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8 yrs ago
Current You did good, McGregor. Made us proud.
4 likes
8 yrs ago
No offense intended. But there's a sweet spot on the sliding scale of realism, and most of the interest checks I usually see skew too far to the realism end for me.
2 likes
8 yrs ago
Can't describe how quickly I go from excited to sad when a mecha premise turns out to be realism wankery.

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Room for one more, or y'all full up?


Plenty of room!

Interested, just not 100% sure about having the time.



Nothing worries me here, but a model that small would definitely be running a scaled down Oberth reactor rather than a full size version. Wouldn't change anything for its own purposes, but it just wouldn't be pumping out as much juice as the larger ones.

Feel free to move him to the character tab. Before you do, though, I do want to warn you that the Outrider could stand to have some issues when it comes to combat encounters when they start. If you want to stick with it you're welcome to, but I wanted to give you the heads up.



Damon Cal's fangs were met with Nicomede's own.

The knight's lips curled back in a snarl of hatred entirely unfeigned. No psychological warfare, no tactic to bolster his own morale, only a singular distaste for the man before him. No, for the monster; whatever the man had been in life, whatever he could have been as he was, he had chosen to be a monster entirely independent of his new state. Unforgivable. Nicomede would grant, if pushed, that perhaps his condition wasn't his fault. Reon recognized it.

But in this instant he didn't care.

The finer points of the morality and the ethics of vampirism were entirely irrelevant compared to the fact that Damon Cal had become a monster by actions, and at the end of the day Mayon decreed that monsters were to be stopped. Innocents were to be protected. And that was for a Knight to do. There was a natural time to die, for a man to meet his maker. And when that day came he would face it with a courage that no man too afraid to die could ever match.

And that was why Damon Cal held no fear for Nicomede. For his speed, his strength, his unholy longevity he was a coward and no Knight would ever be killed by a coward. Mayon, his own movements spoke of it! No, supernatural or not there was no match for simple skill. Slow is smooth. Smooth is fast. Efficiency trumps speed every time.

"I don't care who you are. I'll happily settle for dead."

Nicomede flowed forward opposite the direction of Fleuri's swing, going towards and slightly past the other knight at a rapid clip. If the vampire attempted to flee away from the swing he would be driven straight into Nicomede's waiting arms, and if he fell back he surrendered the initiative. If he caught the strike, well, that was fine too.

Because his spada was whipping out from the opposite direction to slice the muscles behind the vampire's knee. He would regenerate, sure; but he would be out the use of his back, and thus stabilizing, leg for at least a moment. More than enough time to continue to follow up.

Precision was a power all its own.
<Snipped quote by Krayzikk>

While I call it a new draft, the only things changed were in the mech portion. I also made a summary of the changes.





It's a little different, and that's probably what's throwing me for a bit of a loop. Looking over the revised version, I think I'm satisfied. Go ahead and and toss her up in the Character tab!


Volana. Holden. Konstantin.

It took a second to suppress the urge to ask about their ranks, as well, though she'd learned the older man's from Konstantin. But she had been working with a more civilian agency before she left, so the impulse was dulled a little already. She didn't know the older man's name, or the name of the... Woman in a mask. Who had sat down a moment ago. And appeared to be spreading a pepper paste on her pizza.

Artemie's eyes widened a little, not at the spice for foods much in excess of that had been her norm her whole life. But at what she felt sure must be an appalling change to the flavor profile. She munched steadily at her own MRE for a moment, she hadn't bothered to check the flavor, and shook Holden's hand in turn.

"Pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Cross." She smiled again, relieved that her voice seemed slowly to be coming back to her. "And you, too, Volana. I think I agree with Mr. Konstantin, Colonel. It'd have to be a bit hotter than that for me to notice."

"About the planet..."
Artemie hesitated for a second, unsure of whether or not to weigh in. It wasn't common knowledge yet, clearly, but they could see if they looked out the window, couldn't they? This ship probably had windows, right? "... I took a little peek at the data the probe sent back. I wasn't really supposed to, but who was going to argue with me? It was 241, I think? Around then? The data was from five years before that, of course, so it was the data from the first year. The year 229. I think."

"It's..."
Again she floundered, trying to articulate what she thought. That the planet was beautiful, simply for being a world no one had ever seen before. That the very fact that anyone could set foot on it was a miracle that she was ecstatic to be apart of, how she was bursting at the seams to take part in those first steps on its surface. How she'd been living her whole life for this moment. That she had given thirty years to be a part of it. But that wasn't really what they were looking for. "I hope you packed sunscreen, Volana. There's a lot of desert. The probe didn't have exact data, but it estimated that it could get too hot for anyone to survive around the equator."

"But there's water. There are rivers, and lakes, though I'm not sure if anything would count as an ocean. And a breathable atmosphere, with real vegetation towards the coast."


The Lunite stopped, a little sheepishly. She was getting carried away, and her voice wasn't thanking her for the exertion just yet. She took a long drink of water.

"I'm sorry to be a bother, but... What's the Colony Module you're talking about?"
<Snipped quote by Krayzikk>

No worries, I was sort of relying on Stel's lack of piloting ability to offset it, but I'll run it over and see what I can do to weaken it.


Thank you. Don't have to overdo it, just tip the scales back a liiiiiittle bit. There's nothing in there that I'd mind getting added back in when upgrades start rolling around, just a touch less from the jump.
That's the most I've written in a long time, but I've got a first draft CS done. Let me know what needs changing.
Just now read Artemie and crap we filled the same niche with our pilots. :/



Okay! First off, I really love a good form change gimmick and I like the look of this one.

That said, I do think Michael's a little too powerful for the general baseline that's been established. Right now, at least. I fully intend to be letting everyone have the opportunity for upgrades (probably more than once, if we run for long enough) but I do think I would prefer if you reined it in just a little bit for now.

Generally speaking it feels like Michael can do a good bit of everything right now without a lot of drawbacks. Most specifically, though, I would prefer that the predictive aspects of the two forms' OS either get removed, or given a severe enough drawback.

I know that's a really general bit of feedback and I'm happy to talk it over some more with you but I had a hard time figuring out exactly what I'd suggest changing.

@FlappyTheSpybot Let me know as soon as you're done, and I'll give it a read!


"I'm..."

The Lunite grimaced at the sound of her own voice. Cryosleep was harmless, and on paper there wasn't really any difference between being under for ten minutes or ten years. Maybe, maybe, if you stayed under for thousands of years you'd start to see some real ill effects. It didn't completely halt you after all, just ground the passage of time to such an infinitesimal rate that no change seemed to have occurred. You would have to stay under for a long time for that to add up.

In practice, however, the body had something to say about occupying the same position for years and years. Her voice grated still, and the word came out in a parody of her usual tone. She took the man across the table from her's hand and shook it firmly, holding up a finger on her other hand to plead his indulgence for just a moment. Artemie took a few long, deep drinks of water and cleared her throat quietly in an effort to clear the sandpaper from her throat. When she spoke again her voice came out clearer and stronger, if not quite normal.

"I'm Artemie Isra," She began again, shaking his hand once more before she released it. "It's a pleasure to meet you all. Rude of me not to meet you all before you slept, I know, but I'd been waiting for quite some time. You all are...?"

Artemie took a quick glance around the table, particularly raising her eyebrows a moment at the hot sauce remark. She'd been eating... Never mind. Why did so many of them have prostheses of some kind? Was it a new trend? They weren't uncommon at home, of course, but only when medically necessary. Was it just happenstance that multiple people here needed them, or a factor of their careers? Two of them had clearly had lengthy ones just looking at them, but what about the paler girl? Was it weird that she was a pilot who hadn't undergone any upgrades now?

Suddenly she felt even more out of place. Taking a break outside the flow of time sucked.
That's the most I've written in a long time, but I've got a first draft CS done. Let me know what needs changing.
Just now read Artemie and crap we filled the same niche with our pilots. :/



No problems with Stel, but the Michael will take a little longer to read through. There's a lot there, and I confess I'm having a hard time keeping it straight in my head. I'll edit in my feedback on Michael (or post it by itself, if someone posts in between) but I didn't want you to think I had forgotten to read it.


The last woman on Earth heard a knock at the door.

Such an old, simple horror story. And it had been on her mind a lot these past decades. As far as anything had been on her mind in that time, to the extent that she had even had a mind. There wasn’t a chance of being the last woman on Earth, and certainly not of being the last woman in the solar system. You could scarcely get a few miles from anyone on Armstrong the city was so populated and Earth’s were much the same. Even the solar system, in its own way, was beginning to get crowded.

But in the void between systems it was easy to be the first, last, and only.

A knock at the door would have been frightening for sure.

But in its own way the solitude had been even more frightening, the knowledge that any word she said wouldn’t be heard for years if it ever was. That even if everything went according to plan there would be eight long years before she heard another voice, then two, then twenty. Twenty two years before a soul came within a lightyear of her. A fear that by the end became crushing even in the deepest subconscious reserved for the hibernating and the near dead that maybe she would never be found at all. That her sleep would never end that her vessel would become her tomb and Voyager would become her own, personal Flying Dutchman.

Artemie Isra, brave explorer, lost to space.

But her solitude was broken by a hiss, instead, as her pod’s lid slid open. The sound barely registered, but the words from the world beyond did. Just a little, slipping through the fog in her mind to tickle at her synapses. Those were voices, real, human voices.

“He… llo?” She managed, then grimaced. Even if her tongue hadn’t been thick with chemicals, her voice was so rusty. It came out in fits and starts, forcing its way through vocal cords long disused. The first stab at opening her eyes was a dismal failure, she closed them again immediately. The second a moment longer, then the third, and fourth, and finally she blinked them open unsteadily.

“Take it easy,” A masked technician said, gently helping her into a seated position. “Taaake it easy. You’ve been out a long time, we had to wake you up slow. Can you understand me?”

Artemie nodded, eyes widening just a fraction as a small, unsteady smile graced her face.

“Good! We’ve been watching your vitals since we started thawing you out, nothing out of the ordinary there. But you’re going to be unsteady. That should wear off within the hour, but don’t be surprised if it takes you a little time, okay?”

She nodded again, not quite trusting her voice, and swung her legs over the side. It had been a while, but she remembered the drill; shower, food, and then ready stations. Just like the Captain was saying over the intercom. The Lunite almost fell when she tried to stand, just barely catching herself with the technician’s help, but her first step was more stable. Then the next, and the next....

“Your gear is in that locker. We moved it off your Orbital after we picked you up. You’ll find your flight suit in there. Holler if you need help, alright?”

“Thank you.” Artemie smiled, ignoring how her voice still sounded. She’d get there. The shower was heavenly. Both of her prior awakenings had allowed her only a brief, cold spray after she awoke and before she settled in for cryo again. This was warm water sluicing over her and washing away the years of ice and darkness, gently scourging it from her bones with each second. She regretted having to cut it short.

Her suit was exactly where she expected it, familiar and freshly cleaned. To her, at least, it could well have been cleaned nearly a decade ago. She pulled it on and zipped it to just under her collarbone, unwilling to again confine her neck so soon, and resolved to find some casual clothes at her first opportunity. None had taken the trip with her.

The first real problem that she encountered was a total lack of familiarity with the ship. Its class hadn’t even existed when she went to sleep the first time, and obviously there had been no chance to tour it (or meet the crew) before it set sail.

Thankfully someone had labeled her way.

MREs, thank God, hadn’t changed in thirty years and neither had mess halls. Uniforms, it seemed, had. The Lunite flight suits she saw mixed in with the other designs had definitely been updated while she was gone and it made her feel a little obvious.

Artemie bit her lip. None of these people were familiar. But that table had three individuals whose bearing and attire said ‘pilot’, so she gingerly picked her way over and sat down at the table with her first bite of MRE in her mouth.

Might as well rip the bandaid, right?
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