Bugman

The bug man's humid chamber of nasty things

I will post here to test formatting and stuff yes yes

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

The descent of the young Primarch upon Brahms was much slower than unto Asclepius. The world had a noticeably stronger field of gravity, particularly outside of the field of artificial gravitation instituted closer to the surface of Asclepius. Moreover, it was surrounded by artificial debris that would put the asteroid rings of many a gas giant to shame. The disturbances in the warp that at times surrounded the world and made it an ideal candidate to disgorge the pod of the young Primarch were similarly a factor in slowing down the youth’s descent. These factors all combined to ensure that the first conscious memory of the child was to see the beauty of open space as his craft slowly descended through the atmosphere of the world. To his surprise, the natural pull of gravity abruptly stopped, and the path of the child’s pod now adjusted.

From across the stars, four virtues arise,
Benevolent chaos in celestial skies,
Their wisdom unfathomable, their essence profound,
In the heart of darkness, grace is found.

Men and women alike were dancing around the fire, in the distance many candles and torches lit in the ruins of a temple. They dared not light the once glorious braziers to the Gods and Goddesses, for though their devotion was great they knew the faithless - or indeed the faithful with even greater zeals - lurked nearby. Moreover, it was high time for the Skyfolk to arrive. But they could not delay the ritual. The time to reap the rewards of their masters was now.

Kirna, for our valor, our strength, our might,
Bring us to battle, to war, to fight.
The sound of drums, for blood our quest,
In your fiery realm, brave hearts find rest.

Some of the folk were naked, some were clad in body paint that covered every pore over their bodies, others wore so much cloth, furs, or hide that only their devotion to their beloved masters had not made them fall over from heat stroke even though it was the night’s witching hour.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

Every so often, one of the men and women would perish of their own volition. One jumped into the flame, not a sound escaping her as her eyes boiled to liquid and flesh turned to ash. Another beheaded himself. For many minutes, the mans teeth would chatter a maraca-like staccato to give the chanting rhythm. One tore a long rope of her entrails out and began to devour them with great gusto — whatever was slurped up like an errant noodle would soon be replaced exactly where it disappeared until at last she collapsed, her dark skin turning pale from bloodloss. At last, one man impaled himself upon a great stake, gibbering sybillant praise as he slowly died.

Nyrielle, lady of life, of death, of rebirth,
You cradle your children, you praise our worth.
Through your blessings, our numbers grow,
By your will and cycle, once more life flows.

Arrows were fired into the sky at random, and most fell harmlessly into dirt. A few fell and killed performers, or injured them but they continued in their ritual nonetheless. The few who stopped in pain were brutally murdered for their weakness.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

As more and more blood reached the waters of the nearby beach’s shore, the reflections of moonlight and torchlight very quickly began to shift to something of the sea’s own glow.

Tizh, weaver of destiny, of hope, of change,
In your infinite labyrinth, possibilities range.
Let us purge and end the lies of truth,
Roll us your dice, make heroes of youth.

For most of the world, the night went on without note. But here? The moon turned blue, then red, then purple, then green, before all the colours at once emerged to spin into one another.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

The soil beneath the praying tribals shifted, sand moved such that they all stood upon an eight-point star. Any disturbance to the formation would seemingly be undone by random movements of the ground matter.

Solnos, muse of passion, of art, of delight,
Stoke our heart's embers, they blaze alight!
Under your beauty’s spell, we submit to a trance,
Pleasure from pain, rejoice, we dance!

It was now that the greatest of shamans went towards the fire, one by one laying corpses in a circle around the flame. Ordinary sacrifices would not do, no. These were all firstborn of the tribe.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

At last, one newborn was placed within the flame.

Defend us from light, bring us your dark
Save us from the faithless, deliver our ark,
Forgive us our mercy, accept our gift,
A perfect soul, you will find it, sift.

The first line of participants around the flame was instantly vapourized by the Primarch’s arrival. The second line was turned to mincemeat, the third suffering ruptures of organs and catastrophic bone breakages. It was only the fourth that lived to see what they had summoned, and not a one was regretful.

This was with the exception of the two greatest of the Shamans at the scene.

“Ptraf, surely I cannot be the only one, do you not see that this is not what we deigned to summon? The ritual failed, our destiny was stolen from us! This… thing is flesh and blood, I smell it now!” he announced, quietly pointing an accusatory finger at the blood spattered child before whom hundreds were prostrated. “This intruder is not from the demesne of our lords!”

“No, Belsokh. I see it now in the stars. This is a gift far greater than you had ever thought of asking for.”

From Ashes We Rise: The Galaxy At Large

It was the day of the twin tailed comet, as it came to be known in the poetic canons of the Meroec system. To a great many it was said to herald a great weal, yet to many others it would be a sign of damnation. The different cultures of Brahm would all draw their own conclusions and truths as to what truly happened on that fateful day, just as the Polymaths of Asclepius would. But all would be so disastrously wrong.

Yea, the arrival of each sibling to the system was near identical. Though on Asclepius it was night and in the far North, and on Brahm it was upon the night at the equator, both arrived in the midst of rituals.

The people of Asclepius would not describe the Tale of the Fall as it was told to them many centuries ago as a ritual, not really. To them it was a form of art, a performance that would lead to understanding themselves, and to avoid the mistakes of excess that the wise Aeldari had recounted to them. It was unsurprising thus that the display looked quite similar at least to the less developed human eye to what xenologists would describe as Eldar culture. The people were all lean, graceful. Their costumes and movements as they danced and spun were colourful and bearing great artistry. Yet, there was a great care to ensure there was no opulence, nothing sensual or extreme. The outfits covered skin from head to toe, yet were finely ventilated to prevent any sweat of passion forming. Many were even reflective or even coated in cameleoline to ensure individuals would not get too much focus. All were to be modest in all senses of the word. There would be no star of the theater, it was about the story not any of the thousands of men and women within the dozens of kilometres sculpted exactly for the event.

Skirts spun, blades opened flesh that was immediately mended by subdermal cybernetics. It was a very difficult matter, to both ensure the excess was displayed to be understood without this very same excess actually being partook in.

The High Polymaths gazed upon the tightening circle at the centre of the performance, the tightening circle signalling the approaching climax of the display. Though the aesthetic of the theater was deliberately neutered as part of its very purpose, it was undeniable there was skill in the dance and song shown within that humanity in much of its stellar width would struggle to match. One of the High Polymaths nodded with approval as the part of the play where the final collapse of the fall would be displayed would begin. The masks of the performers would morph to the greatest and most artificial displays of ecstasy yet, before a mere moment later they would twist into unimaginable agony.

Upon their hovercraft hundreds of performers that previously remained out of sight arrived as the mystic monsters of excess that brought down hundreds of the dancers. The simulated carnage was brief, as soon after the hovering performers picked up supposedly fallen men and women and flew towards the sky in a widening spiral

As one, the elderly men of the council of High Studies stood up from their seats as the sky split, and a thundering bolt crushed into the earth. The millions of the audience gasped as one in the mistaken belief that this was a component of the performance, but this was far from the case. Nonetheless the actors went on in the mistaken belief this was some part of the performance they themselves were not informed of, their choreography continuing almost perfect and unabated even through the air becoming hazy as heat emanated from molten earth at the impact site.

Quite discretely thousands of drones flew to the site, investigating what happened from afar. Every single type of scanner starting from the mundane auspex to the complex machines attuned to the aether that would detect presence of void shields and gellar fields. Most of them returned readings that were very, very difficult for the Polymaths to interpret, but one thing that all agreed upon was the shape present at the very centre of the display. Weakly, a child rose. Yet as calculations of distance and perspective were done, it became very clear that although the proportions would be of a child, this was no ordinary boy. The thing was as tall as an adult, and it became clear that the silky metallic skin was no costume. The conclusion that this was an alien was the one reached first, but soon a few voices suggested that perhaps this was one of the beasts of excess that the Eldar had warned about. Indeed, this theory soon found support as the creature began to pirouette and spin, to somersault and leap with a speed and grace that not only the human dancers had failed to achieve, but indeed well surpassed that of the Eldar as the few present who had witnessed them could remember.

This was something extraordinary, and one by one the viewers realized that today would forever change how the folk of Asclepius lived.

With a single leap with arms behind it the child crossed the outer circle of dancers, before on the tips of its feet skipping between the other layered circles of performers. Eventually it left the stage, where it began to cartwheel through the crowds almost inexplicably weaving its way through the watchers without touching a single soul despite being larger than most men.

At last, it arrived at the steps that would bring it up towards the high view of the Council of High Studies, the High Polymaths with beards flowing well past their feet watching the thing with a mixture of awe and fear. Hundreds of defensive drones had assembled, yet they were struggling to keep track of it. As it began to sprint up the steps now lacking the previous grace and artistry, the old men suddenly began to sweat as they now perceived a threat before them. Rail shots and lasers flew, but they only served to smash the anti-grav staircase to plasglass splinters as the creature went well past the steps. Yet when it was at last before the circle of ancient humanity, it did not tear them to pieces as they assumed. Rather perplexingly, it went upon one knee. One hand was pressed to its heart, and another outreached towards the old men with a smile on its lips as the head went down towards the ground in deference. Despite the apparent physical supremacy, the creature seemed to openly genuflect towards the Polymaths in a most unexpected gesture of submission.

To Asclepius, the great demiurge had brought interesting times.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

It was day two on Pelorum, and already Elias was feeling that he wanted to get the hell off of here. The moisture and salinity alike had gone through the wrappings on his face, and the cloth clung to it uncomfortable without in any meaningful way preventing the itch that got exponentially worse near the mangling upon his mug. At the same time the sun got into his eyes and blinded him, and turned his skin to a crisp. It wasn't exactly as if he was going to cover himself in sunscreen, what with its oiliness likely ruining any material it touched, Elias much disliking any synthetic materials for clothes. Perhaps though, in such a world he should have reconsidered. Out of spite for the world, and out of concern for a good business he still had to do, he refused to do this. Perhaps one of the chipper bastards on the crew always acting helpful could get something synthetic for him.

He cursed under his breath. He knew he shouldn't ever think of him like that, it was just anger with his predicament spilling over to any topic his mind touched. They had taken him in and showed kindness, whatever they were, bastards they were not. Well, at least in the metaphoric sense; with outer worlds they had come from, it was certainly possible they were such in a literal sense. But that didn't matter to him.

Going towards the town hall in between the swanky and run-down parts of the island they had landed on, he knew things were not going to be easy here either, it was an intuition of sorts. It was never easy. He thought back to the bank incident, the one that didn't leave him in debt for the keyboard turned to powder from his skull's impact on it solely because he had no money to his name. For a very, very brief moment he thought he might go to prison for the fact, a return to slavery once more. But the uptown bank was seemingly too high class for that and simply kicked him out with a sneer.

Well, at least there was one place he now knew for a fact that couldn't help him. One to mark off.

Going through the sliding doors, he had already written a great big "I AM MUTE, UNARMED, PLEASE HELP ME" on his little piece of blackboard. He stood for a while in the quiet of the building, until an elderly security guard approached him. The man stooped a little to read the blackboard, and then back up at Elias, before again reading the words. "Well, I'll see what I can do for you." the man said, shuffling off to the relief of the giant that he wasn't going to get tasered today.

Eventually he returned with a similarly elderly woman, he motioned for him to follow. "We are happy to welcome and assist anyone with disabilities in work with Pelorum governance. Thank you for coming to this town hall, how may I assist you?" she said, lazily and without inflection that suggested she was reading back a line from training.

He wrote "I NEED TO RECOVER MY IDENTITY." on his blackboard, to a gasp from the women. "Someone stole your identity?" she exclaimed. "You know I knew about scammers but to see it in person, why I never-" as gently as he could, Elias put a hand on her shoulder while shaking his head. Then he wrote anew on the blackboard. "I LOST ALL MY DOCUMENTS. NEED NEW ONES."

"Oh." the woman muttered, suddenly much less interested now that the matter wasn't part of some deep crime she heard about on television. "This way." she said, shuffling off to a small office. It was hot, and the lady quite unfortunately didn't seem to mind this with the fan in the room likely as old as its occupant. Stewing in his own sweat, Elias took a seat opposite of her. "So, what's your name?" she asked, and then entered it seeing as Elias already wrote it down anticipating the question.

"Date of birth? Thank you... Well, I'm sorry to say you don't look anything like your picture." she said, giggling.

"I AM HORRIBLY DEFORMED BECAUSE OF AN ACCIDENT. BUT IT IS ME I ASSURE YOU."

"Well, do you have anything else to verify your identity? Documents, specifically."

"NO."

Quite impressively, despite being two feet shorter than Elias even when discounting her elderly hunch, she managed to look down at him from over her glasses. "Well, I can't help you then. You're going to need somebody with a connected account to help you. Maybe go to the labs at the local hospital to get biometric verification.

A piece of chalk once more turned to powder between his fingers, the man then gently poured it like sand onto the table. Without a word, he left the building. Well, at least it was one more trial in the rings of hell completed.

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Mormon Tech Guy

Name: Raymond Young

Age/DOB: 04/12/98 | 21

Gender: Male

Appearance: 5'10/179cm, 70kg/155lbs dark brown eyes, red hair (typically, grown out long but styled for compactness and neatness in a ponytail). He is quite pale, his face covered in quite the scattering of freckles that neatly cease their incidence about where glasses could appear. Often, he will be of a pink tint as even the mightiest of sunscreen struggles to protect him (not to speak to careless time spent in the Texan sun). His body is clear of any tattoos, scars, or other such distinguishing features. His nose is somewhat flat relative to an otherwise angular face, having failed to heal completely following being broken in a fight in childhood.

Profession: ICE Homeland Security Investigations, Domestic Operations, Laredo Office.

Education: Double degree in Computer Science, Physics, with Honours from the University of Texas at Austin. Completed cybersecurity internship and apprenticeship program of the DHS.

Psych Eval/Personal Info:

Raymond Abraham Young was born in the late 90s in Laredo to a family of Texan Mormons. Claiming distant descent from Brigham Young and with pa owning oil-bearing property, Raymond was born into very considerable wealth and privilege. However, outside of private schooling, Ray had very little in the way of fruits to enjoy from this. With his parents oft missing on business he was effectively raising himself for much of his childhood, a fact that gave him a strong value in independence, particularly when in elementary schooling his life was a matter that lead to him being the victim of bullying. It was in the sixth grade that he made his first true friend, and it was that same year that he lost him. It was quick and brief, little Ron being just an unintended casualty of a driveby shooting from a turf of drug runners across the border. From that day on, solitude was something that Ray quite found he preferred and retroactively appreciated. Nonetheless, a desire to somehow prevent such loss made him say at dinner: "Mom, I want to be a police man." Though he'd never admit or display this to prevent employment, the incident gave him a dislike for Mexicans; this has been difficult for him to rationalize to this day as many of his trusted coworkers are such, as are some members of his Temple.

High school was far better, a time for networking and the start of sliding into the professional future that Raymond dreamed of at the behest of family without having to form particularly personal connections. Still reeling from the incident in elementary school, Raymond remained a youth quite wary of being integrated into society in a meaningful way.

Mother and father wanted him to work in the oil field like them, or in security with crime becoming ever more common on their property ever so close to the border. Yet, his one little act of rebellion was looking to the future. To familial disdain, Raymond wanted to go into the world of computers, one of the solaces he had as a child. This was a time that he grew much closer to his faith, for where his immediate family disparaged all the studies in computers he took, the Clergy of the LDS encouraged him and indeed provided him the connections to cruise through internship with the DHS that at last placated his parents to some degree. While as a mere child he struggled to take his clan's religion seriously as he lacked the higher thought and introspection to truly fathom it, from his teenage years onwards Mormonism was critical to him in both providing spiritual solace he found secular sources couldn't provide while also giving community that he wasn't nearly as afraid of losing.

University was an even better time for him, where at last the world began to make some sense as studying far from home he had the world unto himself. His relative lack of friends from the past was if anything seen as a blessing by him, as there were far less distractions to studying eleven hours most days. At the same time, it was a period in which he began to grow weary of the world around him. The veneer of much of what he believed about the government began to fray. As he learned more of American intelligence and security apparatus, and of history he began to have doubts about his future working for the government. How could he fight for those that so gladly tried to exterminate his people several times through history? Learning of Waco and other incidents with the government and finally of American adventures abroad he became doubtful of much of the public mission statements of government branches. This has been a source of internal conflict for him as he always has the thought at the back of his mind that his work for the government could and likely is supporting something he would personally consider evil.

It was during his apprenticeship with the DHS that Raymond had his experience with the paranormal.

Therein reviewing simple photographs of smuggled goods, he happened upon a parcel from Mexico. A dagger it was, but though in a pre-European style the engravings seemed oddly legible Latin alphabet writing even if the words spelled nonsense. Reading out the syllables of the photograph on his screen, a thing began to crawl out of the screen. He and his supervisor alike were struck with horror, and it was only as something resembling a human torso had managed to manifest itself did the youth find the sudden courage and strength to smash it over the head with a stapler. Long after it had slunk back into the monitor he kept smashing. The two viewers never spoke of it again, but the supervisor retired less than a month later. Ever since then Raymond has not skipped Church, struggling to rationalize what he saw that one day.

Ultimately this made him quite glad he chose fairly cushy work in cybersecurity rather than something hands-on as family would have wanted him. Easily passing an interview to get into the ICE's office in Laredo. Since then, he has tried to largely keep a low profile and calmly climb the career ladder. He is glad to assist his family in matters of the cyber world on the weekends, but in the evenings he can't help but study what might have been the cause of what had occurred to him and the rabbithole that expands from there. For one, he has spent much time in the nights long after work hours looking into the Mexican gang that brought that dagger over. While each evening horrifies him more than the last, it has once more lead him to double down rather than question any of his convictions.

Bonds:
-Church of LDS
-Immediate Family

Motivations:
-A very intense desire to leave an important legacy behind.
-As any good members of the LDS, he wants to have a family and children.
-Finding approval from family.

Fears: One thing that Raymond is particularly afraid is death. Not in the direct sense that he is afraid of catching a bullet or going outside for fear of stabbed. He is afraid of what comes after. He is a faithful Mormon, but he remembers every sin he does and is afeared of eternal damnation. Every evening he scans his memory for something he might have done that was wrong and he has failed to repent before God. In a similar vein, he is afraid that the many people he has come to value will fail to repent their many sins and hence will be damned. That is not all however. While quite devout, there is the slightest bit of doubt in him, that perhaps there is no God, or a God that isn't the one he worshipped. The thought of eternal nothingness gives him a hollow feeling in his heart, almost as horrid as the feeling of some alternate deity eternally tormenting him for failure to show fealty in the correct way. A fear stemming from this is that he will have little legacy or memory left behind, a fact that has always given him a fear of death through his head being destroyed leaving no face behind a fact he learned with the growing appearance of such violence in media.

Treachery literal and more spiritual is also a deep fear for Raymond. While there is a small, general paranoia within him there is also a fear that he is the traitor, namely in that all of his life's efforts would have in one way or another hindered the good rather than served it.

A somewhat abstract fear he has is amnesia, largely for reasons outlined above. His whole life he has spent great effort to be where he is and to maintain virtue, yet if reborn without any of his memories he has a deep fear he could easily regress into something he would detest.

HIT POINTS: 39
STRENGTH: 13
DEXTERITY: 13
STAMINA: 13
BUREAUCRACY: 5
INTELLIGENCE: 16
WILLPOWER: 13
SAN/BREAKING POINT: 65/52
POWER: 65

Skills:
Gifted (70-80): Computer Science, Electronics, Criminology
Adept(50-69): 4 skills | Science (Physics) (66), Accounting (54), SIGINT (62), HUMINT (53)
Average(30-49): 4 skills | First Aid (32), Hand to Hand (57), Marskmanship (57), Law (33)
Novice(10-29): 5 skills | Medicine (16), Armorer (19), Demolitions/EOD (14), Craft (Microelectronics) (20), History (21)

Special Training:
Ordinances (INT): Raymond Young is very well versed in Ordinances, the general term used to apply to Mormon ritualism. While he would have never imagined he would use it in his work, Raymond is more than ready to apply Christian mysticism if needed.

Weaknesses:
Raymond is fairly insecure. Ever since dad gave little more than a smile and a thumbs up when Raymond returned from graduation, he just can't ever feel like he is doing enough.

Agent Young is a Mormon. This means that some social situations are quite difficult on the grounds he won't partake in coffee, alcohol, or tobacco as others will. This hinders any amount of theoretical practical applications of him in the field. As well, the habit forming substances that his Temple insists on restricting include most painkillers, a fact he quite fervently adheres to citing the addiction epidemic in some Mormon communities particularly in their Utahn homeland. This makes a persistent concern in treating him of shock, even if he insists he is quite capable of gritting his teeth through any pain. It also means he will typically refuse to administer painkillers and other addictive substances when himself performing first aid (and further he shan't carry such).

ADAPTATIONS: (These are adaptations to trauma. For any SAN roll that succeeds against these two types of trauma results in you adding an X in either Violence or Helplessness. 4 Xs result in gaining an Adaptation, and a mental disorder, like PTSD for instance.)
Violence:
Helplessness:

Off-Duty Clothing/Equipment: Because you're not going to be walking around in door-kicking gear all day, every day on a clandestine op.
Clothing: He will naturally adapt to where he is going, wearing flannels if expecting rugged terrain or an orderly suit and tie if in the urban world. Always he will be as well dressed as he can without falling into ostentation or impracticality. He'll usually have a hat and/or sunglasses for his pale skin to not burn.
Weapons: He is a fan of John Browning's works, honouring his confessional culture. While typically he will carry just a compact M45 pistol, he has any amount of Mr. Browning's inventions and their derivatives at home.
Tools/Equipment: Usually little more than a laptop and some spare water.

Operational Clothing/Equipment:
Clothing: Neat suit and tie. He will if necessary wear a discrete IIIA plate-carrier, but in general his profession gives him the philosophy that most dangers he'd be better off running away from than kitting himself out to protect from. He will usually bring electronic earmuffs and similarly to his off duty glasses and headgear to protect his skin.
Weapons: In his job he is not expected to carry a firearm, but as a true Texan boy while on duty he will carry his usual M45 as is his right.
Tools/Equipment: In general, a laptop and first aid kit. However if needed he will carry anything from a gas analyzer to a geiger counter if a situation might demand. In rare cases he might bring along a drone, typically a discrete quadcopter that can be thrown in a ditch without proverbially emptying the wallet.

Way Down in Dixie! | Fallout Roleplay | NEW Updates

interest

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Understood. I'll probably stick with the ICE. Do you have the character sheet available? Was hoping to do it over the weekend.

Delta Green: The PLUTO Connection, Occult Action and Intrigue

Absolutely interested. Thinking maybe an ICE agent. Does a character necessarily have to be American? Alternative thought was a Canadian immigrant that came for his wife (mostly because being a Canadian myself it would be easier to play :> )

Also will we have to fill out a full traditional Delta Green CS? Mostly asking to get started early on the stats.

EDIT: Another quick question, this take place in 2023 or...?

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

GREATER DALARAN

“You really sure about this?”

“Oi! Cut that out. You’re the mad scientist trying to stick manastones into machines. Look it makes perfect sense. You were trying to… you were trying… you had coal you tried to use instead of oil in a lamp, you had sand you were trying to use instead of water in hydraulics, you had gunpowder when you needed blasting gelatin.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, shut up. I might not be a wizard like you but I saw what you were cranking, you know yourself there’s as much machine as spell involved here.”

“Oh I know, its just fun watching you Dwarves get all stoic. Now then, to the designated viewing port!” The gnome and Dwarf both hurriedly scurried over behind the overturned table flanked by upturned couch.

As gingerly as he could, Nillio pulled the string. It tugged on a lever that activated the machinery within a chamber. It compressed and superheated the manastone already in liquid form. The blue then briefly swirled as on one end of the chamber a propeller so tiny it was almost microscopic was teleported in and made to spin. It then disappeared, and fins opened on the opposite end of the chamber where the liquid did not slosh out to despite it being faced downwards. Instead almost solid streaks of light formed spirals that then coalesced into a sphere which briefly held an eye of the Kirin Tor before being replaced with a multitude of runes and then a image of the opposite end of the room. At the same time, the sphere spinned a fact that could only be witnessed by bits of dust and steam that slowly accumulated upon it. Without touching it, the sphere’s spinning was gradually made to spin a set of hears beneath it which at least powered a dinky little clock.

Even as the manastone’s contents were exhausted, Barad and Nillio remained in their impromptu bunker sweating. Only a few minutes after at last the chamber was wholly empty and the last bits of light that were once the sphere dissipated did they at last emerge from the ensemble of couch and table. “Is that all?” Barad asked, somewhat underwhelmed to the brief shock of the gnome. But Nillio then slapped him, before jumping up to kiss him on the lips, cheeks, and forehead. “Oh my dearest Barad that is all! All in the world!”

“Seemed like something I could do a lot cheaper with a bit of glass for a hologram and a tiny bit of use of my fingers to wind up the clock.”

“Of course you say that, but I forgive you. This isn’t tractors my boy, this is the future!”

It was precisely at this moment a knock came upon the door, causing the two to look at each each with the slightest bit of panic.

---

Antonidas stared at the reports before him, flicking through them by hand much to the amusement of the lesser wizards in the room working as his assistants who would have done this petty work with magic. That is why they aren’t Archmagi Antonidas thought, scoffing to himself as he snuck a glance at one of the young men with eyebrows upraised.

“I am seeing a lot of zeros here.” Antonidas said. “Why are there so many zeroes?” he asked, his tone so flat nobody who didn’t speak the human language would be able to tell it was a question.

“That’s because we don’t have much stuff, Antonidas.” Ansirem replied in a helpful voice, his legs crossed behind his part of the grand table, the man flashing a sardonic smile to the Archmagos.

“Yes, yes I suspected this might be the case. Why do we not have much stuff?”

“Well, we never really needed it. Before we could just snap our fingers and whatever idiot came over to mess with us would turn to a frog or something else that’s funny. Now that’s still the case, but now we’re going to mess with those idiots. Does that make us the idiots?”

“No. Anyway. I asked you all to come up with suggestions of how we resolve this, what clever schemes have you devised?” The lord of Dalaran asked those assembled. Everyone shifted uncomfortably, so Antonidas sighed and after a few snaps of of his fingers made a motion to indicate he would be going clockwise around the main figures present.

“Kael. Have you asked father if he’d be so kind as to send a few archers or something over?”

“No. There must be a favour to repay. Further, as I told you last time there is the logistical issue.”

“Oh, and nobody solved that?”

“No.”

“Unfortunate.” Antonidas looked to the next in line at the table. “Rhonin?”

The other mage shrugged. “We could always institute a draft. Begin a war economy. Fight this like a war. You’re trying to box a gang of thugs with both arms tied behind your back. It is not something I would wish to see, but neither is the scourge, the ogres, et-cetera. In a year we could muster….” the Mage began, materializing an abacus he went to do calculations on.

He was interrupted by Antonidas slapping his hand on the table. “No. When this all started I said this would be a contribution Dalaran made freely to the world. If I force the people of the city to march to war, I’d be a liar, and have gotten in the way of what this city is all about.”

Rhonin shrugged wearily. “Okay. Alright. Go for half measures. I know you love running a very, very balanced budget. But in times like these you can dip into it. If you don’t want to draft people, then at least make generous pay that the poverty stricken in the underground of the city would be eager to go and march to war.” The man’s eyes seemed hollow, as if he was horrified at the words his own lips materialized. “Pay for half the price of constructing new forges up front, and promise the entrepreneurs who hold these facilities that they will get paid in spoils of war. The ogres and orcs on sitting on ancient arts, artifacts, treasure. Plain gold, or even some damn expensive rugs I know could be sold off for more than what many men earn in a month. Not everyone would go at the opportunity but many would.”

With a palm covering his face, Antonidas sighed before waving his other hand dismissively. “Yes, do that. Ansirem. What do you have?”

The man looked indignant. “Well you had them say all the good ideas so now I’m left with nothing? Bugger th-”

“Shut up. What do you have.”

After a few moments grumbling, Runeweaver looked down at the papers before him and shuffled them around. “If you would turn to page thirty-seven please.” He waited until the sounds of moving pages subsided before continuing. “In the third figure, second column, third row, beside the word golems there is an asterisk. My suggestion is you look where it leads.” He lowered his papers, and then rested his chin on a palm as he completely tuned out his hearing until the sounds of shouts and cries of protest began to enter a decrescendo. “Well, what were you expecting?” he demanded of the audience. “We need assets in the field. These are the only ones we haven’t used.”

“We have enough ordinary golems, thank you very much!” one of the wizards in the room said. Ansirem turned at the man and glared, before turning back to The Six. “I don’t really want to do it. But if we want to pursue war and want new weapons what else do we have? Besides, we’re producing new ones constantly and not using any. Soon we won’t have capacity to store them!”

“They are supposed to be a last resort.” Kael’Thas retorted.

“Sure, sure your Princehood. And a good point that isn’t just silly outrage. But it seems the honourable Antonidas has decided our other emergency options aren’t worth being invoked. So I’m left with this. If it won’t be done, it won’t be done. I made my suggestion, if anyone doesn’t like it tell it to Antonidas, not me.”

All eyes were on the ancient wizard. He sank a little deeper into his chair as he was the subject of everybody’s attention all of a sudden. Chewing on some of his mustache hair thoughtfully, he surveyed everyone present. “Everyone not of the Six, get out now.” He said, at last using his magic to open the doors to the meeting room. Once at last everyone had shuffled out he closed the doors and double-checked all the wards within. Satisfied he asked the present members of the Six a question. “If we deployed the Flesh-Golems, how well concealed could they be? Not exactly something I’d want the Violet Star to get ahold of….”

Firefly - Second 'Verse

At last disembarking the vessel, Elias couldn’t for a moment deny that the world felt good. The sun hit right in the way that he knew would give his skin a pleasant tan, the air had enough brine and humidity to let one know the sea was always near without makings ones nostrils stuffed with moisture or salination. But as he stared at the tropics through the gap in his facewrap, two facts quickly became apparent to him. First, he certainly wouldn’t be able to enjoy it in a meaningful way. Muscular lifeguards with gelled hair would force him off of any of the beaches that weren’t covered with trash, and even if they didn’t his form in swimshorts would still lead to mothers hastily leading children away shortly after the sound of screams and tears with the occasional threat from other people. The second of course, was that the world wasn’t so great. A person he took and educated guess was homeless was wandering and screaming about the krill being a scam, while parts of the first street he stepped on smelled like urine. “What a shithole.” he muttered, or at least made vague mouth movements with that goal that materialized no sound.

Strolling down the street, he was long used to the looks he was getting. People in crocs and flipflops saw a massive man in flannels and a balaclava on a tropical world like this, what the hell else were they supposed to think? No Elias had long since given up on any frustration with such public admonitions of his state. He knew some other people with mutilations always complained about how they were treated, but as far as he was concerned if you were a freak you ought be treated as one. It was unfortunate, but it was a reality he figured a lot would be better off accepting.

Unfortunately, he was about to have this stoic philosophy tested.

His wounds started to itch ever so slightly as salty sweat started to seep into the scars as he went about the city, following maps to find the nearest bank. The moment he stepped into it, a security guard instantly drew his service weapon and started screaming for the man to get down on the ground. Muffled sounds came from Elias, the man desperately trying to give hand signs in the hope he knew was vain the man would know sign language to state he was not in fact, a robber. It was at the gesture of criminal that he felt the harpooning penetration of a tase in his black. The shock was an excruciating and debilitating pain that brought him to a knee. But, it was also absolutely nothing compared to the pains that the reavers brought upon him. When at last the shock wore off, he tore it out and stood up with his hands upraised. The guards now approached him, the one that had shot him with a taser from behind patting him down whilst the one in front held his firearm pointed. As he was patted down, the taser guard found almost nothing but a little pocket-sand on him, and quizzically shared the information to his partner.

“Who the hell are you?”

Elias reached down to try and get his piece of blackboard, but the guns were raised again leading to the man simply sighing. As far as he saw there was no exit out of this situation he could take, so he waited until they were annoyed enough to take him to the small on-site jail of the bank and called police. Sighing yet again, he at last raised his hands and with one motion pulled the wrappings off of his face revealing the horrid mutilation. “I hahn hah.” he said, doing his best to articulate that he couldn’t talk with no tongue. As if to demonstrate he opened his mouth wide and revealed the distinct lack of one. “Jesus fucking….” one of them started, recoiling in horror. “Shit, I’da thought you wouldn’t be able to hear like that either the other said.

With some annoyance Elias carefully raised the cloth again to his face, cocking his head to ask for permission to make the quite sudden movements to cover himself up again. “Yeah yeah.” the taser bearing man said, holstering the device.

“What the hell is up with you?” the man still holding the pistol said. This time however, Elias reached down to the blackboard without interruption and wrote upon it the words: “I WAS HOPING TO ACCESS AND OLD BANK ACCOUNT. I CANT TALK AND COVER MYSELF UP TO NOT FRIGHTEN FOLK.”

“Well why the hell didn’t you bring any ID?” the gun bearing man said, slowly lowering the weapon as he relaxed.

After a brief spat with erasing, Elias revealed new words. “DONT HAVE ANY. WAS STOLEN.”

The guards exchanged glances before giggling. “No ID? You’re probably not going to get far with that.”

The piece of chalk in Elias’s hand turned entirely into dust as an outlet for his frustrations.

“PLEASE HELP ME.” he wrote.

With a sigh, one of the guards said “Alright, I guess I can take you to a manager. Special case or whatever. Jed get Sal down here to cover for me.”

“Roger-roger.” the other guard said, as Elias was lead to an office. After a brief explanation to the manager, the old man in a suit clasped his hands. “Oh. I see, most peculiar. Erm… can you tell me a name so we can try accessing your account?”

“ELIAS SAMIR RIEMEN.”

“Thank you….” the main trailed off, typing the words into his computer. “Uh… could you please?” the manager said, motioning to Elias’s mask, while turning the screen. “You see I need to try to verify its you.”

“Fuh.” Elias muttered. He knew he looked nothing like his pretty face all those years ago. Well, pretty was a stretch by far. But certainly it was compared to this day!

“Ugh….” the manager said, staring at Elias’s grievous damage. “Does… does it hurt?” he said, clearly mesmerized and distracted from his work. Elias simply gave him a furious stare, wasting another few cents of chalk that turned to powder in his grasp.

“Right, umm, sorry, you look nothing like this picture. Now, hold on.” he said, pressing a few keys that made a camera emerge from the desk. A painful flashed briefly blinded Elias, who looked furiously at the manager.

“Oh, my apologies.” the man said. “Forgot to ask for consent and all that. Regardless, let’s see here….” he said, the monitor of his computer displaying that a quick cross-reference of modern and old Elias’s visages was happening.

“Hmmm… its a possible match but…. Do you happen to remember a password?” he said, turning the computer around.

Thankfully, Elias remembered it. Unfortunately, though briefly the screen displayed acceptance, he was shortly after informed on the screen it was outdated and would need other verification. He planted his face down onto the keyboard, severely of the keys crunching under the force. He knew this was just the start of it, he just knew.