BCTheEntity

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

He'd adapted as he'd climbed.

Increasingly, the toxic environment of the undercity had become less and less threatening to him. Much of the change was internal, organs adapting to wholly process what he consumed, circulation growing more capable of handling the waste products without loss, hearing growing increasingly sensitive to account for minimal light, but so too had his skin toughened and hardened, more resilient to toxin and claw alike. The very few scars gained from younger years had faded to fresh tissue.

It had, too, occurred to him that the rotten-fleshed beings he'd encountered were not so prone to his control as a true dragon. They were, to his best understanding, "human", but so debased by the poisons of both their environment and the emotions of hate and frenzy as to have fallen beneath classification. Less so, however, the higher he rose toward surface level... granted, actual tainted runoff drained downward, yet if anything, the general aura of pervasive bloodseeking grew ever more intense. He did appreciate the opportunity to hone his psychological defenses, but he found more and more fights the further up he went.

It was little surprise, then, when he passed through the opening at the top of yet another ladder, and was suddenly hit with several simultaneous volleys of heat. Heat enough to sear flesh from bone in an instant.

But not his flesh or his bone. Once more, deep-seated truth revealed itself: fire and heat would touch him not.

'Frak me, it didn't even flinch!' came the first outcry, originating from one of the several black-armoured humans that had just shot him. "It". The devolved humans below, seen as no better than the dragons outside. And he, mistaken for one of them. There was a humour to it.

And yes, these were the ones he'd looked for, the slave drivers who captured mutants for unknown reasons. But they seemed to have a very strange idea of what constituted capture, considering their next effort was to hurl small metal tubes at him... oh, they were going to explode. More fire, more heat. And... what was a "shockwave"?

---

Sa'mitah thanked the Black King that the flashbangs had done their job. The fact that the plasma volleys hadn't even phased it was honestly terrifying - but it was just as vulnerable to five loud bursts of noise as anything else. More, even, since it seemed to keel over from that alone, hands over its ears as it growled in incoherent agony despite no harm to its actual body at all.

'Alright, the mutant's down,' declared Sa'krah, walking over to the downed beast-thing. 'Get it chained up... whoof, this is a big one, must be a drake-tiger or some shit. How far did you go to get here, fella? Ya little...' Smirking, the squad leader kicked it round the face, taking a big step back as it bit out at the impact. Much as Sa'mitah appreciated violence, he was always bothered by Sa'krah's sheer recklessness and, honestly, sadism. That wasn't what the Black King wished for, not to hurt something that was already beaten.

Still, chains were applied to its arms and legs by him and the rest of the crew - not metal links, but bands that linked to each other through the Ether, the invisible sky that the ether-dragons soared in when they weren't manifesting in the Human Plane, strong enough to hold even the most powerful of dragons once they locked on, and agonising if they tried to pull against it. Sure enough, its legs clamped together, only capable of the smallest motions as it was hauled upright by the whole team once the remains of the grenades were gathered back up, whilst its arms locked tightly behind its back.

...yeah. Arms.

'Uh, sir? I'm not sure this is a drake,' he commented after a few minutes of travel, looking the mutant over yet again. It sure had the scales to be a drake, or even a dragon... but it was upright, not just hunched but really standing fully, like a human mutant would. Sure, its arms and legs were weirdly long, but they didn't look disproportionate, at least not the way you'd expect of a misshapen creature. Hell, its whole body was well-formed, not randomly twisted - under all the scales, it seemed close to normal, even impressive if the musculature he was seeing was real.

'Yeah, well, that's not exactly important,' came the cold response from Sa'krah. 'It ain't your job to classify these freaks, Sam, it's to capture them for the Arena.' Even as he said this, the man looked over their newest acquisition too, helmet already off and platinum-blonde hair on display in a show of intense arrogance. Sa'mitah knew damn well that he was looking for both quality of fighter and an excuse to hit it again. The title of Duel Manager didn't come without proper experience, both in gaining and distributing one's fighters, but from Sa'mitah's perspective, Sa'krah had never been a great candidate for it. He was too cold-blooded, the King's Fire didn't live in him. He longed to abuse his charges, and rarely missed opportunities on the trip back.

Which made it very, very strange that none arose from this mutant. Whilst reactions differed between what they caught, usually there was at least some struggle, especially from the drakes. Once it had recovered from the obvious pain of having its ears blown out, this one... this one hadn't even tried to escape. It stared straight ahead, seemingly ignoring them as it chewed at its... wait, had it had lips before? Or was the blood on its razor-like teeth and round its mouth from where it had struck the floor? Either way, the visual image of it working its jaw and exposing just how many rows of teeth it had helped make it look all the more threatening. A reminder that these things were just as dangerous as the dragons outside. Whatever intelligence they had, it was twisted too far, turned into just another way for them to kill those up top.

Still. He couldn't help but feel this one was different. Something in its violently-orange, cross-slitted eyes.

Otherwise, the return trip wasn't noteworthy. The Black King's Arena had quarters for its fighters, separated into the true gladiators and the mutants scavenged from the Underhive; their entry point, same as their exit point, led directly into the latter, and as Sa'krah looked over the schedule near by, Sa'mitah considered the grey rockcrete surrounds, jagged and blocky in precise, pseudo-random manner, designed to agitate the senses whilst leaving almost nothing to stimulate the mind, leaving the victim irritated between matches. Frankly, whoever had designed it had done an amazing job!

'Whadda you think, Sam, this thing gonna do us proud?' asked Rud'rah from behind, his helm off to expose his shock of black hair and near-black eyes. Sa'mitah nodded, still quietly thinking about what they had on them... the claws, that was part of it. They almost looked-

'Oh, perfect!' exclaimed Sa'krah, interrupting the train of thought. 'We got back just in time; the next fight's in ten. Rig'vedah, tell the Head Manager we're doing a swap to test what our new get can do.' The woman nodded, sweeping out toward the Overlook to find the Arena's boss, leaving just four to manage bringing the new warrior into readiness.

'Guess it's a shame about the change in regs,' Sa'krah continued, talking now to said warrior as much as the rest of the team as they dragged it toward the entryway. 'Stupid we have to provide "at least minimal outfitting for combat" for these stains. Oh, armour and a sword, do you think- do you really need a weapon?' he asked metaphorically, expecting no answer.

'Well, sir, it's just fair-' A backhand shut Sa'mitah up immediately, that cold, pain-seeking glare now turned on him. He felt a tooth jostle in his mouth, and did his best to hold it in place with his tongue.

'It's idiotic, Sam. These things don't deserve a fair shot, they're here to be slaughtered like a puny dragon would. If I could go down there and frak 'em all up myself, I would. And what- you wouldn't?'

Sa'mitah said nothing. Sa'krah could and very well would frak up his subordinates, too. He'd seen the aftermath of what he'd done to Mit'rah. Sa'krah had been called out for his actions. And in response... well, it didn't bear thinking about.

'That's what I thought.' Sa'krah turned back to the mutant, which... was looking at them. 'What about you, ya big frakoff bastard? Got any thoughts in that dopey head of yours? Plans to kill everyone you meet?' He grinned again, finally finding a good reason in himself to send a punch into its upper arm - only to utter a sharp gasp as he drew the fist back suddenly, shaking off the pain of what looked like a scraped knuckle. What the... how tough was this thing?

And... hey. Hey, it did look like it had changed, didn't it? Where were the scales that had been on its face before? Now he was sure this had been human once, and yet...

It took a deep breath in, then flexed its limbs. Four loud bursts of metal sent the crew scattering backward, and a moment later, Sa'mitah startled at the recognition that it had just burst the cuffs containing it with minimal effort. Casually, it brought its arms forward, pulling the metal away from its wrists even as it used its feet to pull off those round its ankles - and for the first time Sa'mitah could recall, Sa'krah showed fear, backpedalling wildly.

'Hey, HEY! Stay right there you shitstain!' he called out, drawing another flashbang and pulling the pin. 'Remember these, yeah? You want some more of this, mutie, or you gonna stay frakking put?!' Right, those had done the trick before! Sa'mitah got one of his own ready, though for now kept it unprimed. Something in his gut told him to wait. The way it looked over Sa'krah calmly... even now, totally unphased. The sheer volume had caught it off-guard before. It knew what to expect when-

In the time it took Sa'mitah to blink, it crossed the distance to Sa'krah and did- something, something involving great speed and an unpleasant crunch, a muffled cry of pain from- it had one great hand clamped firmly round Sa'krah's mouth and jaw, and he seemed hurt, but also looked just as confused as Sa'mitah felt, until he looked down and saw he was only holding the lever of the flashbang.

...oh.

Sa'krah's panicked effort to pull himself free of the scaled claw ended with an abrupt BANG. Flesh, blood, skull fragments and brain matter splattered the room, going everywhere save on to the mutant, shielded by its own hand from blast and blood alike. It had flinched now, but this time only momentarily.

He dropped the grenade, arms limp with shock. No- yes, but no. Shock at Sa'krah's abrupt death, sure as anybody else there- violent death wasn't exactly rare, just unusual for the Arena staff specifically- but something else in him... stories, stories he'd forgotten... was this...?

'What... what are you?' he asked quietly, his voice filled with what he was now recognising as awe.

It looked at him dispassionately, then turned and headed toward the entryway to the arena proper. But of course it would ignore him. He'd not threatened it, and now wasn't the time. He'd get the armour ready, just in case. But he was increasingly sure it wouldn't need it.

If this was what he thought it was, after all, he was about to witness something truly incredible.

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

It was known to him, based on Shamhat alone and in spite of her husk of a true form, that the rate at which a normal human walked could, with reasonable stamina and rest, cover anywhere from thirty to fifty kilometres in one day. In hindsight, he realised that this value too was ingrained before the words ever knew him - one thousand metres, each metre a set length, a value he had an instinctual grasp of even after recognising the precise distance it represented. It seemed that a lot of information was known to him subconsciously at this stage, though how much would likely remain unknown until it was important to know, and he could trust that it would guide him nonetheless. Likewise, he was not even close to his full adulthood - human lifespan included a period of roughly twenty “years” of immaturity. Not the cycles of this land, though. They measured time elsewhere. He had no clue where that was, and suspected that even trying to determine them required more information than he possessed, but by this system his age measured roughly three “years”.

Another part wholly understood that, even in his current state, he could, if he so chose, travel much further, much faster, and barely break a sweat. He was also conscious of his own stalling. Much slower than normal human pace. He did not, in fact, want to reach Qal’Asurah yet - not a fear of the place, but a recognition that if it were anything like Euphro-Uruk, if his encounter with Shamhat had any correlation to humans there, that he would need to steel himself further or risk being lost again. And equally, an unwillingness to abandon his pack, hive, flock… companions. That was the word she’d used. No matter his intellect compared to theirs, they were companions to him.

But.

But he could not stall forever.

After nineteen days, he sensed something distant. Vast in scope.

Impossibly vast.

…not at all impossible. Quite particularly not so. Efficiently put together, in fact, if the metric for efficiency was a combination of lifestyle and population density.

He’d found the humans. Potentially, he’d found Qal’Asurah.

‘You have to stop here.’ The instruction to his drakes and dragons was quiet, but resonated deeply in them, even as the resonance returned with combinations of… nameless queries, worry of abandonment, and for the more self-aware sadness that he was leaving. He returned it again, ensuring they knew his feelings, his intent to leave only briefly before he came back to them, and his confidence that they knew how to keep themselves fed and gather new members for his return. This time, the response was positive. They knew he would.

And he did. No longer restrained, he ran, his body moving as the dragon-leopards did, lithely passing around forest and over canopies as if they were solid land with no obstacles whatsoever. Two kilometres- four kilometres- he sped up, now- seven, then ten kilometres- he imagined that only the fastest of the dragons would be able to keep up by air even if they were following on- fifteen- twenty- twenty five-

Suddenly, he paused at the edge of a clearing.

There rose something that, if he hadn’t already recognised its scale, might have been incomprehensible at a glance. A structure, or perhaps a great mass of structures, climbing into the sky like a steel spear trying to puncture the clouds of steam and smoke emerging from it. About the spire, walls, insanely tall in themselves, dwarfing many of the trees that surrounded the land in fact, topped with a range of structures featuring- dragonbreath? No, but similar in the sense of providing range to slay from, each scanning for any sign of life, eager to kill.

Eager? Yes, all too eager. These turrets contained more examples of the bizarre energy-dragon he’d encountered before. Not the same, though. Where that one had been overtly erogenous, seeking pain and pleasure equally, these… these only sought bloodshed. Battle and death.

A direct assault would be like charging a drake-rhinoceros- he could do it, but it’d be unnecessarily dangerous. And stealth in the manner of dragon-cats, near-impossible. But… but but but… if he were to take inspiration from the drake-termites? The drake-moles? Both humble compared to their more intelligent counterparts. Both with more unique qualities, qualities that let them pass through the very earth, channelling passages- this city’s lowest depths sunk into the earth, beneath the level the turrets would see, guarded only by the dense walls themselves.

Not nearly dense enough to stop him.

Taking several paces back, to guarantee a broken line of sight, he found a suitable spot, flexing his fingers until they popped, then began to claw at the dirt, discarding it around the hole as it developed. Deeper, deeper… deeper still, yes. With each pass, he grew more adept, finding his rhythm, finding it easier to burrow faster, and soon enough finding that the dirt he threw out simply landed back upon himself… time to move inward.

Hm. His claws had grown longer. Useful, for this case. Perhaps similar to the inner flame he’d manifested? He’d look into that later.

For now, passage through the ground toward the city was simple enough. He was hardly hindered; the ground was no tougher, though more rocky the closer he got… more, more… there. The walls. Far, far, harder to claw through, enough to deter most underground assaults - but then, he had oxygenated himself plenty before this. Time was no issue, and nor was the barricade itself, for where the claws of dragons would get no purchase, his own had the strength to pierce and cut free the material before him. It was interesting how it differed from what lay about him, though, what he’d seen in the past… as if it were layered into itself, almost.

And then, he broke through. Taking his first deep breath in several minutes, he noted the taste of the air: not enough oxygen, too much of everything else, shortening the lifespans of any who were not adapted to handle it by decades for their troubles. And even expanding the hole… perhaps this was an unfortunate spot, but he seemed to be a few dozen metres away from the nearest solid ground. Though, a relatively quick climb downward made no difference, landing him on more of that layered rock in a narrow, near-lightless hallway.

And there was life here. Somehow, a human stalked the halls- or a thing that may once have been human, or may once have been dragon, or both. It sensed him, turned, attacked with a cry of hate-

And landed in several pieces on the ground, its gore splattering him. He’d not expected a great fight, but compared to the dragons he’d hunted, it was as if it totally lacked protection. Just like Shamhat: fragile as a leaf. Or, rather, it had had a shell on its back at least, like a dragon-turtle. That hadn’t helped it when it was upright, though.

He needed more information. And, honestly, he needed sustenance too.

A few mouthfuls gave him insight. The flesh tasted wrong, rotten almost, much as the Seer’s had, and the insights in question were of the same unfocused quality as most dragons, if not worse - but they told him that more such things wandered down here, devouring whatever they could find and subsisting on toxic fluids that burned even their mouths to consume. And humans from above came, killed them, took them away… no wonder its first thought was to attack. Its life had been a piteous one, and its death had come from something it couldn’t comprehend as different from whatever else antagonised it.

It gave him some idea of where to go to examine Qal’Asurah further, though. This, clearly, was the standard of its depths, albeit this particular corridor presented an unusually-remote space; presumably, those further up would be less burdened by such awful conditions that they had to devolve to survive. And to move up, he could either climb again, fighting to ground level once again - or, more reliably, find humans to “capture” him, and hope that they represented the least ethical of the city’s populace. Between the two options, the latter seemed like it’d be faster.

Even that might take time. But then, time was no issue.

Future-Cop Monster-Girl Police Academy

Fam you know I'm interested in this.

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

Something was wrong. Had been wrong, now, for the last two weeks.

For "starters", the "concepts" of "arbitrary" "lengths" of "time" had "entered" his "lexicon". A "week"? A "passage" of "six" "day"-"night" "cycles"? "Two" of them, "twelve" "days"? What "value" did this have to him? Why had he suddenly started to "think" this way?

It was unnatural. His view of the world, somehow, had been soiled. That he was even aware of this, that he was now putting into "words" what had before been pure "instinct"-

His tethers to the dragons of his tribe had been compromised. His connection to them, whilst untouched, could nevertheless not be repaired. "Repaired". Fixed, mended, put back together. A time when concepts had flashed through his head like bolts of lightning, known but unnamed, now seemed painfully distant, though it had been merely two weeks since-

For the first time since his arrival, he exerted his frustration outwardly, noise leaving his throat as a guttural roar of angst and fury as he broke down a great many trees, trying in vain to quiet his mind's newfound eloquence. This disgusted him. This was unwanted, this was not what he knew.

Again: it was unnatural. Something had imposed it upon him, against his will or knowledge, and no matter how he demanded it, it kept slipping back in... from where? How, what, in what way could he deal with this? His dragons served no good purpose in this regard, for they too were affected, or at least so unaffected that they could not-

No. That discredited them. Since the arrival of the dragon-hawks, more had joined the pack. Drake-hounds, dragon-lions, drake-moles... and, amusingly, yet more hives of drake-termites. They seemed to be everywhere. Not to mention their dragon-wasp cousins, which had only been discovered eight days prior.

Them. They were the key. It was a wide berth, a broad area that his herd covered. The territory of the dragon-wasps ought to cover a broad spectrum. But, simply tuning into their senses, what they saw and felt... a region they should have been within was, simply put, empty. And, if he was careful, and if he caught what ailed him in his thoughts, followed its thread, never touching it for what it may do it his mind...

Abruptly, he broke into a sprint, charging down the identified threat - a dragon, yes, but nothing so pleasant as those he'd known before. Not a dragon of meat, but of raw emotion, energy that threatened to infiltrate his being through its mere presence, alluring in its very nature - that was to say, unnatural.

The thing he tackled to the earth, grasped bodily in both sets of great claws, was nothing short of both erogenous and horrifying. Its shape, very roughly, matched his own, though faintly purplish and half-female in sex, as if a breeding pair had been forced into each other's space until they merged, its body ensconsed in grotesque, mismatched metal and black hide, with one manipulator replaced with... it seemed a claw, albeit rather than many distinct digits, it simply presented one overlarge, crushing appendage. A fist to his hand. And he'd been right: its very energy repulsed and aroused in equal measure, such that a mere dragon would soon be taken over by it. No wonder its territory was empty, those dragons leaving it had surely been killed to prevent its infection from spreading further.

"Haaaaa. Well doooooone," it trilled at him. Words. Was this what had been put into his, his, mind, these... utterances of meaning?

"Why are you waitiiiing? I want my rewaaaaaard."

He knew very well what that meant.

He'd not give this nightmare anything of the sort.

His claws dug into its flesh, and he ripped it in twain vertically, head-first- or attempted to, for as it perished its very form dissolved in his grasp, dissipating like air with a displeasing cackle of delight, and leaving him grasping nothing before it could be entirely bisected. But at long last, his mind stilled a ways... the discomfort of its presence faded. Alas, his thoughts remained verbal... but, at least, the threat of its intoxicating energy was erased.

'Well that's a touch rude, dear.' He whirled to face the speaker. Another being, again matching his own nature - two-legged, two-armed, walking upright. This one, at least, was entirely female, judging by its features and its lengthy blonde head-fur. 'Syn'veey'n took a long time to manifest, you know. Still, with you here...'

He looked at her without expression, examining for a time. Unlike himself, she was covered, though barely - thin pink fabric draped over her in places, obscuring her body in ways that, it seemed, intended to allure much as the energy of the thing invading his head had, albeit... not so overtly. The effort here was entirely physical, or so it seemed. Nothing touching his thoughts now. Indeed, as she looked back at him with unrestricted interest, he quickly realised that she too was a physical being - dragon in truth, instead of mere presence. But... not even that?

...what was a "human"?

'Oh, my apologies,' she uttered, as if realising for the first time. 'This must all be very confusing for you, darling.' An affectionate name. He lacked any name so far, in fact. It had been unnecessary, after all. In fact, it still was.

'Perhaps I'll explain, then,' the female- no, "woman" was the word, that was how "humans" preferred to be called. "Woman" and "man". 'You see, I, and those I associate with, realised not so long ago that the dragons in the area were acting... strangely.' They'd yet to return to the area, he acknowledged. 'And lo and behold, what do we find upon seeking through the Veil? You, you delightful morsel!'

Food? No, another term of affection. She wished to mate with him, no doubt.

'And when we realised it was a human doing all this, well! I suppose you see how much we value you, hmm?' Tentatively, he nodded, not entirely sure what she meant, before she added 'Oh, perhaps I ought to introduce myself, dear. I am Shamhat, Seer of the Most Potent and Luxurious City of Euphro-Uruk. It is a... genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance... how should I label you... Forest Son?' This last statement was not preferable to him, he had to be frank. The word itself naturally lent far more depth than those two meanings alone, to do with knowledge of the environment, and with the emergence of man from water and knowledge where woman emerged from earth and feeling; and to do as well with the suggestion of lordship, of innate goodness no matter the locale, and therefore dominion over any land he strode upon and all within it.

Both bothered him greatly to consider. They reminded him of what he'd lost.

'I am sorry, sweetling,' she continued, seeing what was on his mind through his features as she approached at a stroll. 'I say again, this must all be so sudden for you, to be hit with such strange things after so long alone... the dragons, of course, but they aren't wonderful companions, are they?' True, they served as good allies, but if he thought back... well, what they presented in their own thoughts, their own perceptions, was never up to par with the way his own conception of reality came together. It was as if he were... not merely one step ahead of them, but ten, or even twenty or more. Perhaps this, then, his final cognition of language, was inevitable, for more humans than just himself existed on this... world... well, of course, there was a whole world out there, of dragons and of humans, yes, and indeed it seemed there were far more dragons than humans, enough that the humans might struggle against them.

'Oh yes, dear, a great struggle,' Shamhat confirmed for him, smiling as she reached him. 'You see why you are so important? You, you alone love, can turn the tide of this dreadful predicament we're in. Although, as long as we are currently alone... I'm sure you understand breeding amongst dragons, of course, but you don't know exactly what you've been missing, do you?' Hmm, was that important? Well, she still wished to mate. Did he want that, too? She'd laid a hand on his chest, as if confirming what her eyes told her. 'Perhaps, whilst we're here, whilst we're alone, my charming young man... perhaps you'd give me the honour of letting me show you just how good it can be?'

Perhaps... as if seeing what was on his mind again, wanting to help him make the decision, her hand slid lower-

On his mind-

In- she was in his mind-

'HURCK-!' Her advances, on both his head and his body, were swiftly interrupted by his hand through her guts, the rending claws tearing the abdominal cavity open. His arm had passed straight through like it was water. Compared to even the pithiest dragons of her size, she was as fragile as a leaf.

'You have ruined my peace,' he muttered to her. Of course she had, she was the master of the emotion-thing claiming dragonhood. Stupid of him, to not realise after the same sort of attack! Was he so easily taken by these corruptions? He-

She was still in there!

'Nnnnnugh...' And what was that moan? Why was she blushing?! That wasn't the agony of impending death, that was sexual! And she'd thought-

Just as suddenly, waves of feeling flooded him. Not dissimilar to the energy of the dragon he'd just torn open, easily as vile and appealing in equal measure if not moreso. More focused, though. Her own pain and pleasure from being impaled, pressured into him in an effort to force his hand- or other aspects of him, no doubt. Was this what all other humans experienced? Was he doomed to-

No. Ironically, the more extreme sensations refocused his instinct. Instinct: his true refuge after all, for it brought him back to his truth. It acted for him.

One swift movement crushed her entire head within his jaws, and at once she went limp, her attempt on his psyche evaporating like so much mist. As if a wall broke, he felt the dragons of his pack approach once more, the threat undone now that the head behind it was gone. Even still, her body shuddered, as if- no, not that. This was the shudder of reality reasserting itself, as her true form presented from beneath the illusion, a twisted, crone-like figure with still-writhing tendrils erupting from the flesh of each limb, the hand that had touched him a half-claw unto itself, as if armoured to assemble into the form at will. Awful. And that had sought to mate with him.

He reverted to instinct again, and spat up a ball of flame to burn away the body. Not just spat, though - he'd learned his fire-spitting some time ago. This was much the same as Shamhat's attack on his mind... "psychic". Though his, at least, was purer. More honest. At the very least, it helped cleanse the flavour of her brain and blood from his teeth, tainted as her meat was; nonetheless, its presence alone gave him... unexpected insight.

The city. Euphro-Uruk. He did not wish to approach it, but now at least he knew where it was. If he was to go there, he needed to define himself against its lingering, body-snaring ache. His instincts were a potent shield in a pinch, but to form true armour for himself- and indeed for every dragon in his hive- demanded will and proper understanding too.

And... another city? Qal'Asurah... not the same. Different culture, hated by Shamhat, a separation from Euphro-Uruk of over two hundred kilometers. But as close as it from his current locale... hmm...

Was it safer? Unlikely. But he could approach at least. Enter. Examine. And, if they were enemies of Euphro-Uruk as the new knowledge proposed... the attack on his senses was not to be expected, in that case.

Yes. No dragons, they'd have to wait beyond its limits for safety, but... he could learn more from this than he'd ever known before.

For the first time, he had a goal to direct himself toward.

...bah. He spat at Shamhat's melting corpse one last time, then began his trek.

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

The first dragon-hawk to enter the hive did not do so with full intent of it, but it was far more planned than the first acquisitions of the hive. It was certainly smarter than the drakes it fed upon, smart enough indeed to pick at their edges, taking away one by one the tiny morsels of meat, cracking their shells and roasting them once it returned to its nest. It was much larger than they - and, more importantly, it had realised that this was an especially productive group! Seemingly, despite its picking away, there were more drake-termites to feed upon every sunrise!

It had figured out the why of it not too long ago. A presence, something pressing on it when it got too close to the center - which threatened to eat it, not its body, but something more integral to it. This was, at least, what the dragon envisioned. Something it sought to avoid, desperately desperately.

Yet... the more it sensed this presence. The less true this was. Was it being eaten already? It didn't know. It didn't feel like it was being eaten. Part of it wished to figure out the truth of the matter. Curiosity - lethal to most, but the curiosity grew, until it one day decided to satisfy its curiosity, and to flee if it was indeed attacked by the presence.

So, finding the drake-termites again, it flew toward their centre instead of away. The presence grew, again, but it did not eat it... the further it went, the more it discovered signs of other drakes. Drake-sloths. Drake-moles. Drake-boar. How many had it eaten? Why was it not being eaten too?

It found the presence eventually. Not another dragon, or even another drake. This one... this one stood on two legs. It had no wings, only one pair of arms, both slightly too long for its body, and not even armour upon its flesh. It had some of the look of a dragon, and indeed much of the presence of one - but not a dragon. Not nearly so unkind. Not... unfriendly? Unthinkable.

But it did not eat the dragon-hawk. Wordlessly, it bade it land nearby, the drake-termites it had eaten moving aside to form a space for it. With great caution, it took its position, suspicion rippling through its body. The moment the presence acted, it was ready to lash out and take flight again, plasma roiling in it in preparation... but nothing. It held its position, held one of its arms out, asked the dragon-hawk to come closer. Every step closer seemed a step into greater peril - but no. Even once its head had touched its clawed hand, the presence remained calm, claws grazing over its head... jolts of enjoyment. What? What was this? Why was the scratching nice? It was like being groomed by a mate, but different - not for mating, only for bonding. It did not want to mate.

It wanted to bond. The presence would not eat the dragon-hawk, no... that had been an error of its child self, when control was unknown and intolerable to it, and it could not touch anything more than the near-mindless drake-termites to begin with. Its will was greater now - so too was its mental touch. It could- but it would not. It would never, not now they knew each other. The Presence was a friend. The Presence was an ally.

The Presence needed more dragons to join it. Dragon-hawks... it knew of nests, yes. It could find them, bring them. Enhance the Presence's protection, ensure they could hunt for more and more, and in exchange, the dragon-hawks would have more of their fill than they'd ever dreamed of...

Perhaps it had been eaten, after all? Oh, well.

---

'How long has this threat been in the vicinity?'

'Oh, weeks now. We divined it from the Charmed Lord's Skeins, and sent some scouts into the area. Two returned just yesterday, reporting quite a few dragons clustering in an area. Ah, not a faint expedition, Seneschal...'

'Clearly. Any understanding of why?'

'Hhhmmmmm... I did some more study into the matter, and Syn'veey'n did a bit of searching through the Skeins, and she was the one who sensed a great presence there. They've drawn to a leader, believe it or not!'

'A leader... dragon?'

'Human.'

'Really...? A human that can command the feral dragons... how rare.'

'Unheard of! And not quite a match for the aether-dragons, unfortunately.'

'Still impressive. Did you reward yours?'

'Oh yes, Seneschal! I've pinned her to the floor with a rusted blade. She'll be there for a while yet-'

SHRKK-Pltltl

'Huaahhhnnn-! Ahh... Syn'veey'n... phhleasure to see you again... sh-so soon?'

"I got booooored. You need to be more creatiiiive."

Clang-Tr-r-r-r

'Sorry, dear, I'll... hooh that stings nicely... I'll find something a bit more interesting to add to it...'

'Enough flirting, you two. Seer, Familiar, you two will serve the purpose of bringing this... human into our fold. Assuming you're right about his nature, that is.'

"I don't make mistaaaakes. Stop criticizing meeeeee. Just punish me for being wroooong."

'No. Shamhat... you know what to do.'

'Mmh... and may the Charmed Lord's will be done, Seneschal...'

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

They Without Souls

Faction Name: The Hollow Ones

Faction Overview/Concept: A very small, secretive order of pariahs, numbering no more than around 20 at a time, as well as a somewhat larger cohort of more typical agents acting at their behest. Created by the ruler of Albia and conqueror of the Panpacific Empire thousands of years ago, a Blank himself, his descendants have more recently lost the native holds of their ancestry; at around the same time, a man claiming to be this very same ruler has taken control of the group once more, and the faction has gone into deep cover, biding its time to reclaim what has been lost to them at the opportune moment... and, if their cards are played well, perhaps even more than they could have ever imagined.

Faction Assets: High concentration of Blanks, highly focused on subterfuge at present, with majority of influence effected through ensouled agents of the Hollow Ones. High council of Nulls numbering 3-5 (dependent on current Blank presence) act as the default leadership and administration beneath their liege, or under a Regent elected from their number in absentia.

Key Characters: The Unspeakable King - Founder, c. M27. Also known as Magna Albia and Archtyrant of Panpacifica.
The Unspeakable King (self-proclaimed?) - Current leader, having ousted Barrack Hawke as Regent in the absence of the defeated Magna Albia.
Barrack Hawke, Pwyll Dyved, Kia Rajon, Dolph Bens - High council, and most prominent Hollow Ones beneath The Unspeakable King.

Stygian

Character Name: The Unspeakable King

Rank/Role: Leader of the Hollow Ones; Magna Albia, Archtyrant of Panpacifica (both self-proclaimed)

Appearance: The man who was The Unspeakable King has long since faded from mortal memory, his looks at the time forgotten in favour of his legacy of horror. The man who claims this title now, for all that it implies, is distressingly mundane. What stands out most is his height, at roughly 210 cm, and yet his physique implies none of the superhuman strength of the techno-barbarians of Terra, let alone the Emperor of Mankind's Legions, whether they be Astartes, Cataegis, or Custodes. Otherwise, his usual look is pale, with black hair and black eyes and an aspect that defies a definite age, and for the time being plain clothing that fails to impress for a would-be King.

Biography: It has never been clothing that has made The Unspeakable King who he is, but his effect on the world around him. In times past, tales were told of the nightmare of his empire, which was not merely himself and his Hollow Ones, but countless hordes of techno-barbarians cowed into working under him. And, of course, the legend himself, whose contra-psychic abilities brought many a sorcerer-king low in the age of his conquest and rule, before passing leadership to his firstborn and exiting the public eye.

Now? Either the failure of his descendants has stirred him, or an enterprising Blacksoul has taken the opportunity to claim the mantle for himself, or perhaps something yet stranger is occurring. In any case, the Hollow Ones outlived the empire they led, and with the death of their reigning monarch and the long-overdue collapse of control over the lands he ruled, one of their number was elected Regent in an effort to reclaim what they could. Instead, they drew the attention of this individual: with nothing more than his bare hands and an aura of unnerving soullessness, he invaded the Hollow Ones' fortress, slew several dozen armed soldiers, beat Barrack Hawke senseless both physically and psychologically, and threw him from the throne that, by the invader's own words, "had always belonged to me and mine; and mine, evidently, are indisposed".

Whoever the individual claiming to be The Unspeakable King was, he was extraordinarily potent in scope. No mere psyker he, but practically the opposite: an anti-psyker of sorts, whose aura of emotional oblivion was manipulated as both scalpel and sledgehammer, more than capable of bringing out the worst in people with souls or slaying them outright in ways that regular Blanks ought to be incapable of. Beyond this, his physical abilities were also exceptional, with speed, strength, durability, and endurance far exceeding the average gene-warrior. Most of all, he was cunning and intelligent both, with great forethought and a ruthlessness verging on amorality; and with that, he had the Hollow Ones select their most loyal subjects, before taking the chosen into hiding, in locations that none beyond himself had realised were so available to them. And after that...

They waited. Long enough to watch what had been built vanish into an entirely new set of states; in theory easily taken. But the Unspeakable King kept them hidden. The rumour was, so the King had learned, that a new empire was taking form. One which would claim all of Terra in a War of Unification. And after that? Beyond. At the very least, what was a few additional years to see if the rumours were true, when the prize was so easy to take whenever they wished?

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

So, rather than the Null League, I am going to adapt a canonical faction, whose details are somewhat more known to us by default.

They Without Souls

Faction Name: The Hollow Ones

Faction Overview/Concept: A very small, secretive order of pariahs, numbering no more than around 20 at a time, as well as a somewhat larger cohort of more typical agents acting at their behest. Created by the ruler of Albia and conqueror of the Panpacific Empire thousands of years ago, a Blank himself, his descendants have more recently lost the native holds of their ancestry; at around the same time, a man claiming to be this very same ruler has taken control of the group once more, and the faction has gone into deep cover, biding its time to reclaim what has been lost to them at the opportune moment... and, if their cards are played well, perhaps even more than they could have ever imagined.

Faction Assets: High concentration of Blanks, highly focused on subterfuge at present, with majority of influence effected through ensouled agents of the Hollow Ones. High council of Nulls numbering 3-5 (dependent on current Blank presence) act as the default leadership and administration beneath their liege, or under a Regent elected from their number in absentia.

Key Characters: The Unspeakable King - Founder, c. M27. Also known as Magna Albia and Archtyrant of Panpacifica.
The Unspeakable King (self-proclaimed?) - Current leader, having ousted Barrack Hawke as Regent in the absence of the defeated Magna Albia.
Barrack Hawke, Pwyll Dyved, Kia Rajon, Dolph Bens - High council, and most prominent Hollow Ones beneath The Unspeakable King.

Stygian

Character Name: The Unspeakable King

Rank/Role: Leader of the Hollow Ones; Magna Albia, Archtyrant of Panpacifica (both self-proclaimed)

Appearance: The man who was The Unspeakable King has long since faded from mortal memory, his looks at the time forgotten in favour of his legacy of horror. The man who claims this title now, for all that it implies, is distressingly mundane. What stands out most is his height, at roughly 210 cm, and yet his physique implies none of the superhuman strength of the techno-barbarians of Terra, let alone the Emperor of Mankind's Legions, whether they be Astartes, Cataegis, or Custodes. Otherwise, his usual look is pale, with black hair and black eyes and an aspect that defies a definite age, and for the time being plain clothing that fails to impress for a would-be King.

Biography: It has never been clothing that has made The Unspeakable King who he is, but his effect on the world around him. In times past, tales were told of the nightmare of his empire, which was not merely himself and his Hollow Ones, but countless hordes of techno-barbarians cowed into working under him. And, of course, the legend himself, whose contra-psychic abilities brought many a sorcerer-king low in the age of his conquest and rule, before passing leadership to his firstborn and exiting the public eye.

Now? Either the failure of his descendants has stirred him, or an enterprising Blacksoul has taken the opportunity to claim the mantle for himself, or perhaps something yet stranger is occurring. In any case, the Hollow Ones outlived the empire they led, and with the death of their reigning monarch and the long-overdue collapse of control over the lands he ruled, one of their number was elected Regent in an effort to reclaim what they could. Instead, they drew the attention of this individual: with nothing more than his bare hands and an aura of unnerving soullessness, he invaded the Hollow Ones' fortress, slew several dozen armed soldiers, beat Barrack Hawke senseless both physically and psychologically, and threw him from the throne that, by the invader's own words, "had always belonged to me and mine; and mine, evidently, are indisposed".

Whoever the individual claiming to be The Unspeakable King was, he was extraordinarily potent in scope. No mere psyker he, but practically the opposite: an anti-psyker of sorts, whose aura of emotional oblivion was manipulated as both scalpel and sledgehammer, more than capable of bringing out the worst in people with souls or slaying them outright in ways that regular Blanks ought to be incapable of. Beyond this, his physical abilities were also exceptional, with speed, strength, durability, and endurance far exceeding the average gene-warrior. Most of all, he was cunning and intelligent both, with great forethought and a ruthlessness verging on amorality; and with that, he had the Hollow Ones select their most loyal subjects, before taking the chosen into hiding, in locations that none beyond himself had realised were so available to them. And after that...

They waited. Long enough to watch what had been built vanish into an entirely new set of states; in theory easily taken. But the Unspeakable King kept them hidden. The rumour was, so the King had learned, that a new empire was taking form. One which would claim all of Terra in a War of Unification. And after that? Beyond. At the very least, what was a few additional years to see if the rumours were true, when the prize was so easy to take whenever they wished?

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

The inhabitants of Phlogiston Quaternus were, by and large, an insular lot no matter the hive you visited. Most so obsessed with themselves, and with their lives, and for many with their profane rituals no matter how pertinent the results, that even those who could see the stars that night were in no position to make note of one stray meteor from up above. One that ought not to have been there, if any of them saw fit to double-check those charts which determined the usual, stately, predictable procession of matter through the cosmic void.

Certainly, none would have a clue of its significance until long after they could hope to change it.

The pod, for 'tis what it was, hurtled through the atmosphere of the planet with absurd velocity, far greater than typical re-entry speeds. Even considering the world's terminal velocity, it was as if the metallic sphere had been launched from a great cannon, spitefully and with intent to shatter it before it ever landed. Though re-entry itself failed at this, the impact was much more than suited to the task - an unpleasant metallic-sounding skim from a curved mountainous rock formation abruptly turned vertical motion into horizontal, sending it well across the horizon, and eventually as it fell through tree after bizarre alien tree, only slightly slowing its momentum before its final, cataclysmic impact with the corner of a distinct, albeit large rocky formation, both pod and mountainside all but exploding into fragments of rock and hyperforged metal, both now liquidous, in the course of their mutual destruction.

Naturally, this rather disturbed the hive of drake-termites within, whose home had been more or less entirely detonated quite abruptly indeed, killing a great many of them in the process. The survivors scattered at first, taking cover in whatever hidey-holes of theirs remained, since even after that initial impact death rained down upon them like angry bio-plasma from the local dragon-hawks, both molten and solid as the remnants of their home shifted and collapsed around them. Soon enough, though, this too subsided, and the drake-termites emerged, their ranks of teeth and claws sullied and largely-vaporised to no more than two or three thousand in number, but plenty enough remaining to seek and destroy the Thing that had done this, which had put to uselessness so much work and effort.

The Thing sat there, in the cooling hole which had been their home. Not the Thing, no - this thing had been inside the other Thing, which was no longer coherent in form. This Thing, the passenger, didn't look much like any dragons that had been eaten by the hive before. It was the wrong shape and colour, more of a ball than a dragon. Some sort of food, maybe a fruit from the trees? No - it had survived what had destroyed their hive, and even swarming over it, their weapons didn't scratch its armour, though the armour was indeed that of a dragon. It felt about right, at least, even if it didn't look right.

Then the ball began to break. At first the drake-termites scattered back, partly from the force and partly from sheer instinct. Not a fruit... an egg! The food was within, a newborn dragon to eat! Even as the egg hatched, they started forward again-

Then stopped.

Something important was in it. Of course, they couldn't understand why this was, for the dragons of Phlogiston Quaternus were not intelligent, they had no conception of psychic power or synaptic connection or mental rewiring- but whatever the Thing was, it was important. More important than them. Important enough that they had to do what it wanted.

It was completion, in a way that no dragon on the planet had ever realised it was missing before.

And it was hungry. Surviving death was a lot of energy.

Hunger, they did understand; and so whilst half of the drake-termites formed a barricade around their new, their new, queen? No, it was more important than even that, and it needed a guard of over a thousand palm-sized insectile drakes, whilst the other half surged into the jungle, seeking prey to swarm, to consume...

No. To feed to their All.

---

By the time the child had emerged from his cocoon, the biological defense system that had kept him from harm retreating steadily into his body to leave him lying on the floor, he'd already grown used to the chittering, incoherent, non-verbal thoughts of his new protectors. They weren't like him - he picked one up in his clawed hand, turning it over to look at its ochre underbelly, and the six tiny clawed limbs that wriggled on its underside, and recognised very quickly that he didn't have nearly so many arms as that. Arms, and legs. Two arms, two legs, instead of six tiny legs. He was different. But they followed him anyway. Because he was bigger? Because he had two arms and two legs?

Neither did he have much understanding of his own psychic powers, not yet at least. That would come in time. For now, he was a babe, albeit already the size of a toddler, with claws on his fingers, and vision that extended in the four cardinal directions and was duly processed into an image far more detailed and expansive than that of any lesser being.

And... he was hungry. So, for a snack, he crushed the tiny protector, his claws backed with much strength piercing its shell and ending its life near-instantly, and then he ate it, his rows of teeth crushing the meat and exoskeleton into paste, the flavour profiles processed, catalogued, and efficiently converted into forms that were wholly edible as he swallowed the protector's meat.

He didn't eat more of them, though. They were his. They wanted to protect him. It made sense that he should also protect them, instead of eating more. That was how a pack worked... pack? Hive? Colony, army, brood, clutch, pod, shrewdness clutch chattering bed drove skulk leash crashthunderbloatcompanyaggregationpandemonium-

Lots of words he didn't quite comprehend passed through his mind. They didn't have letters to them, his thoughts for now as non-verbal as his protectors, but what they represented was all quite similar. Groups, which worked with each other. Blood, often, in this case so, but not always.

Did they have a queen? No, dead. But her youngest spawn had been fed properly, and survived, and would develop into one, and take over again. Good. Or- she would develop, and become second under him. Unusual. Acceptable.

Now the meal returned. Some of the protectors were dead. This was fine, that happened a lot. They worked to protect the queen, and now him - they did not breed themselves. They didn't matter, if it protected the hive. Food, though: a large thing similar to the protectors, but the size of himself, with the marks of extreme damage done to it. Throat opened, bleeding. No more legs - all six removed, and brought to him.

This could be eaten without remorse. So he did, his mouth opening wide to take a great bite out of its bleeding neck, its vivid violet vitality spilling down his throat in a hot wash of flavour, even whilst the flesh was chewed to ruin and swallowed down, never mind the burning that started after the first bite before steadily fading. His first true meal. Delicious flesh.

He ate half before he was finished, letting out a burp, and letting the protectors have their feed. They needed to eat too, maybe even more often, since they were so small. For now, he was sated, and wanted to digest. So as they ate, he clambered over on all fours to a nearby... tree, then clawed up its bark to the branches, pulling down the larger leaves on its branches so they fell to the ground. Then, back down, and arrange the leaves to cover himself.

He yawned, after all that, and closed his eyes. He'd be fine. The protectors would keep him safe whilst he slept, yes. And then... then he could learn more about this nice place.

From Ashes We Rise : The Imperium Is Born

Null League of Albyon

The Null League of Albyon

Faction Overview/Concept:
Occupying much of the region of Albyon, the Null League represents a most unusual concept: a techno-barbarian nation led by the most unlikely sort, those called Pariahs for their hateful effect on those around them, up to and especially including the psychic in nature. One would imagine this to be a near-impossibility, but a mixture of past circumstance and present social engineering maintains a surprisingly functional balance.

The history, so it is told, is as such: in distant past, Albyon was ruled by a cruel, capricious sorcerer-king, who saw no trouble in inserting his mind into that of his many subjects, and worse still opening their minds to the cruel whims of the Things Beyond, enslaving many in this way and personally possessing many more. The Meatlord could be called no less than a tyrant. His only weakness was his insistence on his omnipotence, on knowing all who lay within his territory - which opened the way to a rebellion by those who were indeed immune to his telepathic wiles, and in due course to his defeat and destruction. Despite their aggravating aura, the populace knew their saviours for their goodwill; and to prevent such horror from arising again, these people of the Null League were placed in charge of the land, for good or ill.

This has, in fact, served Albyon well. The worst effects of anti-psychic strangulation are readily averted when one does not directly enter into the wider, more concerned populace; and by carefully managing its population, intentionally breeding for psychic density and drawing out the most exceptional examples of these (i.e. those that draw the most hatred upon their birth) as in-turn closely-monitored political elites, the Null League has not only survived but thrived for an unusual length of time. Psykers are rarely seen, and external threats relying on sorcery are not readily capable of assaulting the land without being summarily negated and destroyed. This is not to say those who lack souls outright are common - indeed, no more than five who would be fit for the ruling council have ever been recorded at a given time, and this despite the effects of both eugenics and life extension on these numbers - but to compare Albyon's populace to that of any other location, one would see a noticeable uptick in that direction.

Faction Assets:

• Greater psychic inactivity and resistance in general populace, with extreme psi-negativity cultured for political and/or rulership roles, e.g. the Void Guard
• Weaponry which targets the soul, capable of ripping a person's essence asunder despite the toughest of armour, albeit able to be halted by appropriate esoteric wards; whilst rare on personal scales due to the esoteric energies needed to fuel them, it is more common in static emplacements, which can be tied directly to local sources of this power
• Reasonable life extension technologies - through telomere regeneration and byproduct cleansing, healthy lifespan of the average civilian veers toward 110 years, whilst those in power can achieve twice or even thrice that depending on genetic compatibility

Key Characters:

• Head Chamberlain Dolph Bens: Current oldest member of the Ruling Council, default leader by virtue of experience. Male, 211 years old, Blacksoul.
• Chamberlains Kia Rajon and Divad Pwyll: Subordinate members of the Ruling Council. Respectively: female and male, 157 and 23 years old, Blacksouls.
• Void Marshal Fion Coolan: Head of the Void Guard and the Null League Armed Forces. Male, 86 years old, Blank.
• Merrie Guye, Phidd: Foremost scientist in the fields of Null Psychology and Esoteric Phenomena. Female, 43 years old, Psi-Dense.

M E K H A N A U T S - A Far-Future Mecha RP Inspired by Dune, UnderRail, and BattleTech

Character Sheet

Vladyslav Khalidun

══════||DOSSIER||══════ "Quote here." ══════════════════════════════ BASIC INFORMATION ► FULL NAME || Over the course of several thousand years of cultural cross-polination and linguistic drift, names are gonna be pretty funky. Our main inspirations for names and languages when making things were Greek, Turkic, Armenian, and Slavic - so consider these as a baseline for generating a name. ► CALLSIGN || It's bad cred to give yourself a callsign. If you have one, let the other players determine what it is. ► PRONOUNS || You know what these are. She/her, he/him, they/them, etc. ► AGE || This one might be tricky for the lore. Given how a lot of people are vat-born - clones made through genetic modulation - in this day and age, someone may have an annual age that may be different from their biological age. For example, being born into warrior castes of certain clans may be "born" as a late teenager or as a young adult, and from the moment of their birth are thrust into training regimens. Particularly desperate worker societies may also birth one as a full adult, so as to fill a constant demand for new forge and manufactory labourers. However, most of the highest and lowest echelons of society remain to have most children have a regular childhood growth cycle. ► HEIGHT || Self-evident. ► WEIGHT || Self-evident. ══════════════════════════════ SKILLS ► [Skill here] || Basically, list out what your character is good at. "Juggernaut piloting" and "shooting" are skills that rank up there in importance with "walking" and "breathing", so list anything else out of the ordinary of what's to be expected from them. ══════════════════════════════

══════||APPEARANCE||══════ "Quote here." (A brief (one paragraph or so) description of their appearance - what they wear and how they look - will do.) ══════||PERSONALITY||══════ "Quote here." (Tell me how your character acts, and more importantly, how they are deep down. Their thoughts, morality, flaws, guilts, doubts. I don't really expect text walls here - just write down the gist of what they're like as a person so that nobody's surprised when pen hits paper.)

══════||BACKSTORY||══════

^{"Quote here."}

(Write as much as you think is necessary. A few paragraphs are fine, but don't feel like you have to kill yourself over this. You can always add on more In-Character.)

══════||TRIVIA||══════

^{"Quote here."}

(Anything you think that needs saying but doesn't fit anywhere else goes here. )

Juggernaut Sheet

NATURALBORN

══════||DOSSIER||══════ "YOU [expire]. NOT I. I [live on and on and on]. YOUR [existence] IS OF NO [consequence] BUT TO [pilot] I." ══════════════════════════════ INFO: ► NAME || "Koschei", after a figure of ancient legend whose death was guarded by many distinct means. ► POWER ALLOCATION || 11/12 ► ENERGY ALLOCATION || 11/11 ► STRENGTH || 8 ► AGILITY || 6 ► ARMOUR || 7 ► RELIABILITY || 3 ══════════════════════════════ BUILD ► CHASSIS || Raptor (POW 4, STR 3, AGI 3, ARM 3, REL 1) ► ENGINE || Cytoline (ENE 7, POW 5, STR 4, REL 1) ► FRAME || Tungsten (POW 3, STR 1, AGI -3, ARM 4, REL 2) ► CORE || ELMA Interface (ENE 4, AGI 5, REL -2, WGT 3) ► RADAR || CCW System (WGT 1, kY 1, REL 1, RNG 2, DET 2, AMP 1) ► SHIELD || Variable Frequency Shield (WGT 1, kY 2, REL -1) ══════════════════════════════

══════||APPEARANCE||══════ "Quote here." (Just a brief outline of the juggernaut's overall appearance, its paint/livery, any scratches, burn marks, rust, and so forth. Feel free to stick all the techno-babble in here that doesn't fit in the parts selection.) ══════||SUBSYSTEMS||══════ BACK: L. SHOULDER: Psyonik Overclocker (WGT 1, kY 5) R. SHOULDER: Core Pre-Igniter (WGT 1, kY 3, REL 1, AGI 1) L. ARM: R. ARM:

══════||WEAPONRY||══════

L1: Enkoimetic Weapon (WGT 2) (SYNERGY: Psyonik Overclocker - Psyonik force wave attack range increased to Medium; Cytoline Engine & ELMA Interface & Psyonik Overclocker - Can be used to project telekinetic force, acting as Gravwire Grappler within special attack range.)
L2: N/A
R1: Twin-Linked Micro-Rockets (WGT 2, DMG Medium-High -> High, ACC Medium-Low -> Medium)
R2: N/A

══════||TRIVIA||══════

^{"Quote here."}

(Anything else.)