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Scraps (lit)

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Sade
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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Sat Feb 21, 2015 8:24 pm

I sense that this is going to be just THE most stable alliance imaginable. A goddess obsessed with chaos, out to kill and maim anyone of interest to or interested in the Tamiko name, allied with a being obsessed with order and control, determined to protect one of Catalina's friends from harm, and with a vested interest in killing creatures like Shiba. The making of a lasting and amicable relationship, that.

I could ramble on at this point about who/what he is, and what he wants, what he knows and how he knows it, and all that. But that would be fuel for in-character interaction wasted. He is not going to seek Shiba out, though, because his interest is in watching the war in those other places rage until all sides are weakened. Shiba would have to come to him, or their forces- does Shiba have forces in the traditional sense?- would have to happen into each other accidentally.

How is the roleplay going to be organized? I'm guess there will be at least the one thread in what I in my ignorance think of as "the main realm" of Feila and Dimitri and then one or more in Tampico and the remaining infernal realms, if any.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Catalina Tamiko » Sat Feb 21, 2015 9:00 pm

Shiba has forces but not like the traditional armies of demons and angels. She has worshippers, both knowing and unknowing. She would actively seek him out. Her styld ia to just drop random articles and pop-up ads where they do not belong. Strange titles that mean cryptic things. But easy enough to understand someone wanfs your attention. She lives outside the realm of time. A byproduct of how she came to be. she doesnt age but her body is wearing thin so to speak. She can not time travel but she can influence its flow. Her main force is herself. She can manipulate the darkness. Both the physical and metaphorical. If a person has dark desires, she would turn those against them.

This particular thread would be one on one. But able to bring in another for a period of time. Shiba is fond of brokering deals. Her silver tongue is her greatest weapon. And the wolfess is not o ure evil. Just insane. Being locked in a void pocket for a few hundren years does that to anyone. Hit me up in pm for more detail.
With power comes responsibility. With responsibility comes duty. With duty comes honor. With honor comes shame......

There is no purpose in denying that you know nothing in the grand scheme of things. In an effort to prove otherwise, you would simply go mad.

To gaze at the Elder Scroll is to look into both the past, and the future, all possibilities of each, all at the same time, and believe that each, even the false ones, are all true, all at the same time.


My Cast of critters. (INCOMPLETE) viewtopic.php?f=14&t=6514

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Mon Feb 23, 2015 3:56 pm

/sigh

You know what, I'm going to have to put an end to this before it starts. After trying to write a post and remembering what it is like to spend hours on something like that, and with a new bout of retraining for a new profession coming up, I'm better off not starting something I doubt I'll be able to finish.

Its funny because I did want to. And I do miss roleplaying. Dearly. But... it just isn't going to happen. Not now, anyway. Probably not in the foreseeable future either. Perhaps years from now, but not now.

Sorry for getting your hopes up, folks. But I'd rather end my involvement before it begins then drag the rest of you down and then abandon you halfway through.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Rackenhammer » Mon Feb 23, 2015 3:58 pm

I'm sorry to hear that, but I understand completely.
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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Asyriel » Mon Feb 23, 2015 8:26 pm

That is a shame, but understandable. Hopefully your schedule allows you to come back to roleplaying sooner than later. It's always fun to see what you bring to the table. Best of luck, hope to see you around again soon, even if it's just dropping in to say hi.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Sun Mar 08, 2015 11:08 pm

Figured I'd put up the fragment of the first post I had been working on at the time. I'd wanted to stick to shorter, manageable posts, but after three hours and three pages I realized that wasn't going to happen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Lock onto their turrets!” The lion with captains stripes roared, striding from one end of the bridge to the tactical stations. Comms were down- jammed. 4Didar wasn’t scrambled, but the screens showed nothing.

“No turrets detected,” one of the gun fire control officers sounded off. The ship’s recon officer chimed in, “no propulsion… nor crew quarters… I’m not detecting anything, Captain- no systems of any kind.”

“Center of mass then,” the lion ordered, “staggered volleys. Keep us on the move!” His eyes scanned the bridge, noting, briefly, the skill with which his men accorded themselves. The HMS Fleming had a prior history with the Immortal’s Club. It was she that the Club-infiltrated Dmitrian crusier fired on those fifteen years ago, kicking off the infamous Scharnhorst incident. He’d been lieutenant at the time and had been honored for his role in that battle.

But the Fleming and the DSC0405 had been roughly equally matched. The serpentine black point bearing down on them now was- or looked to be, visually- a Club Bouncer class dreadnought; a type of ship observed only three times previously, and always near Nantes. The Fleming was a 53,000 tonne ship. A light destroyer. Those previous Club specimens had been well over 700,000 tonnes. And this Bouncer… did not register as being real. It was a hopeless match.

Her guns spoke nevertheless. She twisted into a dizzying acceleration-turn to starboard, brought the two turrets of her main armament to bear along with as many secondary weapons as possible, and lashed out for all she was worth. A hundred million volts screamed through the rails within her cannon shrouds, accelerating solid steel-uranium alloy slugs to over 20,000 m/s. The projectiles appeared almost beam like as they seared glowing trails into the retinas of the ship’s crew… and of the Von Drake station behind them. The Bouncer had closed to insane distances, undetected: the slugs impacted almost instantaneously against its hull…

“No damage.” The lion’s heart sank. Sure she was a vastly heavier ship, but, “that is not possible…”

His crew carried on its fever pitched activity. The Fleming’s fire was joined by that of Von Drake’s larger but older defense batteries. The black void was crisscrossed with glowing white-hot projectiles, connecting with the Club Bouncer, sometimes exploding in white flashes against the flat of the hull, sometimes ricocheting into space, and others simply… vanishing, amidst odd ripples. What seemed like minutes was mere moments. And then an orifice irised open on the enemy ship’s hull, as if the armor plating were liquid, and a bright point of light was ejected from it.

“Evade!” the lion ordered, unnecessarily. His pilots were among the best. The ship heaved beneath their feet. The unknown projectile was travelling at a snails pace compared to Fleming and Von Drake’s rounds- merely a few hundred meters per second- but the enemy was almost on top of them. For a brief moment, he thought they were going to make it… for just that brief moment. Her aft section had almost swung completely out of the way-

Thunderous noise.

The singularity passed through their armor like it wasn’t there, consuming it. In a single violent act the aft hull was torn apart and thrown in every direction. The bridge officers were tossed from their places. Some were killed when they struck the forward bulkhead. Their stations fell silent. Deck lighting flickered and failed. Forward emergency batteries kicked in. The forward observation ports showed him the forward turret. Those brave men were soldiering on. Another volley screamed forth from the dying ship. And a second. And after a longer delay a third. And after what felt like ages, one of the turret’s guns sent one last shell. Finally, the power was gone.

A new sound filled their ears. A strange buzzing and then hissing. The surviving bridge crew watched with horror as the viewports began to dissolve before their eyes. There was a mad scramble to reach the corridor- too slow. The port failed, and they were sucked into the void. They did not die immediately. The vacuum of space is not as hostile as people are made to believe. One does not freeze. There is no medium to carry away one’s body heat. One’s blood does not boil: a difference in pressure of 1 atmosphere is trivial, and flesh is resilient. The Lion was conscious for a few seconds as he cartwheeled into the abyss. Long enough to see a web of silvery lines expanding across the bulk of the Fleming’s corpse- eating it from the outside in. And then he felt a puzzling sensation, as the invisible nanoparticles surrounding him began burrowing deep into his head.

---

Etienne watched the Fleming’s death throes for a while- twisted metal and bodies floating in space. He did not take joy in all this death. He felt a vague guilt, as one feels when one poisons an anthill in a yard or shoots an animal to save a grapevine. What he was doing here was necessary, and what he was about to do elsewhere was necessary. In the grand scheme of things, in an infinite universe, one among an infinite number of universes, the death of a few hundred souls a few decades early was inconsequential. Or a few thousand souls. Or a few billion. They lived and died in the blink of an eye.

He had no use for the ship itself and settled on reducing it to its constituent elements. The ship was beginning to drift under the influence of the Von Drake. The deep space observatory had started its main engines and was slowly moving away. A few furs tried to flee in escape pods. Both were pointless gestures. The space station could not outrun Feilan ships, let alone his own. And there would be no help out here for the furs in the pods. It would take months for a relief force to reach them and by then those escape pods would be tombs. Besides, Feila would soon have no ships to spare.

He did not obliterate the station as he had the ship. The station’s inhabitants were more interesting. The Club Bouncer’s energy weapons lanced out as many times as there were thrusters and weapons emplacements on the Station. In less then a second it was utterly immobile- though drifting- and utterly defenseless. He then reached out to it as he had the Fleming. He consumed its hull, exposed the interior volumes to the void. The inhabitants he saved; he entered them, virtualized their minds, and disposed of their bodies. The same for the surviving Fleming crew. In an instant he knew everything they knew. He possessed all of their memories, all of their experiences, and he possessed all of their skills- conventional or otherwise. He was now privy to all confidential information- all information of every kind- that existed in Von Drake and the Fleming, whether stored in computers or in Feilan brains.

The crews were not very interesting. Low level secure information. Operating procedures. Nothing new. The scientists were more interesting. Von Drake had been essentially a glorified prison for scientific dissidents and less reputable furs. Mostly Feilans. A few Dimitrians. He also found a handful of angels and demons- two of which managed to escape. Etienne had made a point of jamming all communications, but it was now likely that Feila and Dmitri would learn what had happened by roundabout means. He doubted it would make any difference.

He shifted his attention to his fleets for a moment. They were approaching Atalfa now, slipping unseen through the darkness. Undetectable by 4didar and pulled along by reactionless drives, they were essentially invisible. They’d passed Feila and Dmitri’s frontier sensor buoys long before. He did not expect much in the way of resistance from the criminal elements occupying the moons and rings of the gas giant, as divided as they were. He would be on them in days, and the realities of spaceflight for mortal furs were harsh. Even if they started now, they would not have enough time to gather in force before he arrived. All of them- every ship and raiding party- would still be stuck in transit, to be picked off one at a time.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Catalina Tamiko » Mon Mar 09, 2015 12:58 am

Hehe. I love this. The insurmountable odds are astounding. And yet.... challenge accepted.
With power comes responsibility. With responsibility comes duty. With duty comes honor. With honor comes shame......

There is no purpose in denying that you know nothing in the grand scheme of things. In an effort to prove otherwise, you would simply go mad.

To gaze at the Elder Scroll is to look into both the past, and the future, all possibilities of each, all at the same time, and believe that each, even the false ones, are all true, all at the same time.


My Cast of critters. (INCOMPLETE) viewtopic.php?f=14&t=6514

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Rackenhammer » Mon Mar 09, 2015 7:18 am

I'm almost sorry to see Von Drake Station go, seeing as how it was the first visible influence I had on canon lore... but really, that's an epic setup!
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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Asyriel » Thu Mar 12, 2015 8:21 pm

Such an epic tease!

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Tue Apr 21, 2015 9:02 pm

Kraken Speaks
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Norfolk, I think," the sea rat squinted through the spy glass, through the tossing seas and fitful rain, "and she's escorting three... four slavers, I think."

Ulises Americo Ruiz nodded. The sea rat "thought" he saw four slave ships. Which meant he certainly did. This particular member of the crew had yet to proven wrong. Ruiz' own ship bore no name, and was not escorting anything nor under escort by anything. It flew the Mazan flag, in deference to the rules and customs of the sea, but none of the other signals which would identify her purpose. And the Brown Rat himself was here only at the bequest of Galavez and the Tribune. He preferred to stay on land, but he was not one to defy the Warlord's orders- nor the earnest request of a friend. She wanted his eyes here, for this most important experiment.

"She's commin about!" the sea rat hollored. Ruiz squinted through the rain, watching as the Edwinian warship healed around toward them. From his vantage point he couldn't see much, but he knew the ship's ballistas were surely baring on them. The ballistas did not bother him. The real threat were the mages in the rigging. Edwin had far superior seagoing mages for her warships. Gawain could usual match them, but Maze could not. Once the Norfolk closed to a few hundred feet, those mages and ballistas would tear them apart.

"Prepare the object," Ruiz ordered calmly. A hundred sea furs were set in motion, shifting the object into position. "Ignite at a thousand feet."

---

"They're closing on us," the feline first officer offered calmly. They were used to high seas and the occasional, extreme violence found therein. They were professional military furs. And their enemy was a Mazan ship, not even Gawainian. In fact, "ship" was a charitable term. Their foe was more a barge than a ship, modified for short sojourns into open ocean.

"Mages to their places," the captain ordered, eyeing the enemy through his telescope. His first officer relayed the order through the rest of the ranks. "Ballistas at the ready... though I don't think we'll need them." Movement caught his eye and he strained his vision against murky weather and imperfect optical glass. The rodents were manipulating something on their deck... something like a battering ram.

His first officer had rejoined him and made note of the same thing. "Surely they don't intend to ram us." Neither of them were stupid. Something about this situation felt wrong. "We could outrun them easily," the officer offered.

"Whatever they're planning, I would rather find out myself than let one of our merchant fleets stumble into it. We are better equipped to handle it." He observed the enemy closing on them, seeing the glint of a telescope on the enemy deck. That was annoying. Maze had had a severe shortage of optical glass until their new trade agreements with Gawain. He wondered who commanded that vessel. A brave fur, whoever he was, to challenge a ship of the line like Norfolk. "Crossing a thousand feet... mages, prepare to fire at two hundred."

His first officer began relaying the order, but the higher-ranking feline was again transfixed. One of the rodents was waving a torch. Suddenly a floom of fire and smoke obscured his vision. A whizzing sound assaulted his ears followed by a sound like thunder that nearly shook the telescope from his hands, and on its heels the sound of shattering wood, and of screams. Wheeling around he just caught sight of the rear mast crashing into the hole where the stern of the ship had been. Bodies abounded on the deck. His officers were urging the furs into motion to try to contain the damage, but they were confused.

"What happened!?" his first officer shouted above the din.

"Get the wounded down below," the captain snarled. A quick glance to the mainmast showed it to be intact and his mages were still at the ready. A glance back to stern- they had no steerage with the bridge blown off, but they were pointed still toward the enemy and the wind was to their backs. "Mages prepare to fire at eight hundred feet!" A few of the faces peered down at him with startlement. Eight hundred feet was well beyond extreme range.

---

"I want crossbows on the starboard rail!" Ruiz ordered. The Edwinian ship was bearing down on them. Eighty marksmen arrayed themselves toward the oncoming enemy. The hundred bombard furs worked at a fever pitch to clean the weapon's insides. A crane on the deck began hoisting a new shell into place. Ruiz ran a quick calculation in his head; he would not be ready to fire the weapon again for fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty. The bearings holding up the weapon's enormous weight had been damaged by the first firing as well, and he could not expect many more before they failed.

Someone hollered. Bursts of thaumatic energy streaked from the Edwinian ship towards them, the enemy mages letting loose well beyond their usual range. Nonetheless damage was done. Lucky shots burst against the hull or fell among the sea furs, causing injuries. Ruiz threw a spy glass to his eye and cast his gaze- seeing now a feline looking right back at him through a glass of his own- and also the blasted remnant of the stern of the enemy ship. "Bring us alongside," Ruiz ordered. Men murmured. They thought he was insane.

As the two ships closed they exchanged blows. Magic fell from the skies and the rodent's crossbows answered. Soon they were set to run parallel to one another. The captains of these ships stood in different eras in time, one in the past and the other in the future.

---

The captain no longer needed the telescope. He did not flinch at the whistle of crossbow bolts, nor squint against the glare of mage-fire arcing from above. He thought he recognized the brown rat across the waves, but he did not recognize the bizarre weapon he was wielding. As the two ships crossed paths- sudden death. His ship seemed to snap like a twig under the force of the attack before he even had time to see the fire and smoke issue from the thunderous weapon. In two blows he had been defeated. The first crippled the Norfolk. The second broke the ship's back.

---

A shouted order from one of the enemy officers. The enemy ship was going down, and now it surrendered and requested aid. Ruiz turned away from the floundering felines. "Set an intercept course for the slavers." As much as he would have liked to rescue them from the waves, Ruiz had his orders. Those felines would take what they'd seen to their graves. Maze must maintain the element of surprise for as long as possible, while Galavez' chemists and smiths refined the naval bombard into something more lethal and wieldy.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Thu Jun 25, 2015 9:33 am

After the War; Where They Were and Where They Are

Melissa:

The little girl-turned-construct grew and matured greatly over the course of the war. She gradually learned to embrace the capabilities for destruction afforded by her artificial body, but she never succumbed to the temptation to indulge in and abuse those capabilities. Time spent fighting alongside cohorts, and then mentors, and finally friends, allowed her intelligence, her integrity, and her strength of character to begin to shine through.

The gradual merging of her mind with the built-in cognitive functions of her constructed body led to physical changes. The machine changed to more closely resemble a mature female vixen, albiet taller than most furs and made of black wardstone. Black armor plating became smooth like obsidian. Razor edges rounded over. Though altered she was not transformed. She remained fundamentally what she had been, complete with the extensible three-clawed pincer replacing her left arm and hand. Over time she came to accept this as the way she was meant to be. She was not the trapped little girl anymore. She was not a feilan anymore, but neither was she a machine. She was Melissa.

The end of the war brought an end to her combat career. She wanted nothing to do with violence now that it was no longer necessary. Instead she moved to Stettin where people had become inured to the unusual and more receptive to strangeness. They had to be, what with being a town devestated by enormous golems in a state of reconstruction coordinated and ruled by rats from a thousand years ago retired from a secret war and formerly serving in a mysterious University devoted to the most unbelievable of arcana. Though many were initially afraid of her, she found that she was soon accepted like all the other absurdities of the makeshift burgeoning community.

Remembering the simple joys of picking flowers for her mother as a child in another life, she opened a flower shop and became renowned around town for her arrangements and bouquets. She studied botany and occasionally traveled into the wilderness in search of new and interesting flowers for her shop. She settled into a happy existence. Everything was perfect... except for Zeezodt.

Zodt took to calling on her to watch Zeezodt while she was gallivanting around Feila stirring up trouble in the kingdoms. Melissa became something of a surrogate aunt to the increasingly troublesome child, and she often found herself having to track him down to get him out of whatever trouble he managed to get himself into. As he grew older this trouble tended to drift further and further afield. It was an adversarial relationship. He resented her interference, though he was often begrudgingly thankful for it after the fact.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Thu Jun 25, 2015 9:38 am

Channelmaker

Though long forgotten by the time of the seven kingdoms, there was a time when Yamaha was connected to Gawain and Edwin to Domus, just as Gawain and Edwin remain connected to this day; by land bridges, narrow spits of land joining each continent to the other. This massive landmass allowed peoples and ideas, and conquerors, to flow and intermingle. It allowed armies to draw troops from enormous geographical areas and reach destinations without need of contrivances beyond a fur’s two feet.

These land bridges allowed the Dysuhlian mobile fortress, the Demiurge, to travel freely through the most restless of the lands the rats controlled, stomping out rebellion wherever it started. Aspirations of freedom and liberty far predated the rise of the Seven, but there was never breathing room for uprisings to take hold. Months would pass and the Demiurge would arrive, rising from the horizon belching smoke and fire from its infernal engines, like a volcano crawling across the land.

The Seven realized that they would need to trap the Demiurge somewhere, even if its cage was the size of a continent. Dysuhl had little by way of a Navy, and it was not capable of transporting large numbers of troops. Her ships plied the trade routes between the mainlands and- till then- the staunchly loyal Maze.

Exactly how the Rebellion destroyed the land bridges is not well understood. The word ‘bridge’ is evocative of something narrow and relatively flimsy, built of wood or stone or metal. But these were significant masses of continental bedrock, many, many miles across. They’d stood against the actions of the wind and waves since times immemorial. Destroying them would not simply be difficult, rather it was seen as impossible. The Demiurge itself could hardly be expected to destroy a whole part of the world underfoot, let alone the magic of mere mortals.

The answer seems to have come in the form of an artifact predating Dysuhl, predating the draconic empires, predating written and- perhaps- oral records of any kind. A truly prehistoric artifact, stumbled upon by Rebel forces entirely by accident. The Seven put concerted effort into keeping the artifact secret, so there are scarce few written accounts of it. All that is known is that the Rebellion used it twice; to destroy the land bridges between connecting Domus to Edwin and Gawain to Yamaha. It was then captured by Dysuhl shortly before its fall, and has since been lost.

For the short period of civilization following the collapse of Dysuhl, Rebel historians occasionally referenced something called the Channelmaker, and some of these records survive till this day. The concept of world-ending cataclysms was also ingrained in those people who had lived near the land bridges, and many of these stories survive in one form or another as well.

The Dysuhlian perspective is much harder to ascertain on these matters. They maintained significant forces near the land bridges, to police and defend the choke points, but these forces seem to have been destroyed along with the land they patrolled. The closest survivors were many miles inland, and only described a bright light in the sky followed by scalding, scorching, fur-melting heat. Many of these survivors died mysteriously a short time later, withering away for no discernible reason.

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Sade » Thu Oct 12, 2017 3:34 pm

Image

Stand and Fight!
Featuring Vedicus and Nessus

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by RabidFox » Thu Oct 12, 2017 5:09 pm

That is awesome. :D

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Re: Scraps (lit)

Post by Asyriel » Sat Oct 14, 2017 4:22 am

really cool picture...it's interesting to have an actual visual reference for the golems.

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