 60 billion years before the planet Earth even existed.  But these people?  They didn’t teach history.  Didn’t preserve history.  To borrow a human expression, didn’t give one singular, flying fuck about it.  His mind frowned in distaste over the crude word.  It was nevertheless true.  The inhabitants of this place had merely forgotten the Old Republic, the government that ruled the galaxy only thirty years ago.  The Jedi Knights were myths.  The Clone Wars were bedtime legends.  Trazyn ground his metal teeth in frustration.  Thirty years.  That was a microsecond.  That was about the time a standard Necron court case lasted.  Even the humans, short-lived insects that they were, should remember that long.  After all, they usually lived between sixty to a hundred, did they not?  Simply no respect for the past here.  

The other galaxies were not like this.  The humans of one galaxy even remembered events some two thousand years prior.  That galaxy was the one with the Makers.  A battle between gods and demons.  He had already been to a Maker lab, and taken the dark artifact from the homeworld of the Celzex.  Along with half the guard on duty at the time.  And the throne.  They wouldn’t miss it.  Probably.  

He was getting off track.  Despite the idiots of this place not knowing what it was, this place was magnificent.  The architecture, the stone, the instriptions and technology… oh, yes.  If Trazyn had still possessed a mortal body, he would be grinning like a buffoon now.  He wanted everything.  

The tomb had once belonged to the Rakata Infinite Empire.  He sneered at the name. 

“There can only be one Infinite, and only one Infinite Empire.  And you, my friends, are no longer among the living,” he told a statue.  The Empire had, at its apex, controlled a great deal of the galaxy and possessed technologies and ancient wonders not seen since.  An entire species, called the Esh-Ka, had been trapped here in status for nigh thirty millenia by the ancient Rakata.  Nothing compared to Trazyn, but he appreciated the gesture of the long dead civilization nonetheless.  Ancient Rakata warlords, soldiers, status, glyphs, tablets, weapons, enemies, technology… everything.  This was a prison world, and the Rakata built it to last.  Now, though… now it was Trazyn’s time to shine.  He took everything he could, the walls and massive scripts cut away by his personal bodyguard.  Everything went into tesseract labyrinths.  These were small black cubes, about the size of Trazyn’s fist.  They pulsed with darkness, ever wishing to suck things into their voids.  These cubes were gateways to pocket dimensions, and Trazyn had long used them to capture specimens from his museum.  

He hummed as he worked, nearly giddy with excitement.  If there had been any watchers, they would have found the sight of the ancient necron lord almost dancing with exhilaration to be quite funny.  As he loaded the last of the Rakata imprisoned within the tomb, there was a flash of green light behind him.  It’s coloration was similar to the eyes and weaponry of the necrons, yet only the discharge of his bodyguards’ gauss flayers could have made such a sight, and Trazyn knew for a fact none of them had.  He whirled around, only to be met with a very strange sight.  

Four individuals stood between him and his guards.  One was obviously a synthetic, tall and spindly with red and grey limbs.  This one glowered mechnicgly at Trazyn, but he laughed it off.  You didn’t know a good glower until you’ve stood on the wrong side of a Star God.  The second was human, smirking from behind shoulder length black hair and a black and green tunic.  The third waas masked, armored, and coated, and stood at simple attention, unbothered by the necrons that lowered their gauss flayers at its back.  The last, though…

“Lord Cypher,” said Trazyn with a bow.  The massive man in white noticeably stiffened.  “A pleasure to have you here.  Ah, yes.  I know who you are, of course.  Don’t be surprised.  You would make a fine addition to my collection,” he mused.  Trazyn looked up, noticeably more perky.  “Is that why you’re here?  Have you come to give yourself up?  Ready to be a part of history?”  The massive man, Cypher, glared at him.  

“We have need of your help, Lord Trazyn.  After you are…” he looked around, noticing the completely empty walls of the tomb, “Done here, we wish to speak with you.  Your… expertise is necessary.”  Trazyn grinned, the necrodermis teeth of his death mask coming together.  A necron grinning was a very bizarre sight.  

“Ah, you flatter me, Lord Cypher.  And from one who has bedeviled the Imperium for ten thousand years and fought the Deceiver himself, such flattery is most appreciated.  However,” Trazyn gestured around, “As you can see, my work consumes me.  I’m afraid history stops for no one.  Except you.”  He held out a tesseract labyrinth, his voice flowing with mischief.

“Wait!” replied Cypher.  “We have need of your help,” he repeated.  “If you do not join us, then events will transpire that will result in the eventual destruction of reality,” he stated calmly, as if he were simply talking about the weather.  “It might not happen now, or later, or even in a century, or millenia, but I know for certain it will happen.  Everything you hold dear, everything you have worked so hard for over these billions of years, will be gone.  If you help us, we will most likely succeed, and in payment we will offer to you the greatest treasures in the universe.”  Cypher held out a hand.  “So what say you, Trazyn the Infinite?  Are you ready to change history for once, instead of just cataloging it?”  Trazyn pondered a moment, his neural circuitries firing faster than any mortal could keep up.  Eventually, he took the hand.

“I accept.”

And there we are.  I hope you enjoyed it, and if you have any comments, criticisms, concerns, questions, or requests, feel free to contact me!  Wherever you are, have a great day!

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “An Omen.”

Alright guys, this is the end of this arc. I hope you all like it. Things might go back to being a bit more episodic for a while, so I need to know.. What kind of situations do you want to see them in? What questions do you want answered? what Characters would you like to see again? I am looking for any sort of suggestions. You guys have been a great audience, so I want to make sure you guys get some of what you are looking for. Backstories? Angst? Fluff? if so what kind? I am down for most anything so, comment or send a message or an ask.

“I, Adam Allen Vir having been appointed as a rear admiral in the United Nations Space Corps do solemnly swear that I will support and defend Earth and her aliens against all enemies foreign and domestic that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same that I take this obligation freely and without mental reservation or purpose of evasion and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office which I am about to enter, so I swear.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen Rear Admiral Adam Vir.”

Clapping from the assembled crowd well over 100 strong for a man who would much have preferred this all to be done in a more private setting, but still he stepped forward,the lone silver star glittering with pristine polished on his shoulder as he stepped up to the lectern to speak.

He awkwardly adjusted the microphone for a second well aware of a thousand eyes on him, and a thousand more back on earth where his promotion was being broadcast.

The crowd of the Europa Station, mostl veterine UNSC members looked on with a mix of admiration and boredom.

He wished his family could be here, but, unfortunately the Europa station, where his new ship would be christened, had no use for civilians. Behind him, the viewing window framed, with great majesty, the slowly rotating surface of jupiter in white, cream, and peach shot through with little veins of blue and green in swirling patterns and shapes. 

Backlit against this majestic sight, and lit by the glowing surface of jupiter and vast eternity behind, he took a deep breath.

“Things are changing in the UNSC…. Things are changing much faster than we, and especially I, had ever anticipated. The universe is expanding rapidly, as we know all too well. Recently, I had an experience that the GA and UNSC are allowing me to declassify for the benefit of maintaining an honest and sincere dialogue between civilian and military entities. Nearly five months ago I was pronounced missing in action after the command deck of my ship was consumed by -- what at the time -- seemed to be a black hole. Today I am here to explain myself, and what I saw.” He looked down at his hands, shuffling his notes.

“The generated field was not, in fact, a blackhole, but a wormhole to an entirely different universe. I cannot say where it was as I do not know, and I cannot say how I made it there, but I can say that we are not the only ones. The GA is not the only alien government entity.”

A muttering in the crowd, “I saw creatures there that I have never seen before, sentient creatures that I cannot fathom explaining. My escape was both lucky and prudent, for at this moment our efforts to outreach into the greater vastness of space is expanding. Men, women, humans, Tesraki, Drev, Celzex and all others are being called on more than ever to come to the aid of our cause. Space is an unknown entity, and has long since been deemed the final frontier. We have no idea what is out there, and military operations are experiencing a change in the type of leadership, and the direction of command than it has in over two thousand years Space travel is unorthodox at times, and, in my experience, so are the men and women who best thrive there.”

He looked up his eye seeing nothing but vague shapes, “It takes something special to do what is being done here, and it will take a little bit more from the crew of my ship, to travel to places untouched by the living. I am asking for strength, fortitude, integrity, honesty, turst, and I hope…. A little bit of good humor. Space will take everything from you if it can, and sometimes that means fighting back in unorthodox ways. Today is the day that we take the next step in the road to space exploration, with our allies in the GA. Leaving behind fifteen Fleet Commanders, my ship and crew will be exclusively tasked with the exploration and contact of unknown alien planets, lieforms, and systems.”

A first lieutenant scurried from the side of the room, bringing with him a glass, which he handed to the Rear Admiral with a quick salute.

Adam raised the glass, “It was once an old Naval tradition to break a bottle of champagne over the bow of the ship as it was named, a tradition that was quickly discarded once we realized we could drink the alcohol, and also that it was pretty irresponsable to get in a space suit just to break a bottle.”

There was a slight chuckle around the room.

“So instead, a toast,” He raised his glass, and the others followed suit, “To the UNSC Omen, may your engines never fail, and may your crew demonstrate good judgement.”

He tilted his head back and took a drink.

The thousands before him did the same with their own drinks. This was anywhere from paper to plastic to glass cups, and with anything from beer, to water, to taquilla or milk in one or two cases.

There was clapping as he stepped down from the lectern.

He grimaced internally to himself.

And may your Captain not be a complete idiot when on the job.

Now it was time to see his new ship.

***

The UNSC Omen was rated as a Heavy Battle Cruiser, but she was equipped with more scientific equipment than the CDC. Technically it had ten decks all together, with the bridge at the top followed by the management deck, crew and recreation, then the science decks five and six as well as engineering, cargo, and hangers which took up the rest of seven eight nine and ten. The back of the ship was generally all comprised of fusion, warp and coolant systems, though they weren’t stupid enough to keep all the engine components in one place.

And that wasn't to mention all of the alien technology that had been added to the ship. This thing had everything.

The engine system was of Rundi make, and that included the warp core and the dampening systems. IT made sense that the oldest race in the galaxy was to provide the most important piece of tech. 

They had Vrul Shields 

Celzex weapons 

Drev Soldiers

And even an entire team of Tesraki Auditors in the accounting department.

That being that they actually had an accounting department now instead of just one guy in a room the size of a closet.

They had received the bulk of their crew increase by way of scientists and marines. Their command structure was relatively the same, with the same officers running their old departments. 

Now that the crew was up to 1000 strong that meant 4 full-time doctors each with a different specialty. Surgical, Emergency, Orthopedic and Bacterial. They had extra nurses and support medical staff. Krill had convinced the GA to give them all the latest and greatest alien medical technology to the small creature’s great delight. The psychological support team had ballooned to four including support staff. 

The marines had swelled to three platoons, and their numbers didn’t include the fifty or so extra military med including shock troopers, pilots and artillery officers.

The science crew had been augmented exponentially. And could have staffed a small ship all by themselves if they had the training. Virology, Biology, Chemistry, Geology, Physics etc.etc and on and on.

Engineering had also doubled and included four head engineers, though they answered mostly to Narobi, who had the most experience. 

As far as the command structure went, things remained rather much the same.

The crew waited in one of the main hangers on deck seven whisperingly slightly to each other as they waited. Many of the new crewmen had never been off planet, before, they were young and full of adventure, or they thought they were.

Many of them had Still been in school when the Drev war began and ended.

Some of them had grown up and finished their training on the tail end of Commander Vir’s rise to fame.

He was a legend.

And though the movie had portrayed him as an excitable fun loving man who mostly just stumbled into success on accident and a little bit of bravery, a lot of them still had trouble imagining him as anything other than a gruff older man scarred and stoic from his experience in space.

So when Admiral Vir stepped onto the ship, they recognized him, but had a hard time believing that the man, with a slight bounce in his step, and a nervous smile on his face was really the man they had heard so much about.

He stopped before them, and they had to crane their necks to see him.

He was about to speak before stopping and, frowning, ordered a Drev over to his side, she was short, for a drev, bright blue in color, and when she came over he leavered himself onto her back before wobbling his way to stand on her shoulders, held there, secured by her hands around his ankles.

And in that way, standing on the shoulders of a Drev, he spoke with the crowd.

“Alright Children, let’s see if the crew can remind you of the first and most important rule on my ship.”

“DON’T CHUCK MARSHMALLOWS AT NEUTRON STARS.”

***

The crew turned to look at their Admiral standing at the head of the bridge, everything in the room was pristine and new, silver and chrome shining on all sides with a new polish that it would likely never see again after this day. He stood with his hands behind his back staring out into the space beyond Jupiter and Europa, an unexplored black vastness.

And with the universe reflected in his eyes, he stepped forward hands on the railings.

“Engage fusion core.”

“Engaging fusion core.”

“Charge shields.” 

“Charging shields.”

His commands continued to issue forth, and off in the distance the fusion core roared to life. He could feel it in his feet, like a sort of thrumming. It was almost rhythmic pulsing up through his feet and into his knees. Where the harbinger had kept a beat too, a sort of concussive racket, the Omen seemed to sing.

And his insides sang with it.

He closed his eyes feeling the vibrations through his feet and hands down into his bones.

It was like he could feel her talking to him.

He stroked a hand across the metal, “Almost girl, almost.”

He turned around and back to where the shiny new command chair sat waiting for him. He walked over, turned around and slid into the seat. 

Awesome, gel cooled.

He sunk down into the chair trying to get the feel for her.

Stroking his thumb down the armrest, he was greeted with the crisp snik of the forward hand controls and the lower pedals pushing into place. He slowly wrapped his hands around them pushing forward and feeling the fusion core thrumm to life. Her soft singing turned into a triumphant roar.

A part of him felt guilty for leaving the harbinger behind, but remember that there were still pieces of her living and breathing with the Omen were enough to calm his guilt.

The thought made him smile. Krill would love to hear about his guilt related to an inanimate object, perhaps he would tell him about it later.

He compressed the controls forward and felt the distant clunk as the ship departed from the docking station. He moved them forward, the ship gliding through space like a creature born to the darkness, but perhaps that was a fitting feeling, as per his request, the white dragon symbol embossed on her side, a reminder of an unlikely friend who had saved his life.

The UNSC Omen sang into the darkness, a single bead of collective endeavour on a string of stars, and once they were far enough away from the Europa station, she left off a single, silent flash of light, and then was gone.

***

Sunny stepped into the Captain’s quarters hands clasped behind her back.

She paused, head tilted at the view from the massive one wall viewing window where Admiral Vir now stood hands resting behind his back. She paused, head tilted, with the way the light filtered in from the window, it was only his silhouette she could see. Tall- broad shouldered and very still. He had the bearing of a warrior without having to say it, back straight head hold high.

She continued to watch for a moment until, sensing her presence like all humans can, he turned to face her.

“Everything settled in?” She asked 

He stepped into the light to face her delicate lines of turquoise running in familiar patterns down his face, where his UV stripes could be seen.

“It seems so. The crew is in place, the ship…. She runs like a dream, and all of our new alien recruits seem to be fitting in nicely.”

“Even the Celex?”

He smiled slightly, “As long as none of the crew try to cuddle them, I think we will be fine.”

‘And how about you? Settling in?”

He turned to look towards the viewing window and finally the room, which, situated just above the administration deck, was the largest crew room on the ship, with a massive bed, viewing window, private bathroom, and office. It was much bigger than his old place and seemed surprisingly sparse in comparison to all the room.

He seemed to be thinking the same thing, “I think I am going to need some more posters, or this place is going to feel like an asylum.” 

Sunny walked over to stand next to him.

“Well, I got you something, that might help take up some space.”

He turned to look at her one eyebrow cocked, “Oh?”

“A bit of a promotion present I guess. Hijan, your mother and I made it, while you were working.”

He lit up a bit a look of excitement crossing his face. For an instant as she looked into his single eye, she thought she saw a spark of light appear, like a flicker or sparkle of life in his excitement.

She pulled her hands from behind her back and offered up the object, “Your mother made the design. I worked on the inner mechanics, and Hijan did the metalwork.” 

“Its…. it’s gorgeous.” The weight lightened from her hands as she deposited the helmet in his. He stared with wide eyes and spun it over in his hands.”How did you make it that color?” he wondered, passing his hands over the blued metal.

“Chemical things help keep back the rust.” She said.

He looked up at her, his single eye shining in the dark. His teeth flashed white, “This is gonna make the gift I was going to give you kind of lame now.”

“You were going to give me something? But I didn’t do anything special.”

He shuffled his feet, “Who said you had to do anything special… besides, this is a…. Sorry that I made you think i was dead sort of present.”

“Oh, she wondered, her head tilted in amusement.”

He shrugged, “Yeah uh. Here.” he reached into his pocket, “Kind of a set really.”

When his hands came back up she saw a very beat up K-bar knife and poorly made, crude stone arrowhead on a thick black cord.

He shuffled his feet, “The knife and the arrowhead saved me while I was out. I don’t need them anymore obviously and they are kind of junk…. I… but.” She hugged him, shutting up his nervous stammering, “It is a perfect gift.” She announced, and meant it.

“Put it on.” She directed, and with his arms still around her neck, he reached up and tied the arrowhead around her neck.

The cord was just big enough to allow the arrowhead to dangle down onto her chest.

She turned her head down to look at it quite pleased.

He slid the knife into one of her hands.

He gave a somewhat lopsided smile, “Compared to you my art projects look like shit.”

She frowned and cuffed him across the arm.

“Ouch hey!”

“Don’t talk about my things like that. Someone very important gave that to me.”

They both laughed somewhat, her feeling the comforting weight of the stone spearhead against her chest, him with the helmet tucked under his arm, and together they stared out at the viewing window.

“This isn’t going to be easy is it?” She said softly staring out at the stars which were surely infinite.”

Adam sighed, “Sure seems like it doesn’t it

They stood alone in the silence for a moment. And then something brushed lightly over her hand.

She didn’t look down, didn’t move for fear of scaring him off.

Another hand gently clasped hers tentative and unsure like a wild animal, curious but wary.

She stood still .

She wasn’t going to be the one to scare him off.

The skin of his palms were warm against her cool one, as, together they prepared for the second phase of their impending journey.

And yes it wouldn’t prove to be easy. 

[ts4cyberpunk-followtherabbit]

( Send me suggestions for new roles!) 

LEGALLY EMPLOYED

Politician: is active in politics, holding or seeking office in government. Politicians propose, support, and create laws or policies that often include how much Corpo control is involved in the city’s government.

Attorney: There are lawyers for corporate law, international law, space law, entertainment law, warfare and military justice, and federal and local law. Rates vary on the firm.

Collar: Corpo Employees like Clerks, Secretaries, and junior Executives are commonly known as collars. Usually a low-level employee of a megacorp they don’t have much pull in Corpo biz but benefit from Corpo job perks.

Suits: Senior Corpo executives find themselves higher up in the ranks with more lucrative benefits and higher risk responsibilities usually involving shady Corpo deals. A suit’s front-line is still usually in an office.

Netcop: Sometimes they uncover Corporate treachery or deadly secrets. But that’s not why they Netrun. Working for Netwatch makes them equipped with very powerful software to move through the Net, every Netrunners dream.

Corpo Engineer: create profitable weapons, devices, security systems, and cyberware. They often have access to dangerous and expensive equipment that they can work with at their leisure for personal gain.

Consolidated Agriculture: direct ownership or leasing of farmland by major corp industry in order to mass produce the world with high quality food.

Social Worker: A particularly underfunded sector of the government, social workers are in charge of human resources and financial aid, most often in the form of kibble card distribution and foster care services.

Scientist: conducts research mostly funded by Corpo to provide corporations with the latest in  Cybernetics, Biotechnology, Systems biology, Nanotechnology, Synthetic Engineering, and Metascience.

Medical Technicians: doctors in a specific field. They could be general practitioners, cardiologists, dentists or more elite members of the Trauma team. Most are impossible to afford without a Corpo insurance plan.

Educators: demonstrate effective learning, teaches, informs, instructs, or inspires about general or specific subjects. Anyone with a marketable skill can educate on it.

Accountant: responsible for keeping Corpo’s or crime rings’ financial records. Most accountants are responsible for a wide range of finance-related tasks, but mostly its about making sure acquired income looks legal.

NCPD Badges: Underfunded police that stretches their authority and use procedural abilities as far as they can to get their job done. Most Badges want to make the city a safer place, others just like having authority to abuse.

MaxTac: sometimes referred NCPD Psycho Squad, they are a specialized sub-group of the Night City Police Department. As a cybersquad, MaxTac specializes in dealing with cyberpsychos.

Private Investigators: law enforcement that works for private clients. They interview people, conduct surveillance, find missing persons, and solve crimes. Wages earned vary by the investigator, some are famous, ergo expensive.

Bounty Hunters:  catches criminals and brings them to NCPD badges in return for a reward. Even though they are legally employed with NCPD and Militech corp. BountyHunters are not against working solo gigs to catch criminals.

Firefighters: a rescuer extensively trained to extinguish hazardous fires that threaten life, property, and the city. There is a recruitment drive in the armed forces, suggesting assault-style situations.

Dog Tag: Any individual on active duty with the United States Armed Forces, led by the Department of Defense. The D.o.D consists of four branches: the Army, Aerospace Force, Navy, and Marines. Inactive dog tags are called ex-tags.

Social Worker: A particularly underfunded sector of the government, social workers are in charge of human resources and financial aid, most often in the form of kibble card distribution and foster care services.

Construction Worker:  work makes up almost 70% of available work for civilians. Full body conversions like the NovelTech Samson make workers tireless, incredibly strong, and capable of surviving almost any accident.

Janitors: There aren’t enough janitors in Night City to clean the filth off her streets but all the same companies still hire people to clean their office buildings and shops. Its often nasty work for bad pay.

Binman: a worker who collects and hauls away garbage and municipal solid waste and recyclables from residential, commercial,  industrial for further processing and waste disposal.

Farmer: raising living organisms for food or raw materials. The term usually applies to people who do some combination of raising field crops, orchards, vineyards, poultry, or gene-buddy livestock.

Owner: a privately owned business with a storefront where legal business is conducted. Many owners are under the protection of gangs depending on their location but some owners are perfectly capable of protecting their own store.

SPIRITUALISTS

Paranormal Investigator:  the paranormal is a lucrative business. Most gigs tend to be the work of tech being used to simulate experiences but they are paid to resolve the paranormal activity.

Cultist: A charismatic leader or a follower of an unorthodox cult who generally lives outside of conventional society. Some Cultists are prone to acts of terrorism or unorganized violence for their spiritual or religious cause.

Religious Leader: The duties of a religious leader vary from faith, but usually include encouraging people to make a commitment to their faith and live according to its teachings and explaining the meaning of scripture.

ENTERTAINMENT BIZ

Glitters: Doors open for Glitters that are closed for others because they can bring exposure and popularity. Public icons, fashion gurus, famous investors are all glitters whose only job is to write checks and shine.

Braindance Artist: An actor or actress that works primarily with Diverse Media Systems Braindance Studios. The artist is wired up with the neural feeds and starts recording. The BD artist usually has no script. The art of Braindance recording is spontaneity.

TV Star: From talk shows to “reality shows” TV stars still fill daytime TV channels with drama, action, and comedy. Braindance might be the next best form for the movie cinema and video game industry but TV stars still dazzle the small screen.

Rock stars/Lazrpop Star: Singers that are sponsored by recording companies or other Corp. and are paid to be apolitical so their music creates no discourse, They make beats and lyrics and their income is relative to the size of the audience that idolizes them.

Radio Jockey: A radio jockey hosts a radio show that may take calls from listeners; interview celebrities or gives news, weather, sports, or traffic information.RJ’s can be swayed monetarily to broadcast political leaning content. In between, they play music of preferred genres.

Performative Dancer: From Ballet to Kabuki Theatre, performative dancers are marveled upon in media by more artistic or refined members of society. Many performative dancers utilize cosmetic and athletic cyber to add authenticity to their performance.

Performative Musician: composes, conducts, or performs music on instruments. They are not concerned with conflicts of political interest since their music seldom includes vocals. They are still often sponsored by Corpo though.

Comedian: seek to entertain an audience by making them laugh. This might be through jokes or amusing situations, acting foolish or employing prop comedy. Comedians get the most heat in the industry for crossing apolitical lines.

Writer: Most Corpo employed writers are writing scripts for TV stars, comedians, songs for rockstars, and speeches for politicians but some still work the competitive field of novels, they also compete with AI software in creative writing.

Preem Mannequins: Models that work their way up a brutal and competitive industry to stand out for their physical beauty in some way. Most get featured in advertisement billboards and high fashion magazines and most are obsessed with their physical appearance.

Superstar: do it all, record BDs, release songs, dance,and have had their face on billboards. They are masters of the entertainment industry and produce eddies and audiences where ever they go. Most Superstars are completely entitled.

Professional Athlete: Athletes compete in one or more sports that involve physical strength, speed or endurance Most professional athletes have particularly well-developed physiques obtained by extensive modification, strict training, and dietary regimen.

Celebrity Agent: represent and promote artists, performers, and athletes in dealings with Corpo sponsors. They handle contract negotiation and other business matters for clients. They also headhunt for new talent to bring in.

Fashion Designer:  design clothing and fashion ranges. They may work in high fashion or designer ready-to-wear fashion, as well as in high-street fashion. Most fashion designers that achieve recognition for their designs assist Corpo techies in producing more creative code in Fashion Ai’s.

Aesthetic Artist: those in the entertainment biz are concerned about their appearances to the media and public. Aesthetic artists’ job is to make sure they look their best. Focused on make-up, hair, and outfit they keep those in the entertainment biz styling.

Creative Craft Artisan:  a very rare breed mostly replaced by 3D design and printing companies, CC Artisans create unique sculptures, woodwork, or pottery made out of the finest materials, and their creations are afforded only by the super-wealthy.

Illustrator Artisan: Illustrators are painters, sketchers, and digital drawers that create original images for a range of printed and digital products. They work closely with marketing teams to turn ideas and printed media into inspiring illustrations.

MEDIA

TV News Reporter:  always somehow on the scene in the thickest of action to get first hand news delivered to the citizens before other networks. It can be a high-risk job.

TV News Anchor: Once reporters work up in ranks they can earn opportunities to become a TV news anchor, a lower risk job with higher pay than TV news reporter. Many TV news anchors gain enough popularity to be considered a glitter media.

Journalist: Journalism in night city means gathering, assessing, creating, and presenting news and information via screamsheets, magazines, or the net. Unlike TV news reporters, journalists are freelance, the job is high risk.

Combat Correspondents: provide perspective on what it’s like inside the U.S. armed forces. These soldier media gather information for news and feature articles much as civilian journalists do , often against military protocol.

Sensationalist: sensationalism is a type of editorial gig. Events and topics in news stories are selected and worded to excite the greatest number of readers and viewers.

Celebrity Hunter: Journalists that focus on the who’s who are usually found chasing down the hottest glitters for interviews that will produce the best ratings. They have a low-risk job but sometimes find themselves in high-risk situations.

Clicker: a freelance photographer or can be employed by photo agencies, magazines or local newspapers. Their job is to shoot the best photo for the best story. Journalists and clickers work as a duet.

Sport Jockey: to make sure you know every score from all the most important games worldwide. It’s a low-risk job with sports celebrity access perks.

Media Techie:In media, there is equipment like cameras, recorders, Braindance,  media techies are hired to maintain, repair or purchase and all equipment for best-produced media in the biz.  

Shutterbug: vagrants of media, shutterbugs are out to get any quote, photo, or story that will garnish any eddies for personal gain. They don’t care about truth or ratings, they simply chase whatever sells quickest.

STREET TRASH

Sharks: have eddies to give away, but interest rates are known to be extreme. consequences of defaulting on a loan shark is often a higher price to pay. only desperate people go to sharks, and they capitalize on it.

Bookie: a person whose business is accepting and paying out money risked on a particular result of something, esp. fighting, racing and competitive activities.

Black Marketeer: a person who trades illegally in officially controlled commodities such as illegally obtained Corpo weapons, Illegal cyberware, BDs, and extreme drugs.

Juicers: work for sharks almost exclusively and aren’t hired to kill but instead hired to squeeze eddies owed to the shark from poor s.o.b’s that are overdue on their debts. They are quick to use extreme force and torturous tactics.

Pushers: SynthCoke,Boost,Blue Glass,Smash,Dorph,Black Lace -pushers sell it all.Pushers only care about moving drugs for eddies. They are prone to using the drugs they push some can be dangerous.Ex-tags and joytoys are common customers.

Cookers: SynthCoke,Boost,Blue Glass,Smash,Dorph,Black Lace- Cookers make it all.They have a dangerous job just from being exposed to lethal chemicals during the cooking process to avoiding the ncpd Vice unit.Cookers use pushers to distribute.

Street Punk: Gang posers,dophers,zoomers, and dregs of society are weak nobodies that get themselves or other people killed during careless acts of petty crimes and gigs. They have a low threat level but are still a nuisance, mostly to the NCPD.

Scavengers: known for kidnapping people and forcibly harvesting their cyberware.Despite all of them pursuing the same distasteful trade, scavengers tend to operate in small groups with no official hierarchy to unite them.

Con Man: night city’s cheats and swindlers who cheat or trick someone by gaining their trust and persuading them to believe or buy something that is not true. Con man are responsible for a lot of disappearances and deaths.

Gangbanger: Gangbangers are the ultimate rules of the city streets. From small gangs like Moxes or Divine Dragons to mega gangs like Tyger Claws  each gang in Night City is as diverse as the street itself all thrown together in a lethal cocktail.

Street Scribbler: Wannabe street artisans take to scribbling opinions, quotes, and sig tags over public property as a form of protest and vandalism. Scribblers are not extremely creative and don’t respect gangbanger tags.

Street Artisans: create graffiti as form of activism and expression but follow strict code and respect gangbanger territory. This respect of code encourages gangbangers to protect some artisans’ artwork from scribblers defacing their work.

Buskers: the jesters of night city from acrobatics, drawing caricatures, comedy, dance, singing, living statue, poetry, street theatre, these citizens earn gratuities by entertaining the city streets on all corners.

Street Vendor: Offers goods or services for sale to the public with a mobile stall. Goods they sell are often second or even third hand, may or may not be stolen or salvaged.

Disc Jockey: DJs, play off the cuff or pre-recorded mixes at nightclubs and at private and public street events. They engage and entertain their audience and incorporate requests into their music line-up.

Fixer: Well-connected information brokers who apply their trade on the black market. They locate, acquire and sell info about desired persons, places or things within their areas of operation. Most gigs solos do come from Fixers.

Nomads: were once corporate wage-slaves, who got fired from employment, and now they roam the highways in motor-gangs.They maintain strong family bonds and have a hard time trusting anyone outside of the family. They despise Corpo.

Ripperdoc: is a medical practitioner who can install a variety of cybernetic prostheses. There are many that operate legally, but some conduct illicit deals, such as installing military-grade cybernetics for the right price.

Deckjockey: is an expert netrunner, usually a specialist at covertly accessing and stealing from corporate databases, buying, trading and selling their deepest secrets and information to Fixers and other Deckjockeys.

Techie: range from technicians to cybernetic specialists. They are usually introverted and “underground’ who do “off-the-record” work and make their living building, fixing and modifying anything from vending machines to weapons.

Bartender: Night City drags dangerous individuals in pretty much every bar, club and pub so many bartenders tend to be ex-gangbangers, ex-cons, ex-tags, and ex-solos.and are accustomed to violence and high-stress environments and how to handle them.

Bouncer:  tend to come from backgrounds of violence but also have the body and modifications to execute more aggressive methods of peacekeeping. A bar’s success can sometimes completely rely on how good the bouncer is at their job.

Smuggler: facilitate entry into a desired location and smuggle a package to be delivered at a predecided destination.They may traffic persons or merchandise and are quick to abandon a package if they suspect they will be caught.

Runners : a driver for hire that has three rules: all deals are final, no names, and never look at the package. Runners don’t abandon packages at the first sight of risk, This makes them more expensive.

Highrider: a pilot for hire who will fly anyone to their destination under any conditions as long as they get half their payment before take-off and the rest when they land. Most highriders die in a flame of glory.

SOLO

Solo Mercenary: is the jack of all trade in the solo biz not particularly a master in one thing a solo merc takes jobs From bodyguard to thief, to assassin. But the point is they get the job done, even if its a bit…messy.

Shinobi: trained shadow solos have finesse. Their proficiency is in katanas, martial arts and stealth so have a great skill-set suited for silent stings and assassinations. They get the job done quietly and you pay extra for it.

Solo Thief: have exceptional skills at stealing and have mastery over all kinds of lock picking and hacking.To the simple pickpocket to the most difficult heist, a solo thief always nabs their target possession.

Solo Assassin: don’t have time for petty thievery and are not in the biz of “protecting’ anybody. Their set of skills is good for one thing: finding and killing a target. Their contracts are usually very expensive.

Solo Bodyguard: are tanks, physically strong and unyielding they use their physical advantage to guard and protect persons or places. solo bodyguards often have contracts with fixers, celebs, politicians, and even Corpos.

Corporate Samurai : Solos that are hired to protect Corporation property and carry out violent and illegal gigs for Mega Corps.The Corporate Samurai will associate and  works for or possibly as a Corrupt Corporate Executive.

Ronin: Previously corpo Samurai are now freelance are called Ronin and are seen as untrustworthy in the solo bizz because of their Corpo past however this past gives them an edge in succeeding against Corpo gigs.

Street Samurai: fight against the Megacorps and follow their own personal codes of honor which is to bring down the society in which they live in order to make a better one so they take Any gig that sticks it to Corpo.

Shinobi: are elite trained and have mastery in espionage and deception hired by Corpos executives, celebs, and politicians for protection. Shinobi are usually against using cyberware and prefer to rely on their own strength.

EROTICA WORK

Joytoy: Licensed prostitutes that work the street.Their biz is selling sex.joytoys have a high risk gig so they often seek out pimps for protection which depending on the pimp can help or complicates a joytoys job and life.

Pimp: a joytoy’s manager. They sometimes bring joytoys clients and deal with problematic customers but mostly they hover around their joytoys and berate them for not bringing enough eddies.Most pimps only ‘manage’ a handful of joytoys.

Doll: A step up from street prostitutes Dolls use neural implants to remove themselves from the experience and implant a fantasy for the customer and the doll doesn’t remember the interaction when it’s over.Dolls are employed by dollhouses.

Caretaker: owners of dollhouses. They employ dolls, provide health care as needed as well as protection for dolls . Caretakers can employ dozens of dolls at one time and dolls work hard for them for higher positions in the dollhouse.

Mannequin: are a  dancer that perform in a window box, usually wearing a fashion brand they are hired to be still, poised, and perfect like a real mannequin, others are hired to perform lavish dances to sell the brand they are wearing.

Stripper: is a person who earns eddies by stripping their clothes off.However, its not as easy as just standing on a stage naked. They are excellent dancers and masters at visual teasing. Some strippers are also joytoys,but not always.

Erotica:  are a dancer that performs for braindances. synaptic acting a-listers. Pure bi-based ecstasy.All eroticas are in a catalog where you ask for their pre-recorded BD. Eroticas don’t generally engage in physical sexual activity.

Black Widow: has a more lucritive and lethal way to use their body .Black widows target Glitters use sex to get closer to the target and murders them before making off with an exceptional score of eddies or merch to sell.

Hooker: an unlicensed sex worker generally wants to avoid STD screenings which would make any sex work they do illegal if they fail the screening.Unlicensed sex workersoffer way cheaper services but with much higher risk of STD spread.

[pastelfeatheredmask]

Constellation - Clear Waters

Title: Clear Waters

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia

Characters: Aizawa Shouta, Shirakumo Oboro, Yamada Hizashi, mentioned Kayama Nemuri

Summary: A snippet of a day in the life of an unorthodox crew of space explorers. A field expedition on a largely-unexplored exoplanet. Their ship lands near the ocean, which means the fin folk of the crew get to go swimming.

(a piece of my space au, shared for MerMay!)

-----

“How’s the water, Shou?”

“Just wait a moment for the results.” Shouta scowled at an array of glass beakers and small bottles of chemicals in front of him. “You’re so impatient.”

Oboro stretched his arms behind his head from where he lounged on a rock, his starry purple tail hanging down into the water. White frills fluttered down and floated on the surface, almost hiding the crystal-clear view to the corals below. “I think it tastes kind of salty.”

Shouta shot him a glare. “Your taste buds are not an accurate judgment of the chemical composition of a large body of liquid. I don’t want Hizashi to get chemical burns, especially not on his gills, just because we didn’t make sure it was absolutely safe.”

“Okay, okay!” Oboro laughed. “I get it! I’m just saying, Nemuri’s probably already down there finding all sorts of cool stuff at the bottom.”

“Well, just remember that I can’t go too deep,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, checking his wetsuit one more time and adjusting the edges where it was cut out to allow the gills on his torso to have unobstructed access to the water. “I’m not indestructible like you two are.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oboro looked up at the periwinkle sky, the clouds few and far between. “I’ll grab you a shiny rock or something, how’s that sound?”

“I’d love that,” Shouta stated in the flattest tone possible. He clicked his pen and started writing down results when it looked like the liquid in the beakers had stopped changing color.

Tide pools dotted the rocky coast, and a steep chasm of water yawned right against the rocks, serving as the perfect diving spot for the more marine-inclined members of their crew. It was incredible luck to find somewhere so ideal for seaside research.

“The pH is seven, and looks like there’s not enough of anything that would irritate your gills. A little high in calcium, but functionally, it’s water. Maybe seawater. I wasn’t testing for sodium.”

“So it’s safe! Come on, Hizashi, let’s go!” Oboro pushed himself off the rock, diving with a splash.

Shouta tore his eyes away from his notebook to watch Oboro’s ruffled fins bloom like a cloud in the water, before a strong tail broke through the curtain, kicking to propel him farther and deeper through the crystal sheen.

“Guess that’s my cue.”

With a grin, Hizashi pulled his goggles over his eyes and took off in a run for the water. He leaped off a rock with a “Whoop!” and a clean splash.

He broke the surface to take one last breath of air through his mouth. Hizashi had no beautiful tail with which to tackle the waters, but he had legs, and he used them to kick off a rock and speed after Oboro’s shrinking form, his blond hair tied up in a ponytail and streaming behind him.

Shouta watched them for as long as they remained in view, Oboro’s bioluminescent patterns like a fading underwater lantern. After a few minutes, the water surface settled to the gentle lapping glass clarity of before. For an ocean coastline, it was calm and clear, without froth or harsh waves; they had arrived at a perfect day.

He finished recording the water test results in his notebook, and then he began dumping out the water to put away the supplies. If he really trusted Oboro’s observation on how salty this water was, he’d have to find another source of potable water for the group.

[airmanisr]

Vought XF4U by Willard Womack Via Flickr: The Corsair first flew in 1940 and was the first fighter built with the Pratt & Whitney R-2800 engine. It became the first single engine airplane to exceed four hundred miles per hour, proving that an airplane with a redial engine could fly fast. By the time production ended in 1953, over twelve thousand had been built in sixteen different models, making it the longest produced plane in American history. The XF4U (X-experiential, F- Fighter, 4-fourth one built by, U-Vought), owed its unorthodox looks to the large propeller needed to absorb the power from the two thousand horse power engine. For carrier landings, it required a very strong landing gear. By building the wings in the inverted gull shape, and fitting the gear to the lowest point, it now had a short, strong gear. Along with the added benefit of attaching the wing to the fuselage at the optimum angle to minimizing drag (90 degrees). Armament was one thirty caliber and one fifty caliber machine gun in the nose, and one fifty caliber gun in each wing. It was also fitted with bomb bays in each wing, carrying small bombs, to be dropped on bomber formations. These were deleted from the production model. Combat in Europe had shown that this was not sufficient armament, leading to removing the nose guns from the production model (the F4U-1), and mounting three fifty caliber machine guns in each wing. These took up the fuel tank space, so all the fuel was placed in one 237 gallon tank in front of the cockpit. This necessitated moving the cockpit back almost three feet. That, along with moving the engine forward twelve inches, gave the Corsair it’s famous long nose. The landing gear rotated 90degrees as it retracted flat into the wing, and was the first Navy plane to be completed enclosed. Due to a tendency to bounce badly, causing it to not catch the arresting cable, along with not being able to see the landing signal officer, the Navy gave it to the Marines. A later modification solved the bouncing problem and the British developed flying a curved approach, which kept the landing signal officer in sight, making carrier landing possible. Spot welding was used throughout the fuselage and other components, along with flush riveting, to help reduce drag. (This may have made it harder to repair in the field). The ailerons were made of wood, while the rudder and elevator were fabric covered. The wing aft of the spar, and outboard of the guns, was also fabric covered. It was not until the F4U-5 that the wings were all metal. The cowl flaps encircled the entire engine. This led to oil and hydraulic fluid splattering on the windshield, cutting into ones visibility. This was solved by fixing the top two or three cowl flaps in the down position. Later models were built with that area covered with the fuselage skin. It had a wicked stall where, with no warning, the left wing would drop. This was especially dangerous when landing, and was solved by adding a six inch long stall strip on the right wing, Now both wings would stall at the same time. The later production F4U-1s (now called the F4U-1A) were modified with a taller tail wheel strut. The canopy was a clear blown bubble type with two metal stiffeners, and the seat was raised by seven inches. These modifications, along with the modified landing gear, and flying the curved approach, help the Corsair finally be approved for carrier operations. By February of 1943 the Marines were replacing their F4F Wildcats with the Corsair on Guadalcanal, and within six months, all Marines fighter squadrons were equipped with it. It could outfight the Japanese Zero, and proved to be an excellent ground attack platform, carrying bombs, napalm, and rockets. During the battle of Okinawa, it was used both in the ground attack roll, and against the Kamikaze, picking up the name “The Angel of Okinawa”. It fought in Korea, both by the Navy and Marines, again in the ground attack roll. The French used it in their Indo China War in Vietnam, and in 1969 in South America, it fought against other Corsairs and the Mustang. The Corsair and the P-51 Mustang, are both considered the two best fighters produced by the Unites States during WW II, and they are the two most preferred model airplanes.

[exiliumsfools]

The Fall of Vervainia Part 2

“This country is all about unlawful men becoming royalty. Its weird, I know. My teachers would probably curse at me for saying that, but its true. They say a ghost once roamed the streets of Wexinly, and they called him The Apparition. He was a legend to the poor and a nightmare to the rich. One day, he died. Guards got a good look at his face. Later that same night, the Baron showed up dead at his own party, and a chest full of gold flew out the third story window of his manor, straight into the hands of the masses. The Apparition was never seen there, but after, he was always in three places at once. A few months later, when King Tris and his party came through, kicking Adonis out, he gave the Barony to a nobody that just happened to fit The Apparition’s description. Funny thing, that. Tris was a pirate before he was a king. I hope the spirit of my country will keep me safe through my journeys, and that The Apparition is watching me in the streets he called home. I need food, and I’ve never had to steal before.”

  -Riella Cobble's Diary, The 7th of Trainusam, 2100

I sat straight up when I awoke, and immediately slammed my head against something hard. I cried out in pain, my hands flying to my forehead.

“SHHHHHH!” A harsh voice closeby said.

“Hey fuck you! Why’d you hit me?! What are you doing to a young lady, huh? You animal!” I charged forward, ready to attack. Then I realized it was incredibly dark and I couldn’t see anything. I slammed into something a little larger than myself that fell when I shoved. It was a man.

“Fuck me? Fuck you!” He pushed me, and I fell on my back. I noticed my clothes were soaking wet for some reason.

He continued. “I pulled you out of all that heavy ass rubble and hauled your fatass all the way here just to be treated like this?”

“Fatass?!” I scoffed. “You deserved it!”

“For what?!”

“You hit me, right when I woke up, right on my head!” I pointed to where it hurt.

“You slammed your head against mine, dumbass!” 

“Oh.” I sat back up, then saw a discarded bucket he must have used to wake me up with water. “No, I’m pretty sure it was your fault.”

He threw his hands up in disbelief. He was a half-elf like me. Shaggy black hair, darker eyes, dark skin. Dark clothes, a mask, a hood.

“Who are you?” I finally asked.

“I could ask the same of you!”

“Why’d you pull me out then?”

“I’m asking myself the same thing.” He crossed his arms and huffed.

“This is stupid.” I sighed. “I’m Riella.”

“Yea, it really is.”

“Come on, I just gave you my name, give me yours.”

“Sorry, old habits. Guess it doesn’t matter much more now though. I’m Aiden.”

“Are you a thief?”

He scoffed, then looked a little bashful. “I can do a lot more than a petty pockpick, but thats nothing to be proud of.”

I leaned forward. “You’ve killed people.”

He shrugged.

I shrugged. “If you were a murderer, you wouldn’t have saved me.” I was more uneasy than I let on.

He smiled a little. “I’m not a killer, no.” His smile faded. “But I’ve had to defend myself before.”

“And you’d do it again.”

He nodded. Then looked up. We were in some dank, damp passageway in a sewer. Moonlight found its way through a grate above us. Some shadows roamed past.

“You might have to do it more.”

“No doubt about that.” He rolled his shoulders. “Look. Are you alright?”

“Yea, my legs ache, and I’ve got some scrapes, but I should be able to hold my own just fine. What’s going on up there? Why did you save me?”

“With people disappearing and the King gone, people went crazy. Everyone started accusing someone of something. Some were acting like the world was ending. Some were trying to prepare for it. The Baron didn’t help. She tried to use the guards to quell some of the riots and looting but, half of them were just… gone. The others were either too concerned about their own family to report in or… Let’s not talk about the other guards.”

“Wow. You get around, huh?”

He shrugged. “I try to keep on top of things.”

“And, why did you save me?”

“I figured someone I saved wouldn’t try to stab me in the back.”

“Oh. So its a selfish thing.”

He threw his hands up again, taken aback. “What?! No! I-I’m a good person, I swear!”

“Nah.” I crossed my arms. “You hit me the second I woke up. Pretty dirty of you.”

He groaned. “That’s it, I’ve decided. You’re going back. Its worth all the pain of lifting that stone.”

I smiled, then stood up. I offered him my hand. He took it, and I pulled him up. He was a little taller than me, even though he seemed to be a few years older. His stature made him a good thief.

“What do we do?” I asked, more seriously.

He sighed, looking around nervously. “Well, we need food, and people probably won’t want to give us any.” He met my eyes. “You any good on your toes?”

I laughed nervously. “Yil, I hope so.”

[gaytog]

Whats ur classpect (also i forgot what a casspect is)

Classpect is a Homestuck thing. SBURB outfits each of its characters with a “hero title.” John is the Heir of Breath; Rose is the Seer of Light; etc. Although a few of the classes and aspects have been explained in canon, most of the system remains open to interpretation. I like bladekindeyewear’s classpect meta, so that’s what I’m going off like 99% of the time.

I call myself a Seer of Life, or “one who passively understands power.” Life is the aspect of energy: the eagerness, optimism, and raw power needed to act upon reality. I’m not exactly bursting with energy. Actually, I used to identify with Life’s opposing aspect, Doom, which entails lack of energy, loss of power, hesitation, and restraint. I spent most of my childhood as a very Doom-oriented individual (one might even say a Witch). A hero title, however, is not just a reflection of one’s personality; it represents one’s ideal and fully actualized self. I’ve become convinced that my ideal self is bursting with energy.

I have a quiet and persistent joy that motivates me to act. I work best when I follow my gut and work on whatever project I feel like working on, not when I subject myself to a system. And my value system is grounded in Life. Doom entails law-and-order thinking: you break a rule, you get punished. Life is the opposite. I believe that people should be free to do whatever they want, as long as they aren’t hurting anyone; free to make mistakes and learn from them; free to live and grow naturally, without artificially imposed consequences. My vision of justice is preventative and restorative, not punitive.

Life is also about indulgence in one’s desires, a la Trickster Mode; while Doom, as I said, entails caution and restraint. I’m generally a much happier person when I say “fuck it” and stop worrying about consequences (key word is “generally” – finding balance is always important).

A Seer “knows her aspect comprehensively;” and as a passive class, shares this knowledge with others or uses it to guide them. “Knowing Life” means two things to me. First of all, I want people to adopt my Life-based values: to understand, as I do, that letting people live freely and without restriction leads to people being healthier and happier. Secondly, I would like people to understand that a specific kind of power – that which is wielded over others – invariably paves the way for abuse and violence.

“Abuse of power comes as no surprise.” –Jenny Holzer