< The Sahara is Fucking Bullshit > Skel had just torn his way out of the trans-continuum atop Highway Star onto the heat-blasted sands of whatever inhospitable shitstain of a planet this was supposed to be, and already he was sick of it. The horizon was unmarred by anything so much as a cactus, and the wind was so furious that it probably would have torn the flesh from his face if it were actual flesh. The drifter quickly ran through his usual routine whenever he entered a new locale; light cigarette, assess immediate surroundings, generate handgun, dispense handgun through panel in thigh, make sure it has a safety catch, put safety catch on, place handgun in waistband, double-check safety catch to make sure no accidental dick-shootings go down, extinguish mostly-spent cigarette, light another one, then check the VFT and find the nearest civilized area.
Pulling out his Variable-Form Timepiece, Skel watched with an accustomed disinterest as the Paradox-class personal supercomputer wrapped itself around his wrist and warped its shape from its default guise as an ornate pocket watch into an oblong digital pad, of sorts. This obviously indicated a world of not-insignificant technological advancement, which subsequently caused Skel to wonder why the inhabitants couldn't terraform this fucking god awful desert. If he'd had an ordinary human need for nourishment, he'd be halfway to dying of dehydration by now. As it stood, however, he was perfectly capable of suffering from boredom, which these seemingly endless dunes were giving him a WICKED case of. He wasted a few minutes tapping on the newly-formed “terminal” like the universe's most self-conscious percussionist only for it to confirm what he already knew; there wasn't jack shit for miles around.
After rummaging around in his pants pocket for one of the weird four-sided non-Euclidean coins from the last dimension he had been in, Skel flipped it to pick a direction and started riding in what the VFT told him was north. After what could have been several hundred hours or a week of constant travel, Highway Star careening across the dunes at a frankly ridiculous speed, sand spraying out behind it in a huge fan, he finally spotted a black dot on the horizon. Not knowing what it was besides “an object,” which was infinitely better than the “nothing” he'd been around for longer than he liked to be, ever, he zeroed in on it with his telescopic vision...only for his keen eye for detail to pick out an imposingly high outer wall and a series of turreted spires that stretched abnormally high into the cruel emptiness of the arid sky.
“Well that just seems like a jolly old shitpile.” Skel's thin face turned down into a dejected glower. His last few “adventures” had been completely goddamned asinine, and he was hoping for something a little more entertaining this time. He didn't know that a gigantic, inexplicably legged ship was rising from the terrain like a giant mechanical trapdoor spider a few hundred meters to his left until its shadow fell over him, "Maybe my being here caused it.." Almost everything reacted to the Radiant Gundriver; as he got off his motorcycle it seemed to disappear altogether, but the real magic was on his belt buckle- not the thing you hear every day; magic belt buckle kids! Chuckle at his own thoughts. "Wonder when Hel will be here.."<AND THE PROPHECY WAS FULFILLED.>
@Gundriver @Bladedriver @Bartimaeus @DJAtomika
Pulling out his Variable-Form Timepiece, Skel watched with an accustomed disinterest as the Paradox-class personal supercomputer wrapped itself around his wrist and warped its shape from its default guise as an ornate pocket watch into an oblong digital pad, of sorts. This obviously indicated a world of not-insignificant technological advancement, which subsequently caused Skel to wonder why the inhabitants couldn't terraform this fucking god awful desert. If he'd had an ordinary human need for nourishment, he'd be halfway to dying of dehydration by now. As it stood, however, he was perfectly capable of suffering from boredom, which these seemingly endless dunes were giving him a WICKED case of. He wasted a few minutes tapping on the newly-formed “terminal” like the universe's most self-conscious percussionist only for it to confirm what he already knew; there wasn't jack shit for miles around.
After rummaging around in his pants pocket for one of the weird four-sided non-Euclidean coins from the last dimension he had been in, Skel flipped it to pick a direction and started riding in what the VFT told him was north. After what could have been several hundred hours or a week of constant travel, Highway Star careening across the dunes at a frankly ridiculous speed, sand spraying out behind it in a huge fan, he finally spotted a black dot on the horizon. Not knowing what it was besides “an object,” which was infinitely better than the “nothing” he'd been around for longer than he liked to be, ever, he zeroed in on it with his telescopic vision...only for his keen eye for detail to pick out an imposingly high outer wall and a series of turreted spires that stretched abnormally high into the cruel emptiness of the arid sky.
“Well that just seems like a jolly old shitpile.” Skel's thin face turned down into a dejected glower. His last few “adventures” had been completely goddamned asinine, and he was hoping for something a little more entertaining this time. He didn't know that a gigantic, inexplicably legged ship was rising from the terrain like a giant mechanical trapdoor spider a few hundred meters to his left until its shadow fell over him, "Maybe my being here caused it.." Almost everything reacted to the Radiant Gundriver; as he got off his motorcycle it seemed to disappear altogether, but the real magic was on his belt buckle- not the thing you hear every day; magic belt buckle kids! Chuckle at his own thoughts. "Wonder when Hel will be here.."<AND THE PROPHECY WAS FULFILLED.>
@Gundriver @Bladedriver @Bartimaeus @DJAtomika