apathy

Cat, got your tongue (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

600km above the Northern Hemisphere, arcjet engines hiss hydrazine as the reaction control systems engage on a surveillance satellite. They discharge in short bursts at Tartalo's command, propelling the Survsat over the former Iberian Peninsula at a rate of 40,000 km/h. Variegated bands of the richest teal and crimson emerge as real-time observation capabilities came online.

The cold eye of the aperture adjusts itself and the resolution shifts, revealing the bands to be expansive pastures cultivated by automated means. Tartalo confirms the coordinates once more, a cold wave washing over him. Gone.

The crisp and clear waters of the Zubizabala Erreka rush between bare toes as two young boys play on the river's banks. A rich petrichor permeates the Otzaretta Forest as it blooms with life after a light Spring rain. The pair had spent the days in search of berries at the request of Patxi's grandmother. She'd promised the duo a delicious tart each if they could fill the basket they'd so carelessly flung aside at first sight of the water.

"I have a gift for you, Ortzi!" the boy squealed as he unearthed a wriggling worm from the loam. He rose with muddied hands and giggled at the screams of his friend who plunged headlong into the waters, a cold wave washing over them. Gone.

With the speed of thought, the Survsat adjusts its translation with a second engagement of its reaction control system. The feed suffers from momentary distortion before the image clears and Tartalo's heart plummets. Bilbao... Its history... Its culture... He leans against a graphene pane as the weight of memory threatens to overwhelm him.

"Ortzi, these are amazing!" The girl spoke between satisfied hums as she savored the rich combination of txistorra and talos. She bashfully wiped some of the grease from the corner of her mouth as he watched her, a smile plastered across his fine features.

"I spend way too much time here," he dabbed at her cheek with his thumb and she flushed, "to not know where the best flavors hide." He took a small bite of his own, turning away from her to marvel at the colors of sunset as they spread across the Bay of Biscay.

Heather and heliotrope hues gleam off the Guggenheim's edifice in a mesmerizing vista of phantasmagoric quality. "Sabine, am I dreaming? There are times when I find myself adrift with you, and everything takes on this... I'm sorry." He flushes, surprised at his own candor.

With a crack and sudden dispersal of EWG molecules, three Mobius operatives, target in tow, appear within the dimly lit chamber that Tartalo had requested within New Roswell's containment facilities. The Survsat relay is minimized to a fraction of his field of vision, the once familiar coastline of Bilbao now dotted with alien architecture.

Somewhere deep in his consciousness, Ekhi's voice notifies him that thaumic and psionic countermeasures have engaged. A second window affixed to Tartalo's sight finishes its analysis of the subject's retrieval footage as he issues further commands to the AI. He takes no small amount of satisfaction in observing the target being slammed into the Aldare, engineered from Red Technocracy tech and modified by Tartalo and Babazorro to meet his unique specifications. Restraints form from the Aldare's composite nanotech and pin the target's form to its slab.

The felinoid form remains immobile upon the austere fixture. Data floods Tartalo's vision as Ekhi confirms xenobiometrics have been quantified and catalogued within the Aldare's quantum drives. He inspects the new information with a keen eye as heavy footsteps outside of the chamber's only exit announce the arrival of the quarantine unit. A field of hard light appears as the airlocks hiss opens and expands to fill the space between the Q.U. and the three Mobius operatives. Their forms are engulfed and all foreign matter is contained within the construct.

"Boss isn't taking any chances, is he?" Sweat gave an exasperated whistle as he, Dex and Sarge were escorted out of the chamber, down the containment hall and into an adjacent cell where they would be observed and debriefed for an indeterminate amount of time.

The cell is plunged into an atramentous darkness with their exit, and an ominous silence fills the atmosphere. It hangs in the air, growing more oppressive with each passing second. The target continues in its ill-conceived ruse, unaware that its being was laid bare for Tartalo.

The rhythmic cracks of drums cut through the silence at the same moment 100,000 volts pass through the fettered subject. The notes snap with anticipation as another jolt is discharged. A disembodied voice lisps softly between dulcet woodwinds. "Tut tut, such childishness."

A third discharge, this time prolonged for several measures of the composition that swelled to life with the beginning of their exchange.

"We'll begin with your name."

The Darkness Encroaches

Edwyn "Farrow"

Physical Attributes: An ox of a youth both in stature and stench, Farrow's broad, ruddy features are often caked in a patina of grime. Nearing two meters in height, and approaching 25 stone, Farrow finds little difficulty in his trade as an itinerant daytaler. Despite the immensity of his build, he is more often remembered for two things; the fervor that burns behind the deep ochre of his gaze when provoked and the slick cicatrice of a handprint across the tegument of his throat. An unkempt sable mane frames his square jaw. A brogue tinges the rich baritone of his voice. Farrow is clothed in worn garments donated during his journey, most having been torn accordingly to better fit him while a heavy tartan muffler obscures his scar.

Mental Attributes: His temperament largely hinges on those surrounding him. Those amongst the working classes will often find him a genial and soft-spoken youth; but when met with members of Perafidion's elite castes he has nothing but vitriol. Farrow sees them and their institutions as a means of subjugating the poor in their ignorance. He is apt to use his stature and accent to lure others into thinking him a fool or brute.

History: Farrow's earliest recollection is a voice, commanding yet gentle, urging him to rise. He was a boy, just reaching his seventh summer when he and the other children of Duirvale had been struck with sudden illness. This was but one in a series of maladies to have plagued the small hamlet for nearly a decade.

None of the remedies, old or new, worked and no word could be sent for help. A dense fog choked the land and too often did travelers go missing in its depths. Only the copse of ancient oaks that encompassed the village kept the miasma at bay. After a fortnight and fearing the spread of plague, the children were all sequestered in the McTavish homestead.

None can say what transpired, but when the sun rose on the third day of their isolation, the fog had been lifted. The home had been razed to the ground, all that remained were ashes and iron. As the first of the townsfolk reached the smoking site, they witnessed Farrow carrying the last of the children to safety before collapsing.

Now in his early 20s, Farrow travels from village to village led by the same voice he heard that fateful night.

Abilities:

Vitality: (8) Youthful vigor surges through Farrow, granting him exceptional reserves of stamina.
Strength: (10) The travois that trails behind him is no hindrance, despite its load.
Finesse: (3) No one would call Farrow nimble, but he can move when need be.
Perception: (6) A keen eye and sharp ear are necessary faculties for one who spends so much time on the road.
Intelligence: (4) While not formally educated, he is able enough to learn new skills at a normal rate.
Wisdom: (5) A life of humility and condescension have given Farrow great insight into the minds of Perafidion's people. He has witnessed great acts of charity from those who had nothing while spurned by those who "represented" the Light.
Faith: (10) An encounter in his childhood with the Light's Providence has instilled within Farrow the inferno of a zealot.
Occult: (4)When in doubt, Duirméar is able to come to conclusions.

Equipment

Duirméar: (4) A sturdy cudgel crafted from the roots of an oak from Duirvale's sacred glade. Its haft is bound in the hide of a white stag and ends with a loop to secure it about his wrist. The striking end has been hollowed out and filled with iron. Tip to tip it is 3'5".

Laindéar: (2) A tarnished bronze mantle-lantern fueled by Farrow's conviction. Its empyreal beams can pierce through the Darkness.

Compás: (1) An iron nail hung on cordage made from the hair of the seventh son of a seventh son. Farrow wears it beneath his muffler, moving in the direction of its occasional tug.

Travois: Bearing all of Farrow's earthly possessions, the heavy wooden frame is lashed together with leather bands. Its contents consist of a spare set of clothing, tools of various trades, furs used as bedding and an assortment of salted meats and sacks of grain.

The Darkness Encroaches

are there any established orthodoxies? considering a cleric on pilgrimage.

Step Up, Get Knocked Out

As the archway above and behind her bursts with the sudden impact of crushed lead, her resolve strengthens with the explosive confirmation of her suspicions. If not a demon, it was still a creature of immense power in the husk of a man. Najwa wondered- how much power?

She recalled one particular lesson during her training with Asad. As a human in a rapidly changing world where geomancy or telekinesis were becoming the norm, his wits were his greatest weapon.

For now, she wouldn't reveal the extent of her own capabilities. Her movements carry her laterally while the first pebbles behind her strike the ground; she double-taps the trigger once more and aims for its center mass. The shots are timed just before she bounds behind a robed mummy. Her goal is to reach the creature's left flank while steadily closing the distance between them, using the myriad shrines as cover.

All of these motions had the appearance of a highly trained operative moving with tactical efficiency and a bit of good timing.

Step Up, Get Knocked Out

Gossamer pennons of fragrant smoke rose slowly from the occasional brazier scattered through out the wide chamber. She wonders if these mummified remains surrounding her are the victims of the slowly rising form. Its movements were strained, and its bones cracked like splintering wood. How long had it been there, waiting?

It spoke the language of her southern cousins with a voice like wind passing through gnarled roots. It gestured at the ground at its feet in invitation; to what? The longer she remained in this place, the more unnatural it felt. Not in the same way as Marange, where life flourished in fantastic fashion. This was a place of death.

The mtyholi were known for their treachery and spoke such sweet words to lull so many to their doom. She would not allow this. Two shots ring out and sand erupts at its feet. She makes a mental note of the remaining 8 rounds in her magazine.

"Return me now! I warn you, there will be consequences!" Her tone remains even as she takes a slight step to her left, repositioning herself so that she was provided partial cover by one of the mummies.

Cat, got your tongue (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

4-8-2039
Hamta Pass, Himalayas

A haze descends upon a lone rider as the sun falls behind the summit of Mt. Indrasa, muting the beauty of approaching dusk. Rhododendron stalks droop beneath the rain's oppression. The sound of hooves is lost to the surging waters of the Hamta river as the horse steadily climbs and a burlap sack fastened to the saddle sways. Three hours of hard riding behind him, with another two yet to come until he reached the glacier in Lahaul.

The rider adjusts the heavy shawl wrapped around his shoulders and jaw as he comes to a small bluff. A few reassuring pats and he dismounts, eager for the smooth terrain of the Shea Goru plain that lay hidden beneath a fog that obscured all but the highest neighboring peaks.

He rubs some sensation back into his legs and once satisfied begins to rummage through a saddle bag. Producing a wrapped bundle of beets, he removes one from the bunch and returns the rest. The horse eats eagerly from a gloved hand while insects gather round.

The man dismisses the insects with a wave and unfastens the sack from the saddle. It squelches as he pulls the burlap loose from the congealed blood and ligament of a severed head.

1-8-2039
Anatnag District, Jammu & Kashmir

Deodar cedars sway to and fro as a cool afternoon breeze sweeps through the Lidder valley. Seated outside Khuda's meazbaan, a man in light cotton clothing happily sips rose-colored tea. The previous two days in the hill station of Pahalgam had brought many delights; none more so than the cuisine. His contemplation of the tea's bold flavor is cut short as a woman's voice whispers in his ear.

"Target vehicles approaching from the south."

A week ago he'd been in Mumbai, investigating reports of increased activity amongst black market arms dealers. Now, he wasn't quite so sure what he'd uncovered. Two sleek SUV's came to a halt a few businesses from where the man sat, observing surreptitiously.

"Do your thing, Ekhi." His response came as he took another sip, his thoughts vocalized to the AI through sub-dermal implants. A stream of visual information blipped into existence, feeding him data on the vehicle, its occupants and their unique modifications. Heavily armed and enhanced, each bore a rotating briolette on their left temple; visible only through augmented reality. This was most definitely it. "Tartalo here. Commencing operation."

The man faded from sight, a handful of coins left beside the unfinished cup.

6-8-2039
Mt. Indrasa, Himalayas

Gales blast Tartalo against the sheer rockface as he chipped away with the adze of an ice-axe, creating some footing for himself. He engaged a haptic lock, removing all worry about his grip failing him at this dizzying height. Somewhere, an hour or two after his ascent he would reach his destination. All the intel he'd recovered led him here, grazing the world's ceiling.

He gave another swing, ice-axe passing through open air as he awkwardly shifted, suddenly weightless. Space distorted around him then came back into focus, finding himself surrounded by gleaming surfaces and bustling technicians.

"Que carajo? Where was my warning?" Tartalo fumed, picking himself up from the teleportation chamber's floor. Whether he addressed those around him or Ekhi was unsure. The uniformed figure of General Millheiser stepped forward as a dossier accounting the events of the last 48 hours since Allure touched down was fed to Ekhi.

"You've been reassigned."

Glasslands: A Griot's Tale (Earth-F67X Chronicle)

Ayanda Nyerere - Leader and founder of NYUNDO, Ayanda is an extension of the land. She is its living memory and champion. After liberating Marange, much of her effort has gone into expanding their reach and help as many as they can across the continent.

Assad "The Lion" Moghadani - Commander of NYUNDO's military operations, Assad is a shrewd tactician that has overseen the training of hundreds in his 20+ years of membership.

Kengue Njuguna - NYUNDO's youngest active member, he is the reason for the organization's speedy response-time. Can bridge locations together via imperceptible portals.

Khethiwe Hlela - A former soldier and comrade of Ayanda, Khethiwe has found fulfillment away from the battlefield and helps the newly arrived to transition into their new surroundings. Associates frequently with Makemba.

Mshale Onyango - A powerful telekine, he was the first official member of NYUNDO and Ayanda's former bodyguard. Molded by the violence that was necessary to survive the early years of the Diaspora, he has withdrawn from the vibrancy of Marange. He seldom speaks to others, only confiding in Ayanda and Mwedzi, his lover.

Najwa "The Lioness" Moghadani - Once rescued as a child during a raid on a Xanathan Research Division lab, she is the most prominent operative in the newest generation of NYUNDO.

Eumelio "Nuberu" Loureiro - An exile from Mt. Diaba, Nuberu has been sent by Ayanda to assess the Glasslands and report any discoveries.

Takunda & Tatonga Gwinyai - Jovial and brave to a fault, the Gwinyai twins were soldiers during the earliest incarnations of NYUNDO. Tatonga fell in combat during the establishment of a forward operating base further up the Eastern coast. Takunda now oversees the logistics of Marange's daily operations.

Step Up, Get Knocked Out

Najwa

The Lioness aka Najwa Moghadani
Age: 26
Height: 187cm
Weight: 84kg

History

Born in Xanathan-controlled South Africa during the second decade of their tyranny, Najwa spent most of her childhood under observation. She underwent endless experimentation due to her specific mutation; granted a highly adaptive genome, she was an ideal candidate for fringe research.

The trajectory of her life changed during her eighth and final year in captivity. The geneticists were giddy at their latest creation, dubbed XRD-70. They gushed at their genius, twisted grins floating around her restrained form. She would validate their lifetimes of collective effort.

The pain was ineffable. Najwa writhed in agony against her shackles as her genetic code was rewritten. It was at the moment when she could no longer register what happened as pain, but a very scouring of her being, that she lost consciousness.

When she awoke, it was to smoke and the blaring of an emergency broadcast. She was lifted up and carried through formerly austere hallways now littered with debris and the crumpled bodies of guards and technicians. This was her first encounter with those who would become her family.

A decade later, Najwa has moved beyond the horrors of her upbringing to become one of NYUNDO's ablest operatives. She fights to prevent any further atrocities against her people. She fights to free the land from Xanathan. She fights because it is right.

Talents

- Proficient tactician and strategist, having spent the last 10 years engaging hostile forces. As the adoptive daughter of Asad Moghadani, she continues on a legacy of brilliant commanders.

- Masterful in hand-to-hand and armed combat, Najwa prefers to stay close to her opponents and this is reflected in her martial pastiche. She makes full use of her enhanced strength and speed to explosive effect.

- An expert military operative, Najwa is well-versed in most disciplines but specializes in intelligence gathering, marksmanship, unconventional warfare and long-term survival skills.

Powers

- Adaptive Genome: Born with a perfect and highly adaptive genetic code, Najwa has yet to realize the full potential of this ability. In conjunction with the XRD-70 serum, her secondary mutations manifested.

- Enhanced Strength & Durability: Najwa is able to consistently lift and sustain weights in excess of 1,000 lbs with minimal effort. This strength also extends to her legs, enabling her to leap 30 ft in a single bound or 15 ft into the air without a running start. Najwa's musculature and skeletal system are resilient enough to withstand nearby explosions or heavy concussive blows with minor discomfort.

- Enhanced Speed & Agility: Najwa is capable of maintaining a constant speed of 40 mph and can exert herself to sprint at speeds approaching 80 mph. Her agility is of such a magnitude that she can perfectly coordinate her body with superior balance, dexterity and flexibility and perform incredible acrobatic feats.

- Enhanced Reflexes & Senses: By combining her preternatural reaction time and increased mental processing, Najwa is capable of avoiding gunfire from multiple shooters simultaneously by intuitively mapping their trajectory. Her senses are so keen that she can hear approaching vehicles from miles away, sense the body heat from huddled masses through walls and see the heat trails of bullets.

- Enhanced Stamina & Healing: Najwa's body eliminates the excessive build-up of fatigue-inducing chemicals in her muscles, granting her exceptional endurance and lung-capacity. She can exert herself at maximum capacity for over an hour before showing signs of slowing. Her immune system was naturally highly resilient, but with the introduction of XRD-70, her white cells are efficient enough to fight off any microbe, pathogen or foreign body. She is immune to all infections and diseases, as well as being unaffected by toxins or drugs. Broken bones and internal wounds mend in days while superficial lacerations are treated in minutes.

- Enhanced Mental Processing: Najwa's mental performance has been increased to such a degree that she has near-limitless information storage and excels at pattern-recognition. She processes and internalizes information at an amazing rate, granting her an accelerated learning aptitude. A byproduct of this is the ability to withstand the brunt of psychic warfare.

Equipment

- While resembling a standard issue Tropical Combat Uniform, Najwa's fatigues are woven from the fibers of a plant that only grows deep within Marange, cultivated through Ayanda's geomancy and imbued with her protection. The fabric is comparable to Type III armor, stopping most rifle calibers and is highly insulated and flame-resistant. Her gloves and boots are crafted from the same material.

- Forged from a composite of minerals created by Ayanda during the course of her lifetime organizing the peoples of the Free Territories, Najwa's weapon of choice is a broad machete, nearly three feet in length and a foot across. Aside from being durable enough to handle Najwa's strength, the material acts as a telekill alloy, severely hindering psionic ability when charged and activated. The knuckles on her gloves are also fortified with this material.

- Najwa's war-belt is equipped with hunting knife, reconnaissance tools, limited first-aid, spare magazines and holster for her service pistol, an USP .45

- Carried somewhere on her person is a crystalline obelisk that acts as a communicator and beacon in times of need, keeping her in touch with NYUNDO.

Step Up, Get Knocked Out

"A few minutes longer and I am not so sure escape would have been possible. You were foolish to risk being captured, habibi." The old man sat, absent-mindedly picking at a cuticle of his wooden prosthesis. A heavy sigh and soft chuckle before he continued. "But here you are, and hundreds owe you their lives. You couldn't make me prouder."

Back turned to him, Najwa washed away the blood and ash of the previous 6 hours. The remains of the Xanathan uniform she'd expropriated earlier lay in a huddled mass by her father and commander's feet. Having completed her report, she stepped away from the alcove artfully hewn into solid rock and entered an adjoining chamber of her quarters.

She returned moments later, now comfortable in her fatigues and ready for further admonishing when her environment subtly shifted. Upon retrospect, she could never determine what exactly occurred. Najwa found herself in a dimly lit hall. Gone were the scents of Kethiwe's cooking. The sounds of tired and grateful villagers adjusting to the sudden upheaval of their lives once more.

Fingertips brushed against the cragged surface of a massive stone tablet, depicting a seated figure draped in many robes. Something... a fire perhaps? A cold gust of air sailed the corridor's length and on it danced the heady perfume of incense and mucidity. There... breathing?

Apprehensive at the alien nature of her arrival and surroundings, Najwa drew her pistol and readied it. Like her namesake, the Lioness silently approached the source of what she was almost certain was breathing, passing through several chambers before reaching the wide arch that gave way to an expansive hall. The mountains that broke through the thick haze beyond narrow carvings in the stone were unlike any she had seen across her homeland.

A few steps further and she was met with the locus of her unease. He... It- had its back to her and sat in the center of a pool of sand, neatly surrounded by the dregs of seeds and... what smelled like sap? The Gwinyai brothers told tales of mtyholi, devils of the jungle, that drew power from terrible places. This thing, that seemed to be both living and dead, must be one of them.

Najwa stood nearly ten yards away, weapon up and pointed at the center of its back. Finger on the trigger and alert for the slightest provocation, she called out in Xhosa.

"Did you bring me here? What is this place?"

The Meatspin

while replete with jargon and no out right attacks having launched, plenty has happened to make the environment deadly.