ERode

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

Cool. Just so I've got a general idea of what this organization is...

It has money to match governments and has provided the Chi-Mechframes that the PCs are going to be using, and presumably has enough political influence to operate internationally without causing too many governments to freak out. The Chi-Mechframes that are currently available around the world (?) get their Cores from small-sized Warped and are produced specifically in Japan, where the organization's headquarters are. So going into this RP then, our characters would be totally fresh potential Frame Pilots, rather than having had any sort of training prior to this?

How big does a Warped need to be to be unkillable through conventional means?

And yeah, generally speaking, my thought is that the current incursion of Warped means that there's not enough safe land around to feed large populations (unless there's mysterious tech out there to grow food in labs). The high casualties and low chance of success is part of the point of that initiative, while the voluntary nature of this makes it slightly more palatable that the forced conscription that occurred during the early stages of the war. Think of it as something advertised like "offer up your lives for the chance to open up the future for humanity" or some propagandist bullshit like that. I didn't particularly point towards how large the project was or how many volunteers it has though, so it could be as small as necessary to remain a dirty secret.

Could you explain how the scouting process works by the by? Right now I'm reading it as: this international organization has tabs on medical records on a global level while countries are reduced to city-states and when an asymptomatic Echidna victim emerges, they toss money at the country in order to obtain all their background information, then try to snatch up the Frame Pilot before the country in question does (or just tosses more money at the country to buy the potential Frame Pilot off of them)?

Oh yeah, some more elaboration on what you mean by an 'investment' would be cool. Does it take a shit ton of resources just to keep Echidna victims in quarantine? Or is that just in reference to the idea of a country letting a Frame Pilot go after having made a Chi-Mechframe for them?

And I'm of the belief that this character's personality would work fine with a cast like this, when you already have sadistic loners and suicidal heroes. I'm fine with sanitizing it though~

Advent of the Dawn —A Mecha Musume/Tokusatsu-Inspired RP

Aaaaand edited.

Xuan-Yu Lang

Xuan-Yu Lang

_{5'8 | 139 lbs | 25 y/o | Male}

---

Personality

What was a Chi-Mechframe but a superweapon, to be turned against civilization once the Warped were wiped? What was a human, but a vessel to be fit into the cogs of the state? What was he, but a bastard adrift, sustained by directionless spite and anchored by burdens, obligations, and debts?

Xuan-Yu is anchored by a persistent, weary hollowness, one alleviated only by the emotions he draws out of others to fill in his cute, cynical mask. Unlike those who’ve managed to survive the ruination of the world with their psyche intact, the invasion of the Warped and the measures that nations took to preserve themselves had revealed to him the nature of power and humanity, pushing him into the quagmire that his psychology persists in today. The youth with dreams of independence after graduation had been shattered into glass, leaving naught more but an empty vessel ringed with sharp edges. He knows now his worth, the price of a pound of his flesh, the limits of what his efforts could bring. There were only so many people he could hold in his hands, and to overreach, to overestimate, would mean losing more and more. Pressure mounts incessantly, even as Xuan-Yu exudes a surface-level apathy, and the provocations that dance along his tongue exist as the hot vapors that shriek out from a rusted engine. Sarcastic wit and an acerbic outlook are both things he has plenty of, and he’s always poking and prodding, seeing how far he could go with verbalized stress relief, but in the end, Xuan-Yu is undoubtedly a professional.

He will get his work done, with the diligence and focus of a conscript, a volunteer, a Frame Pilot. If all it took was a pound of his flesh to make a place in the world for the few he cares for, then Xuan-Yu would do what he must. It was what was beaten into him for the last five years, after all.

History

Who cared for the story of an individual, when it is through the movement of governments that one’s fate was decided? The Warped apocalypse came like a tide, every soldier sent to stall them turned to flesh or host, every country scrambling to secure their own borders or sacrificing their sovereignty to obtain security from larger neighbours. And in the chaos of imminent extinction, so came opportunity for land grabs. Islands, once protected by legislation and convention, were devoured by continental superpowers, turned into fortresses and safehouses for the wealthy and influential, all while metropolises converted themselves into barracks, taking in refugees and sending out conscripts. All for the glory of the fatherland, all for the sanctity of the motherland.

And China, seeing opportunity while the States grappled with their domestic concerns, positioned themselves as the final line of defense for humanity’s hope, shielding the cloistered experimental facilities of Japan with the bodies of the millions that it could no longer feed. Mountainous terrain and massive river systems stalled the progress of both the Warped and civilians alike, while forward cities were set up solely as massive sarcophagi to distract the monstrous horde for days, months, perhaps even a year. They all fell though, as supplies concentrated on city-fortresses that “had value”. There was no space in humanity’s survival for humanity, and individual tragedies had no place in national triumphs. For humanity would triumph through the sacrifice of the masses, just as it always had.

But miscalculations remained, and in wartime, it was the generals, not the ministers, who held the greatest powers. Those conscripted to fight for their cities, for their families, gained a pride of their own. What did they care for the directives of Beijing, when it was their commanders who tolled for them, when it was their relatives who fought beside them? A sense of pride in their own army, in their own city, spawned the first of many military factions, as those who fought on the frontlines decided that it was best to position themselves for the next stage of the war. Alliances formed between the city-states on the frontlines of the Warped War, while fallen cities were subsumed by those still standing.

And what of those refugees, seeking shelter from the Warped, willing to do whatever necessary to ensure that they had a seat in a world with scarcer and scarcer resources?

They fought at the vanguard, obviously. Fought with the lowest pay, the fewest benefits, in the most dangerous scenarios, their will buoyed only by the promise that their families could live as second-class citizens in the militarized cities. Human generosity was in short supply, rations were in shorter supply. Whatever crime against humanity was at play here was simply accepted as a consequence of having to face down the apocalypse.

Xuan-Yu was one such refugee, one such conscript, one such volunteer. Filled with spite towards the army that he had signed his life away to, yet unable to do anything to resist whatever order was sent his way. He travelled where they wanted him to be, fought where they wanted him to fight, and bled where they wanted him to bleed. For fatherland, infertile and scorched? For motherland, broken and skeletal? No, just for a handful of lives, just a letter or two sent when his deployments coincided with the movements of the army’s messengers.

And when an operation in an isolated region of China went horribly wrong, causing mass Echnida infections amongst the soldiers, Xuan-Yu found himself alive where others died. Found himself a Frame Pilot, when the military distrusted his personality, his status, too much to invest anything in him. They were under no illusions of how they’ve abused those like him, and he had made no effort to hide his hatred of them either. Still, he was a collared, mangy beast, and when an international organization of great repute scouted him, the army was more than willing to let him go.

After all, losing a common soldier in exchange for a king’s ransom was no-brainer of a deal, and any potential betrayal was out of the question when they still had a firm grip on his leash.

Skills

Xuan-Yu, like most young men with all four of his limbs and no severe physical defects, has been conscripted during the beginning of the war to fight for the national security of his country. An infantryman, but one that hasn’t been offered much in the way of proper training, he knows his way around living in a warzone, maintaining his Type 81 AR, and applying emergency medical treatment in substandard environments.

He was an experienced gymnast, specializing in the physically demanding and artistically lacking Floor Exercise. He was a bright student who studied business, back when academics meant something for one’s success. He was a hobbyist violinist, as many youths were back then, but few luthiers of noteworthy skill survived, and his skills did not merit any particular attention from the associations that hoarded what instruments remained.

He speaks Mandarin with a Guangdong accent, can use Cantonese curses, and is proficient in Japanese and Korean.

Chi-Mechframe: Deathstalker
Appearance

A pitch-black armored body suit with fluid-filled tubing stretching out from its back and scarlet flexors peeking out where the human body’s joints are, Deathstalker was craft of a massive scorpion-based Warped hunted down within the plains of Inner Mongolia. While the monster itself possessed terrifyingly powerful melee strikes, could camouflage itself to appear invisible to the naked eye, and generated poisons so noxious that it could dissolve flesh like cotton candy, it was ultimately detected through radar systems and obliterated by wide-range bombardment. Such is the fate of all assassins. Against indiscriminate destruction, it mattered little whether they truly knew you were there or not.

Abilities

Deathstalker possesses above average physical capabilities in exchange for eschewing all ranged weapons, energy-based attacks, and defensive measures, with particularly exceptional strength and speed. While its Warped inspiration is that of a scorpion, the artificial flexors on the limbs operate more like that of a pistol shrimp’s, able to lock into place before snapping out at supersonic speeds. It is from this that the Chi-Mechframe’s destructive potential is manifested, allowing the Stinger Blade, a sturdy but otherwise unremarkable sword, to rip through hardened armor like its nothing at all. However, repeated usage of these ‘Burst Strikes’ will undoubtedly damage the human beneath, and while leg strikes are roughly three times as powerful as arm strikes, they take much longer to recover between each individual strike as well. Sustained combat is not the Deathstalker’s forte, and an opportunistic mind would make better use of this Chi-Mechframe than a true-blooded warrior.

The Deathstalker’s optical camouflage has seen some improvement compared to its Warped inspiration as well. Drawing in visuals of its surroundings, the Chi-Mechframe is able to project an illusory field over its surface, subsequently melting into the background and allowing it to operate undetected at roughly 60% of its physical capabilities. While this camouflage can be easily seen through with auditory or olfactory means, the small size of the Chi-Mechframe makes it nigh-undetectable on radar and the frame itself can synchronize with the environment’s temperatures, confounding infrared detection. Still, the performance of any physical attack would require optical camouflage be removed and energy reallocated towards more martial purposes, at least against the Warped.

Poison synthesis and generation, however, was the quality that suffered the most during the translation from Warped Core to Chi-Mechframe. While the original poisons could caused catastrophic damage to biological matter with a single drop, the poisons that Deathstalker cultivates are debilitating but rarely lethal. Rather, it would be more accurate to consider it an anesthetic when used against the Warped, numbing their sense of touch and perhaps reducing or even completely shutting down their fine motor control. In the very best case scenario, localized paralysis can set in, but even then, such paralysis does not last long. Officially speaking, this poison’s efficacy, dubbed Red Kiss, has not been confirmed upon human subjects.

Qualia: Mission Sub Rosa

_{EE 87, May 5 | Evening}

_{@Medili@Click This@Yankee@banjoanjo@Jumbus}
Jeanne’s apartment suite was large. Thankfully, it was large enough that even having five others in her dining room made for a feasible arrangement. After the disaster that was the traditional Japanese breakfast, the Frenchwoman had taken onto herself to order a dinner for six. Perhaps a bath had improved her mental state; certainly there was the possibility that she would’ve only ordered food for herself and left the others to figure out their own meals.

Regardless, the Abya Yalan-style dining room smelled of wine and umami-filled sauces, cooked meats and fresh bread. Escargot bubbled on cast iron pans, while slices of foie gras laid in duck juice. There were samplers of cheeses as well, accompanied by nuts, dried fruits, and wild honey, and of course, a roast duck sat in the center of the table, skin crackling gently. The delivery and presentation of the chefs were, in Jeanne’s eyes, adequate for their standing, though a bit uninspired. One could only expect so much out of ‘free’ food, after all.

Still, she partook in the meal with surgical gusto, content on focusing upon her meal.

A meal alone, however, was not the reason behind this “dinner party”.

Against the wall stood a standing blackboard and a set of chalk, summarizing and detailing what had been uncovered during the days investigations. Nazca’s photographs were pinned there with lodestones. Franz’s special delivery laid on the shelf, already skimmed through. Bang’s diagram of what he had discerned from the gunman’s positioning was drawn with a somewhat shaky hand. And Inti found a bullet. It was round!

Ryuuko, on the other hand, had discovered that Jeanne’s room was devoid of any sign of Jeanne. What possessions she had brought with her to Bermuda island must either be few in number and small in size, stored elsewhere, or so well hidden that they evaded the gaze of even a snooping Egoist. Perhaps it said something about the firestarter’s character, or perhaps she was overthinking it. After all, even devoid of any of Jeanne’s personal touches, the room was well-furnished and pleasing to the eye.

And regardless, they were here to build a defense case for someone who did not care to defend herself.

Dinner began.

_@Zombehs
Was the Earth not flat? The curvature and roundness espoused by ancient stargazers was founded upon a false understanding of the concepts of day and time, after all. The truth, illuminated through international communications, was that the sun and moon fell at the same time around the world, rendering the very ‘planet’ they inhabited into some more akin to the maps drawn by cartographers. And yet, what laid beneath? Was a God who had abandoned the Heavens cruel enough to still allow Hell to be inhabited?

Nay, if Heaven is empty, Hell is too. From whence did volcanoes spew their flames? From where do springs draw their waters? From what do trees generate their might? The oceans were fathomless and unwelcoming, the foremost frontier for adventurers and daredevils, but those buffoons knew not the value of the very ground they trampled. After all, so long as the stars were conceptual, perhaps there laid Divine Calculus in the depths of the planet as well, the underworld forsaken by the Omnipotent. And unlike stars, nothing more but fragments that shed weak motes of light, the flames and the waters, the life-granting dirt, could offer greater breakthroughs than ever before.

Perhaps, by plunging into the hollows of the Earth, the secret behind ‘generation’ could be obtained. And perhaps, by delving into those dark depths, one could challenge Hell itself and set the rumors of religion to rest.

That, at least, was what the night’s keynote speaker, the affably maniac Lucy Atkinson, pitched to her audience…moments before she cheekily desired able hands and extra funding to make such expeditions possible. And of course, even for those who didn’t wish to shake hands with the Englishwoman, there was an evening’s worth of diverse entertainments, from a photo gallery of her prior trips to foreign lands to an indoor shooting obstacle course, devised by Miss Atkinson herself. Child’s play for any Egoist in attendance, of course, but for humans, it was certainly a fun diversion, especially when one considered that such an event had been set up less than a full day after arriving at the island.

The mania of adolescence was certainly impressive.

Still, delving into the Earth was at odds with Shou’s own adaptations. Unless the star of the night sparked his interest, there was no real reason to remain at the venue for much longer. Perhaps heading back to his tavern-apartment would be better instead.

_{@Psyker Landshark}
The tavern was quiet, despite its trappings of an Irish pub. A mug of ale sat before Valeriya on the counter, too weak to get her drunk but flavorful enough to distract from the tedium. How long had she spent here by now, waiting for her point of interest to leave? She was running out of time.

Warm lights flickered about. A wholly needless fireplace crackled, and a trio of students sat at another corner, rattling a cup full of dice. Gambling, or a board game? Either way, they were too focused to remember her, and the clock was drawing closer to curfew than she would’ve liked. The target never left tavern. Or perhaps that was simply because they were never inside to begin with.
One could not trust instruments to handle the senses of the inhuman.

The clocks hand drew closer. The longer she waited now, the more likely it became that the latter hypothesis was correct and they returned instead. The more days that passed though, the more likely Kiran would have noticed what she had left on him, the more likely his suspicions would cause troublesome actions.

Seconds ticked.

The Ministry demanded careful thought and swift action. Now, her training will be put to the test.

_@Izurich
“Good evening, Mademoiselle Konigsmahne. I have heard much of your family’s achievements.”

It had been an invitation from her, but he was the one that set the terms, and now, Lucretia was seated opposite of the unkind Head of Bermuda’s Committee of Public Safety, in a private dining room at an undisclosed restaurant. A single pale light illuminated the white cloth of the table, bathing the avant-garde presentation of roast duck in a light that shone like the Moon. The walls were soundproofed, and the waiter required permission from the guests to enter.

It was, indeed, a place meant for clandestine conversations.

Maximilien Robespierre himself was dressed well for the occasion, though still less formal than the outfit that he had adorned himself with during Jeanne’s examination. His natural hair was black, resting in genteel curls that boyishly framed his face, while he settled for an embroidered dress shirt and tight pants for the dinner, his dark green coat folded upon a coat rack by the door. In the shadow of the room, his dark eyes glinted from the reflection of the silverware he used. Cutting, pulling, dissecting, deconstruction. Stripping meat from bone until the skeleton of a bird in flight remained.

“To what,” he spoke, steady and measured, “Do I owe the pleasure?”

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

[Bronze Touch + Construction + Powerful + Slick] = 120 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 134

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

Klava didn’t really get it at all, but it didn’t matter.

The motherfucking ghost, after all, was just doing poltergeist bullshit. Nothing more, nothing less!

“Fuck me shit cunt gah!” the very maidenly maiden swore as the possessed barrel gave her the worst lap dance in the history of lap dances, before her form dissolved into powdered snow and reappeared behind Apollo. Blood, more blood than what reflected the actual severity of the wound she took, stained her indigo garments a deeper shade of purple. Her head bumped against the skinman’s ass as she landed atop the barrels and after a single second of more swear words through clenched teeth, Klava collected herself again.

God, fucking ghosts. Bullshit to the extreme. And of course, the robot was going to self-destruct. Oops, there goes Timekeeper, chasing after his sword wife again. Her mana was dropping too damn low as well. None of her operations really allowed her to do her main specialty of restraining traps. Fucking incompetents, all of them. Would it h-

Her eyes fell upon Protector. Armor scratched and scored. Weapon bloodied. The opponents she faced, the reanimated bodies of teenagers.

Right. All this was still her own decision-making, her own orders. Even built upon imperfect information, even without any discussion of magical capabilities beforehand, she still had the audacity to speak and to command. And, lacking any perspective or empathy, she told Protector, a nursery caretaker, to kill a buncha kids in brutal melee combat. Two more lay, collapsed but not as pale as death. The robot was still self-destructing, and their work still required them to approach further.

“Hah…” The Maiden dropped down in front of Billy Black, facing the flaming spirit. She probably needed a break. She wasn’t going to be much more helpful further in. So, once again, decisions were to be made. “Protector! First priority, get those kids out! If you can rejoin us after, great, otherwise, otsukare!” Her fist met an open palm, the remaining vestiges of her magical power surging into her Instrument. “And for the rest of you losers, hop the fuck in! We’re gonna ram through this harder than the cowboys do at the ranch!”

And with the cracking of an iceberg, Klava thrust Moya-no-Yume into the ground and performed her final Construction of the day.

“Winter Warfare: Battering Ram.”

Forming around Klava and Billy was a creation reminiscent more of a train than a ram. Enclosed on all sides but the bottom and the back, the construction was suspended on Slick skis, while the front featured a massive spike. The interior sported both horizontal handlebars meant for individuals to push against to propel the siege weapon, as well as a rudimentary steering system that involved one raised stake on either side, meant to be dropped down to turn the ‘vehicle’. In the absence of any ‘smart’ magical solutions, Klava had chose the most savage solution instead.

Run straight through the flames, straight up the stairs, and straight into the motherfucking dining room of these fuckwads.

“Alright Billy, time to get warmed up before you kick Justin’s fangs in," Klava said, looking through the transparent ‘windows’ she had left in the front. “I’m sick of these goddamn cellars and their goddamn barrels.”

Cacophony Concord

White light flooded out of runic inscriptions and magma-black cracks within the Jewel of the Valiant, all three energies within Raime surging out to fill his Nuclei up to the brim. The fusion reactor within the divine relic booted up with a violent roar, his arm trembling with the restrained force as he leveled it towards the bard.

But even a short moment to charge up was too slow, when the beheading stroke was already in motion. In diluted time, Raime could only watch as the blade of the gargantuan crusader descended upon his neck.

The shriek of a vengeful firebird sounded as the whirling death-blade that the Phoenix-Blight Guandao had transformed into flew through the air, arcing for the bard. Sensing the danger that its master was in, the spearhead crusader redirected its sword immediately, slamming hallowed steel against bloodstained obsidian. Sparks scattered like a meteor shower as two forces clashed, and then with a definitive grunt, the crusader parried it upwards, sending the whirling blade flying off. But that was the moment Raime needed, the moment he shone. In the palm of his armored hand, a star sparked, then burst.

Before the bard could mutter so much as an ‘oh’, his body exploded from inside out, light flooding out of his body and reducing him to a charred silhouette. The Nuclei disappeared at the same time, and Raime fell to the ground, his ribs still broken, but his head still attached.

In the vacuum of Claiomh Solais’s beam blast, Arion’s engine deafened the world, accelerating to over 900 AGI as it flew over turf with nightmare flames in its wake. Slamming wheel first into the kannushi, the motorbike Nuclei drove him back step by step…and yet did not appear to inflict a single ounce of damage. After all, 900 AGI was impressive, but Arion did not possess any inherent STR, nor any damage source either. Once again, the juxtaposition between Cacophony Concord as a game and as a mimicry of reality caused decisions that were, perhaps, poor in retrospect. Yet while the Black Beast did not do any damage, the distraction it provided was just long enough for Amulak’s Earthrot Golem to take the kannushi from behind, its gravedirt arms wrapping around him in a shoddy embrace. From a safe distance, the necromancer wove his profane words once more, the centipede monstrosity within Leif’s body mimicking its master’s movements as sanguine ribbons floated around the Undead construct, as unholy energies caused its body to balloon out.

“Full Guard!”

A Necrotic Explosion sent Arion flying away, and yet within the poisonous debris, bright light shone out, the four-sided barrier of the kannushi holding strong against the point-blank blast. He let out a sigh of relief, then jolted forwards, one hand raised up to stifle the blood that seeped from his mouth. Internal damage? How could it be? He stumbled, stepped, and then realized…the seawater that lapped at his sandals.

A kannushi’s barriers were powerful. They were a support caster class focused on damage mitigation, after all, and against those of equal levels, in most circumstances it would take more than just a single strike to destroy one of their powerful barrier techniques. Magpie, however, was not ordinary. She was a monkey, a barbarian, a buffoon, a maniac that had pumped an obscene amount of her attribute points into her STR stat, and then further bumped it up by solely leveling up her Physical Conditioning passive. The spectral crowd roared once as her left fist smashed through the barriers as if they were naught more than sugar glass. They cheered as she sprinted through the warm waters of Pentozali. They laughed as the kannushi looked up, having no time to mutter another incantation.

And Magpie still had her right fist to go.

Thunderous applause sounded as the plated tekko slammed downwards into the kannushi’s face, driving his entire body into the Mediterranean waters. A geyser rose in response, before the sheer might of Magpie’s punch bounced him up 75 meters into the sky. He exploded into chromatic pixels, showering the champion with glittering glory.

Only one clash remained.

The eldritch beast rose upon the surging tide of his spectral packmates, monstrous paws kicking off ghostly bodies to reach his airborne foe. Even with the sword held between her teeth, Leif could see that the samurai was grinning, a fellow connoisseur of artful violence. Time seemed to slow even further for the two of them, as a flurry of actions were exchanged within the blink of an eye.

He kicked the sword out of her mouth.

She swung her left arm out.

He bite in with crushing force, and yet crunched against the arm rather than the neck.

She kicked out with her foot, catching her katana by the base of the hilt and kicking it back up.

Right to his exposed underbelly.

Death c-

Pow!

A blinding light filled the sky, fire flowers blossoming all around. Both combatants squeezed their eyes shut at the sight, but Leif’s heightened senses could smell the burnt sugar that clung to Ames’s overcoat. The phantom swordsman had saved him. Not once, but twice. For the spectral form of Ames’s Duo Self had flown up, not to strike the samurai, but to knock her sword away in that moment of flinching. Like that, her main weapon was gone. But so what?! She had her side arm, and the paralysis from the Calamitous Revelations had faded now! She drew the tanto in her sash, imbued it with what remained of her SP, and drove it towards the direwolf’s underjaw.

Leif, however, had already won.

The Phoenix-Blight Guandao screeched out its battlecry and returned to its owner, slicing the samurai from waist down. Her eyes widened in surprise, then her mouth formed a smirk.

“Well-played, shitheel.”

Only one of them landed on the ground.

Symphony of Espers

❄

22 | Female | Freelancers | Meltwater Spring
Moya-no-Yume | Dagger | Physical | Frosted Sheen
Snowdrop Vestige | Sangfroid Convention
Glacial Stream | Aqua | Rime Rose
[Freeze, Slick] Damage X, Restrain, Extend, Construction, Trap, Enhance, Mark, Blink, Powerful

DAMAGE: D | SPEED: C | SENTINEL: E | 750

[Silver Beam + Powerful + Damage X] = 126 Mana

PHYSICAL: E| ARCANE: D | CHAOS: C | 254

_{@BrokenPromise@Majoras End@OwO@mantou}

But while Jane may have only turned her gaze towards Klava, Klava’s gaze had always been upon Jane. The effective range of threat that a rifle could cover only decreased as one closed the distance, and as the trophy hunter fired, the Maiden leapt to the side, the extension of her Slick melody allowing her to preserve her momentum and velocity regardless of what lateral movements she made. The bullet whizzed off to her side and Klava continued, ducking low as she rushed for the pyromancer next.

After all, Fable had performed a good play, blocking Jane’s retreat, goading Betty’s attack, and then ducking down to have the latter behead the former. Real heads-up display of positional awareness. But just in case…

“Watch your back, Timekeeper,” Klava said as she passed by the duelists. “Golem’s behind you.”

Even the hot winds were feeling cooler now as she skated at ever higher velocity, the edges of her platform shoes turning into blades upon which she glided upon rugged cobblestone. Black hair streamed back, twining with the sacred sashes wrapped around her form, and Moya-no-Yume glowed a bright aquamarine that matched her bright eyes as arcane melodies thrummed within the blade. Skating a serpentine path towards her target, Klava surged forward upon melee range, legs kicking off as she performed a blade-wielding 720 degree flip, intending on slaying the redhead with a single elegant evisceration. She landed on her feet, arrested her movement with the wooden railing, and then, only then, did Klava unleash her melody.

“Flashfreeze Lamentations!”

Bright as the winter moon, cold as the Arctic overflow, a beam of deathly frost shot out without delay for the midsection of the ghost floating by the remaining pyromancers. She had already accounted for the charging time, and had even increased it with the utilization of a Powerful note, all so that when she was in position, she could fire immediately when she had a visual on the poltergeist.

And if all went well, the only problems that would remain would be a pissed off magical girl and a pissed off golem, both of which would have reason to be pissed off at each other.

HORIZON: In Wastes, Our Dreams

Yeah, sorry. Work's kicked up a notch and it's not likely to calm the fuck down after all, so I'll have to shelf this after all. Apologies for getting y'all's hopes up.

HORIZON: In Wastes, Our Dreams

@Letter Bee You can play as a Human. They’d just not be an Outsider.

@Dog And yeah, I can try running it for nowwww.

HORIZON: In Wastes, Our Dreams

@Dark Cloud
Most Outsiders were born and raised in Sancta-Manzst. Remember that a new group of them showing up out from Talze-Utera is a very rare thing. Being a first-generation Outsider is possible if that’s what you want your backstory to be, but otherwise, like I said, it’s prettttty rare.

For your list of races, living as a kobold or a goblin is going to be a life in fear of getting murdered out of the blue because you look pretty much like the monsters that people kill. Dwarves are mostly treated like shorter humans, but being short and hairy comes with its own set of prejudices. Half-Giants are likely kept a closer eye on, but don’t lack work due to physical capabilities.

@Letter Bee If you’re a pure blooded Human, you’re not an Outsider.

@Lucky To clarify, the dimension that you need to connect to for Magic is a different dimension than the one you exist in.

Magic is powerful, but limited. Think spell slots without cantrips. Most pure casters have a side arm or play a strategist role as well due to being a back liner. Even a new caster could one shot a big boy. He just can’t do it more than twice without getting gassed…and then he gets got by all the other small boys.

Magic refers to the generation and manipulation of energies and fluids. Generally doesn’t have anything to do with the animation of the dead or golems, nor would it be able to heal, physically enhance, or do any truly psychic shenanigans. Stuff like that is more under the purvey of miracles invoked by worshippers.

The very nature of magic is a bit taboo, because you’re essentially denying the very real power of faith in pursuit of some extradimensional thing. That being said, there’s nothing out of bounds within the realm of energies and fluids.

There won’t be defined classes. Engineers and artificers as understood in the context of DND magitech dudes don’t exist though. If you just wanted a science fellow though, they would be more like, Royal Alchemists or Scholars under the employ of a lord rather than a stinky Outlander. There’s ways to make that work as an Outlander thoughhhh.

Artificial life doesn’t exist. As far as the characters’ lived experience goes, it’s swords and sorcery fantasy with a few “modern” plumbing conveniences.

Magic is wild and pretty rare to be melded with technology. It’s basically just something that’s not reliable enough for any advances to affect daily life. As an example, “schools” that teach magic just make their students go through the exact same lifestyle as famous mages in hopes of somehow lucking out into an interdimensional interface.

The universal language is Human. There’s regional dialects, and Outsiders come with their own languages, but Human is the base upon which everything spins.

HORIZON: In Wastes, Our Dreams

Combat will progress slightly more fluidly, perhaps, with a bit more emphasis on intent and strategy rather than single actions. Still puzzling it out.

Outsiders suffer from a degenerating memory, yes. By the time they make it out of Talze Utera, they'll only have fragments of memories of a past homeland, and even then, it's more a feeling than anything concrete. Also, by the time a couple generations pass, you'll basically have Outsiders with no recollection at all of whatever homeland they've had.

Tech level is generically medieval fantasy. No guns, and magic is generally fairly rare, as it's half based off of obsessive study and half based off of managing to 'connect' with this 'dimension', from which you uncover words of power. Most spells take three words to be effective in a combat scenario, and even then, only on an individual level. Some artifacts recovered from the Faraway Expanse allows for certain conveniences such as plumbing to exist, but out where the frontier is, it's pretty savage.

Races are basically any permutation of humanoid. The less human you look, the more effort you'll have to put into disguising yourself as human. You can toss me a generic race you're interested in, and I'll give you the general deets on them. Classes are whatever, though warlocks aren't a concept that exist, and mixed martial-magical people are pretttty rare when you're starting out as scrubs.

CS template will be established once I figure out if I actually have the time to run this or not.