Ogo

Scorched Earth

Oh, I could throw together a Ducky post.

Diamond Company bout to get them cheeks clapped.

Scorched Earth

|| Junia Menarini ||

|| The Zombie on the Ridge ||

|| ACT I ||

“Fuck me…” muttered a balding man as the wind picked up, whipping the pages of his magazine into a frenzy. He twisted his body, trying to shield his “reading material” from the wind, but the wind was undeterred. It caught the book and gave it lift. The man desperately tried to hold onto it, but the tug-of-war proved to be too much for the magazine’s abused binding.

RIPPPP!

In a flash, the small campsite had a change of weather. A flurry of pages - the flickering campfire revealing women posing in the nude alongside “advice columns” - had descended upon them. The balding man stood up and threw his torn rag on the ground and began stomping at it out of rage. One of the men sitting around the fire, a younger blonde boy, barely of fighting age, began laughing as he loudly chewed his bologna sandwich. The balding man turned to him, his head as red as a ripe tomato, and screamed at him.

“The FUCK you laughin’ at, bologna boy?”

The boy’s laughter intensified, morphing into a full blown coughing fit as bits of bread, meat, and mayonnaise spewed out with each cough. One of the other men - short and stocky with dark hair - piped up, “Looks like he’s laughin’ at your dumb ass, Marchetti.”

“Oh yeah? You laughin’ at my dumb ass, boy?” the man called Marchetti fired toward the coughing boy, which only made the coughing boy laugh and cough even more. His face also began to turn red, as tears welled up in his eyes, and he managed a choked approximation of “Shut the fuck up, Marchetti.”

A fourth man, a taller lad with a bright shock of red hair, chimed in, “Yeah, shut the fuck up, Marchetti. Let Monti choke in peace.”

Marchetti shot a look over towards the ginger and started nodding. “Oh yeah?” he turned towards the coughing boy. “I got a lil’ somethin’ Monti can choke on. Come here, ya little bitch!” he shouted as he rushed toward the choking Monti and started pelvic thrusting toward the boy's head. The boy’s laughter and coughing grew even louder as he pushed the thrusting Marchetti away, earning a roar of laughter from the other men.

“HEY!” barked the older blonde man seated the the far side of camp, a can of opened beans in his hands. The other men jumped to attention, with the exception of Monti who was now doubled over coughing up his dinner. “Marchetti, shut the fuck up and go check on Menarini.”

Marchetti stood still for a moment, just gazing at the older man. He appeared to consider saying something before the man piped up again. “You got a problem with that order?”

“No.” Marchetti answered.

“No sir.” the man corrected, his eyes narrowing at the balding soldier.

“No sir!” Marchetti answered.

“Then what the FUCK are you waiting on? Get!” he barked at the soldier, who turned and began hurrying out of camp towards the ridgeline to the east. The senior soldier looked down at his beans and shook his head before looking back over towards the boy vomiting. He sighed. “For fuck’s sake, one of you go either help Monti up or put ‘em down.”

The men all turned to look at one another before the exasperated officer called out, “Russi - go. The rest of you pick up Marchetti’s porn. Go” which caused them to scatter like ants.

Another bald man next to the officer chuckled. “Belisio’s best and brightest.”

The officer grunted as his spoon clanked against the metal can. He watched as the tall redhead Russi managed to get Monti back on his feet - just in time for the kid to spew again. The officer shook his head and stared into the can. “Yeah. Best and brightest. God help us.”

---

|| ACT II ||

In the cold darkness, a figure stood atop the rocky outcrop overlooking the field engulfed by countless Vaimese slave soldiers and a truly pitiful Belisian force. She stood in silence, binoculars practically attached to her face. If it wasn’t for her occasionally lowering them to get a better view, one could be forgiven for thinking she was a statue.

She heard the bald man long before he reached her, his muttering and cursing cutting through the howling wind. As she scanned the opposite ridgeline, his voice cut in.

“Spot anything?”

She hadn’t. Nothing worth mentioning anyway. She had been tracking the movements of a particularly shifty looking group - possible mages by her count - but she was finding it rather…difficult to concentrate at the moment.

“Ayy, you fuckin’ deaf or something? I asked ‘you spot anything?’ Cap wants to know.” the man had called out to her again. But the watcher on the ridge was trying her best to not lose her mark. Could be nothing, but it was worth looking into.

“God fuckin’ damn it - why are you such a fuckin’ freak, Menarini?! Just say something already.”

A moment passed. Then another. The balding soldier stooped down and picked up a rock. He tossed in the air, checking its weight, before chucking it towards the woman on the rock. It collided squarely with the back of her head, but it didn’t earn a reaction. Juno’s head shifted forward, then she returned to her previous position.

“What the fuck…?“ he chuckled to himself in disbelief before picking up another one. Again he threw a rock at the silent woman, and again he struck true. No reaction. Marchetti stood mouth agape as he shook his head. She was bleeding. Even in the darkness, he could see that.

“Contact spotted.”

The soldier had just picked up another rock when he processed what he had just heard. He turned to look at her, shocked. “Wait, what?”

The woman pulled a radio from her side and brought it to her mouth.

“Steed One, Steed One…This is Zombie, over.” she barked. The radio buzzed for a few moments before the static was cut.

“RECEIVED ZOMBIE. GO FOR STEED ONE.”

”Got a stork in the sky, over.”

A moment passed before the next reply.

”COPY THAT, ZOMBIE. STORK IN THE SKY. YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO ENGAGE, OVER.”

“WILCO, Steed One. Zombie out.”

With that, the woman returned the radio to her side and leaped off the rock. As she passed the soldier, she gave him a glance, tossing the binoculars at him. Marchetti juggled them before he finally secured his grip and brought the lens to his eyes. He scanned the ridgeline…

And nothing.

He turned to look over at Menarini as she approached the large, kneeling suit of hers. She approached from the rear and climbed up into its exposed back. Once she was in, Marchetti watched as the metal shimmered and bristled like an angry cat’s fur before it reached out with metal tendrils and began to spread out across the woman’s back. And just like that, the back was solid, no seam in sight. It was unnerving to watch. But he couldn’t help it. As the metal figure began to stir, Marchetti found himself mesmerized by the flickering metal on its arms. Like scales on a dragon. A metal dragon.

The Hepius roared to life. As it rose to its feet, it swung the cannon from where it had been resting beside it to front and center. The tendrils on the back of its head snaked forward, finding their places in the base of the cannon. And then the humming began.

_hmmmmmmmmmm

A dull light began to flicker from within the cannon.

_{hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm}

After a few moments, the humming grew louder and light brighter. Marchetti managed to tear his eyes away from the strange machine back towards the ridgeline.

hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

He didn’t see shit. He brought the binoculars to his eyes and…

Still nothing.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

The humming grew even more intense. When the soldier looked over, he would notice small wisps of pinkish-purple appearing around the edge of the cannon, from the end of which a purplish arc lashed about violently.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

Suddenly, a voice crackled out from the machine, sounding warped and tinny..

“You’re going to want to stand back.”

“What d’you mea-” he started to protest -

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

- but the humming evolved into a ferocious roar, joined by a creepy scream - a woman’s scream? - as a large column of purplish light poured out of the cannon. The soldier instinctively dove to the ground, searching for cover. From his place on the rocky ground, Marchetti traced the beam as it cut through the sky towards…nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

The bitch had fired at nothing.

_{B O O O O M}

And then the explosion started. He watched as from a seemingly empty night sky, the imposing figure of a Vaimese dropship had suddenly appeared - materialized out of nowhere. And there was now a massive chunk missing. Explosions were going off. It was breaking apart in the sky and falling to the ground in two halves. Marchetti watched as at least two dozen bodies came tumbling out of the wreckage, plummeting towards sure death.

After a moment, he got to his feet and looked down at the battle below. The wreckage of the dropship was now illuminating the melee going on around it. Absolute carnage.

The strange voice cut through the man’s thoughts.

"Drop’s coming. Tell Captain Bruno to take the ridge.”

He looked over towards the machine woman, but it wasn’t moving.

“What?”

His answer was silence. Marchetti was about to reply when he noticed another shuttle light up off to their southeast. A friendly one this time. Mage must have took a page out of the Zombie’s playbook. At the same time, the machine roared to life once more, launching immediately southeast.

“Fuckin’ freak…” he muttered to himself as he hurried back towards camp.

---

|| ACT III ||

As the Hepius roared down the hillside, Juno trained her eyes on the falling dropship. Steed One had just broadcasted that reinforcements were coming…but that wasn’t where they were supposed to land. She frowned. She was to join up with the landing force and support their push into the opposition flank. From the west. THAT was her objective. THIS was improvisation. And Juno so very much hated being forced to improvise.

She gave the battlefield a wide berth as she repositioned, gliding over the landscape like a figure skater on the ice. Still, the occasional small arms fire caught her, some bouncing off the Hepius’ armor, some piercing through. None doing any significant damage that couldn’t be repaired though. The woman pressed onward.

Even from her considerable distance, she could tell that the survivors of the shuttle’s crash were making a stand. She began to take aim with the cannon. The shuttle took some significant damage on its way down, but it somehow hadn’t detonated. She could correct that, maybe take a few Vaimese out while she was at it. The cannon began to hum again.

Something detonated in the area of the crashed shuttle.

…

The light in the cannon fizzled as the Hepius took a hard turn. Directly into enemy lines. The Hepius readied the AAPT and began swinging at anything that got within reach. Cracking skulls with one arm and using the cannon as a lance with the other, the Hepius began to cut a path towards the next shuttle. The downed shuttle was lost. That was a shame, but she still had her orders. She needed to link up with the main force.

As she glided through the lines, an enemy mage landed a nasty hit on the Hepius. The explosion ate away at the front armour and burned much of the woman’s face. Ever calm, however, the Hepius approached the mage, quickly regenerating as the mage hastily prepared their next attack. In vain, it would seem, as the mage soon found himself getting to know the AAPT rather personally.

Juno screamed across the battlefield, figuratively and literally, until eventually arriving at what seemed to be a Knight-held line. Drenched in the viscera of numerous Vaimese slave soldiers and one particularly unfortunate mage, the Hepius looked every bit a monster. Juno had maintained her composure…but for how long, she couldn’t say. The skin on her face stretched and tore, constantly jabbing her brain with shocks of horrible, intense pain. She could feel the little tingle in the back of her head, a surefire sign that it was time to…let loose.

She just needed to get her orders first.

…which she had neglected to tell the Knights she had approached, opting instead to just stand there.

Menacingly.

Scorched Earth

@TheMerlin
I wouldn't want to hold you up, so don't worry about waiting on me if you're ready to post. I'm out and about on a few errands right now, so it'll be a couple hours before I can start. Either way, I'll have her post up later today :3

Scorched Earth

Junia Menarini

Junia Menarini

_{art by: Charlie-Bowater}

Juno • Zombie || 20 || Female

Knight

Armoured Cavalry || Berserker || Shock Trooper

---

Appearance:

The young Menarini makes for a rather striking sight. She’s a tall woman, standing about 178cm (~5’10ft), sporting bright neon pink hair, piercing blue eyes, and a quilt of rather prominent scars all across her body. Her skin runs a whole spectrum of shades of her natural olive tone, with harsh delineations separating each block and huge swathes and chunks in various states of scar tissue, burns, and freshly regenerating skin tissue. One could be forgiven for thinking her to be some amalgamation of different bodies stitched together. That would at least be kinder than the truth.

She possesses a rather athletic build. Beneath her patchwork skin is a layer of tough, tight muscle. Her limbs are long and her posture straight, giving her an aura of confidence.

Juno takes a rather practical approach to clothing. Freedom of movement is key. She prefers a tight fit as long as it doesn’t restrict her. Her usual attire would likely just be a tank top and trousers. For combat, in lieu of traditional armour, Juno sports a specialized bodysuit with a number of connection points that line up with her power armour.

Personality:

Juno could best be described as one might describe a tundra - cold and dry with little sign of life. Yet beneath her aloof exterior there’s…even more ice. Pretty much just solid permafrost all the way down. She very much prefers her own company, completely content with absolute melancholic solitude.

Now that’s not to say that the woman is necessarily antagonistic. She takes a very hands-off approach to other people, opting to disengage entirely rather than lash out should conflict arise. When she absolutely must interact with others, she conducts herself in a very collected manner. There’s a very serious - almost intense - air about her, as the woman speaks bluntly and directly. If there’s any positive trait that Juno possesses, it’s her complete, brutal honesty.

She seems to be rather intelligent, if not a bit overly pragmatic. This translates to her behavior on the battlefield. She’s the calculating type, preferring to exploit perceived weaknesses whenever possible. Well…until the drugs kick in, anyway.

Juno partakes in a particular cocktail of combat stims and painkillers commonly referred to as “Go.” While the combination results in heightened senses and a much higher tolerance for pain, it has also been known to put some imbibers into a rather unstable emotional state. Hyper aggression and violent mood swings are pretty much par for the course. It’s also mildly addictive and just god awful for one’s general health. So, given the girl’s predisposition toward addictive tendencies and general disregard for her own personal safety, it’s a perfect match. Juno flying into a blind rage in the middle of combat is less a side effect and more of a staple of the Menarini playbook.

While the stimulant abuse may be an eventual cause for concern, Juno hasn’t had any notable incidents. Yet. And her overall introverted nature has helped hide her nasty little habit so far. Place your bets for how long that will last.

Background:

TL;DR
Little Orphan Annie turns to drugs after Daddy Warbucks feeds her to the nanomachines, son.

The Cranberries “Zombie” Lore Dump

There’s not much available on Juno Menarini’s early life. Born Junia “Juno” Ohara to Ami and Aiden Ohara, a pair of researchers working on a classified program in the 970’s. In 983, an accident claimed Ami Ohara’s life and left the girl horribly injured and disfigured. By all rights, she should have died the night she was brought to the hospital…but she didn’t. And three days later, the girl was walking around as if nothing had happened, barely a scratch on her.

It was equal parts baffling and frustrating. With her injuries, she should never have been able to walk again, but the girl displayed remarkable recovery on par with highly skilled ki practitioners. With no record of any notable ki users within the family and no obvious signs of training, the girl seemed every bit the prodigy. Word about the “immortal girl” quickly got out and began attracting attention - attention that proved to be too much for Aiden Ohara.

Facing intense scrutiny over the details surrounding the death of his wife, the man opted to take his own life. Any knowledge surrounding the event died with him, with the girl having not spoken of it since.

Aiden’s passing left the young Juno in the care of her sole remaining family member - her maternal grandmother. The elderly woman was in poor health, though, and it was clear that Juno would soon be on her own.

And then the Knight came. Demetrio Menarini. On the urging of his father, Pietro Menarini of Menarini Dynamic Industries fame, the Knight had come to meet with Juno and her grandmother. At the end of the meeting, Juno left with him, now a ward of the family Menarini and squire to Sir Demetrio. It’s unclear what sort of deal was made at the meeting, but that would be the last time Juno saw her grandmother alive.

The next chapter of the girl’s life would consist of the finest education Pietro’s money could buy and grueling training under Demetrio’s watch. And while she displayed tremendous innate mastery of her Ki, Juno had no passion for it, which stunted her growth. The troubled girl also began acting out. Getting into fights. Stealing. Developing a bit of a substance abuse problem. The flagrant squandering of her potential infuriated Demetrio to the point that he was ready to drop her, but his father insisted that he continue. He had plans for the girl.

And so Juno would develop into a painfully average knight, excelling in no particular area of combat. Were times different, it’s quite possible that she would have been turned away, rejected from the order, but desperation changed everything. Thus Juno was knighted, Demetrio slighted, and Pietro delighted.

Shortly after the passing of her trials, Juno was introduced to Pietro’s plan. Menarini Dynamic Industries was working on a highly experimental weapons platform and Juno was the ideal candidate to serve as its “pilot.”

See, it was a highly complex power armour that served as a host to a swarm of self-replicating nanomachines that, among other things, could rapidly repair the armour in the middle of battle. The issue, however, was that the nanomachines required a source of organic matter to act as fuel, which posed a number of logistical challenges. It was a frustrating limitation that the team could not seem to bypass in any satisfying capacity.

Now, the idea of potentially tapping into the regenerative capabilities of Ki-proficient pilots wasn’t anything new. In theory, so long as the pilot could maintain a regenerative rate above that of the nanomachine’s consumption, they could essentially fuel the armour in perpetuity. Testing, however, brought about some rather disappointing results. While on average pilots were capable of sustaining standard operational usage, many displayed moderate to severe trauma from extended operation. Furthermore, pilots were shown to be unable to match the rate of consumption required for repairing estimated standard combat damage while maintaining satisfactory operational capabilities. In short, it seemed like a dead end. The team would either need to develop a new type of nanomachine or find a more suitable fuel source. Many avenues were explored, but the project appeared to be unviable in its current state.

That is, until Junia entered the picture. The immortal girl, they were calling her. Miraculously survived certain death and then completely healed days later. If the reports were true, then she not only met the required minimum rates for all operational usage, she greatly exceeded them. She would be instrumental in salvaging the project.

It was why the Menarini family took her in in the first place. Why she didn't end up living on the streets all those years back. Why she had been made a knight. Her entire adolescent and early adult life all leading to this - her destiny.

Becoming a buffet for tiny machines. A human battery. A source of revenue for abhorrent research and development.

Perhaps there was a time when she would have rejected that fate, fled to find a new life, a new purpose. But that girl had died in the accident all those years back, and the world appeared to be on its way out as well. Juno would resign herself to her purpose. She’d pilot Pietro’s monster. What else was she going to do?

In a few short months, Juno would earn a bit of a reputation for herself and her ferocious metal monstrosity on the battlefield. She had met and exceeded the team’s expectations and it seemed likely that the team would secure the funding required to continue their project. Her fellow knights were less impressed, however. Many felt that she represented a perversion of their order. And to an extent, they were right. If the standard knight was a graceful rapier, then Juno was a sledgehammer. There was no honor to the way she fought. She was a purely destructive force, the proverbial bull in a china shop. It was effective, but at what cost? It didn’t matter to Juno. Nothing really mattered to Juno. She was merely going through the motions.

And it was this general cold demeanor coupled with her dead eyes, recklessness on the field, and the frequency with which she would return from battle absolutely covered in wounds and injuries that earned her the nickname “Zombie,” albeit mostly behind her back.

But the Zombie didn’t mind. She would continue to perform her little knightly duties. All in the hopes that maybe one day, if she were lucky, perhaps she could finally find her death.

That’d be nice.

Equipment:

_{art by: benedickbana}

• Menarini Dynamic Industries Prototype Power Armour “Hepius” - A sophisticated nanomachine-based weapons platform in the shape of power armour. Stands at roughly 210cm (~6’9ft). Reactionary armouring rapidly responds to trauma, shifting density to the impact site, hardening, then engaging in self-repairs. The self-replicating nanomachines that serve as the core of the platform are powered by biomass, which they acquire by “consuming” the pilot. Through a series of connection points on the pilot’s bodysuit, a liquid-like substance fills the suit and a constant stream of nanomachines are circulated throughout the loop. The resulting trauma appears as numerous small abrasions, burns, and lacerations over the entirety of the pilot’s submerged skin.
  
  The armour serves as an exo-skeleton, amplifying potential energy expended by the limbs, allowing for impressive feats of strength and enhanced jumping. The “feet” contain a series of powerful electromagnets in a system that, upon activation, allows the armour to essentially levitate just above the surface. When used in conjunction with the small thrusters located around the hips, neck, and calves, the suit is capable of gliding in a straight line at truly impressive speeds. This can also be used to scale vertical environments. While fast, this method of transit doesn’t allow for much agility, serving as more of a means of rapid relocation than any sort of practical combat role.
  
  The final, and arguably most important aspect of the armour are three laser-based emitters that serve as the armour’s primary onboard defense system. Connected to the suit just before the “neck”, the three emitters are each at the end of a dense cable system. Each emitter and cable can be moved fully independently from one another, serving as additional appendages. The emitters are capable of firing small energy-based bolts on their own, or when used in conjunction with one another, can amplify a larger, single bolt. Alternatively, the emitters can be used to form a shield between the three points.
  
  Overall, the Hepius is designed to endure a lot of punishment and deliver a sizable payload. It likely struggles with quick-moving nimble targets and pilots are advised against engaging such threats.
  
  _.
• Menarini Dynamic Industries Main Battle Cannon - The primary weapon utilized by the Hepius Platform, this long, cylindrical chamber serves almost as a fourth, disconnected emitter. Possessing its own independent power source, it can be used to fire similar bolts to the Hepius’ onboard system. Three connection ports at the base allow for the Hepius to connect directly to the MBC, allowing for the emitters to be used in conjunction with one another to amplify their output. At full amplification, the cannon could be considered siege weaponry. It has limited anti-personnel applications in this state, as the cannon requires a significant cooldown and charge-up time in-between shots.
  _.
• Menarini Dynamic Industries Anti-Armour and Personnel Tool - An overly descriptive name for what amounts to a long, reinforced spiked mace. The Hepius’ secondary weapon and primary means of engaging more nimble targets in close range. With the Hepius’ enhanced strength, it can be used to easily punch holes in enemy armour. Or turn some poor soft enemy combatant into a fine red mist with a satisfying THWACK!
  _.
• Otto 9mm - A 15 round lightweight pistol for use against soft targets in medium to close range. In the event that Juno finds herself in enemy territory with a non-functional suit and has somehow (unlikely as it may be) survived, the Otto serves as her primary defense weapon.
  _.
• Sol Classic - It’s still a knife. 17cm (~6.75in) in length. If she’s relying on this, things have gone really, really bad.
  _.
• Go - A cocktail of stimulants and painkillers that enhance the senses and raise one’s pain tolerance. May induce violent emotional outbursts, increased aggression, organ failure, upset stomach, diarrhea. Typically administered via autoinjector pen.

Abilities:

• Enhanced Regeneration - Juno’s primary tool. While many Ki-practitioners are capable of some form of accelerated healing, Juno is an abnormality. Her hyper-active cells are capable of recovering small wounds in a matter of moments, larger injuries in hours, repair organ damage in days, regrow lost limbs in weeks. She’s capable of regenerating through damage that should kill her. It’s hypothesized that perhaps destroying her brain or at least severing its connection to the spine would take her out, but considering she’s still walking about, that seems to be still untested.
  _.
• Proficient Mace Fighter - Juno has been trained in a number of classic weapons utilized by Knights, and while she’s at least capable with most, her particular speciality lies with maces. Big blunt objects being swung very hard. Simple, yet effective.
  _.
• Proficient Unarmed Fighter - Perhaps more so than her weapons training, Juno is confident in her unarmed capabilities. She’s a striker, blessed with long limbs that typically give her a reach advantage on opponents her height or shorter. And while she’s at least competent in grappling, it’s definitely her weak spot. Matched against any proficient grappler, she’s sorely SOL if things go to ground.
  _.
• Competent Pistol Marksman - While her gunplay isn’t anything groundbreaking, Juno is at least consistent enough at range to be considered a threat with a sidearm. It isn’t bad…but let’s just say there’s a reason she was given a cannon and not a sniper.

Extra:

Juno’s Theme

The Hepius’ Theme

Scorched Earth

Hope everyone had an awesome holiday!

Scorched Earth

|| Duncan Mallard||

|| The Cat and Concert ||

With the detached disinterest of the lazy cat watching over the mouse scurrying to and fro in its vain struggle for survival, the lanky ghoul watched as body after body flooded into the shuttle bay. His expression did little to betray the turmoil storming his mind as the buzzing began. With each new face, the buzzing in the boy’s head grew louder and louder, the various disembodied voices clashing against each other, merging and breaking apart as they formed a mad orchestra performing a concert that moved between beautiful symphony and agonizing discordance.

With every new thought or observation given form to join the disharmonious harmony, the paradoxical performance swelled to its climax. The young Spectre felt as if his mind were splitting apart at its seams.

Not long now

The words cut through the noise. The soothing warmth of familiarity serving as a shining beacon in the dark sea of insanity. As the boy focused on the words, his mind’s eye shifted, it’s gaze fixed solely on the source of its respite. As he grew closer, the orchestra’s damned song faded into the gentle hum of a choir. The boy’s eyes shifted from the impossible sea of faces to the form of the Holy Man gazing upon something in his hand. It would be nothing for the young Spectre to peer into his comrade’s mind, to see what he was seeing, know what he was contemplating.

But he wouldn’t dare.

Not this one.

Never this one.

The Holy Man towered over his brothers, the Spectres who congregated around him. There were some within their ranks who avoided the man…but they all recognized him. In some capacity anyway. Duncan certainly did. To the boy, he was the calm at the center of the storm. Order within chaos. An abnormality amongst abnormalities. Proof that they weren’t doomed to be the monsters that others saw them as. The potential to be…good?

No.

Not good.

Never good.

Images flashed across the boy’s mind. Blurry. Unfocused. Painful. He pushed them away, back into the dark shadows they sprung forth from.

With his train of thought derailed, Duncan turned his attention to the other wreck occuring before him. The Others gathered around their own ranks. Metal men in garish garb. Mages mulling over malevolent magicks. Some gave speeches, some gave insults. Some prayed like the Holy Man, some laughed with their fellows. The many little rituals of the men and women preparing for battle, with him as their silent, unseen audience. Occasionally, stray thoughts would pierce Duncan’s calm. He would let them in, let them say their piece, then let them leave. And then he would ponder.

Those thoughts of love.

Thoughts of joy.

Thoughts of duty and glory.

Of dread and sadness.

Of fear.

Of hatred.

He would hold each against his own heart, hoping to identify that feeling which resonated with his own…but he did so in vain. Whatever moved him, he either did not find it amongst the thoughts of the Others, or could not recognize it. For these gathered few, this would be a momentous occasion, something extraordinary that they would hopefully look back upon. But for Duncan…the coming battle would be no different than breathing or eating. For this was his purpose, his very reason for creation.

Like the cat finally pouncing upon the mouse, there’s no greater reasoning or motivation to the act. There is no malice. No joy. It is merely instinct.

Pure and primal.

---

|| The Doubt and Hope ||

@TheMerlin

As the Spectre shuttle lurched forward and took flight, Duncan found himself thinking of the Others. Before today, he had only worked with others within his own order. His own brothers. He knew little of the other Belisian forces. And there would have been a time when he would have gladly kept it that way. He had his tasks and they their own. But…something stirred within the boy. An uncertainty. A change. He had noticed it before. Back when his bro-

_{no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no} no no no no no no no no no

no no no no

no no no no

no

Another series of unfocused memories began to surface in the boy’s mind, but he averted his gaze. He knew that to gaze upon those images and slides now…it would break him. He didn’t know where that knowledge or his absolute certainty came from…and that terrified him. But ever the master of many masks, the boy refused to allow his face to betray him. His was a stony demeanor, the ghoulish Spectre of Dr. Mallard. In an effort to steel his mind, the boy found the Anchor. Liffis Kai. The Holy Man. He pushed his mind towards the solemn Spectre delicately, careful not to push too far. There would be no melding, no invasion. Only the passage of a thought - four words in an attempt to seek assurance.

”Knights…Mages…good people?”

In a shaky, uncertain voice, the young Spectre would speak his thoughts aloud rather than risk intruding upon the Holy Man’s privacy. For many, it would be their first time hearing the boy’s voice outside of their own heads. Raspy. Hoarse. Some shifted their gaze upon him, sizing him up, searching for weakness. Others turned towards Liffis, curious to see his reaction to the strange outburst. Most remained unfazed, their minds solely focused on the task at hand.

The young Spectre, however, awaited the sage’s wisdom with bated breath, his eyes trained solely towards Kai. The Belisian weapon was little more than the boy Ducky once more, a creature of earnest, unabashed curiosity.

And the answer he was given would doubtless shape the boy’s troubled heart.

Scorched Earth

Ayo! I'm still alive! I ended up moving? I'll start working on something after some sleep. I drove for waaay too long.

Scorched Earth

Duncan Mallard

Subject 970d-0322
Duncan Mallard

_{art by: Claparo}

Ducky || 20 || Male

Spectre

Reconnaissance || Marksmanship || Signaller

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Appearance:

There’s something about Duncan that is rather unsettling. In many ways, he is the spitting image of a young Dr. Jacques Mallard, one of the brilliant yet controversial minds behind Belisio’s Spectre program. Were one to overlay their faces and account for the changes due to aging in the doctor, one would see that their features match up unnaturally well. Eye shape, nose shape, mouth. Identical patterns on their grey irises. Flaws in their skin. Were it not for the difference in age, one could assume the pair to be twins. But it’s hard to make that comparison once one sees either in person.

Perhaps the result of undergoing the Spectre procedures far too early, the younger Mallard towers over the good doctor. At full length, he’s about 198cm (~6’6”), though he stands with a bit of a hunch, bringing him closer to 194cm (~6’4”) on average. His limbs are long and spindly, giving him a rather lanky silhouette. And he is thin. Painfully, uncomfortably so. Coupled with his rather corpse-like pale complexion, one could be forgiven for mistaking him as more ghoul than man.

Duncan doesn’t have many options when it comes to apparel. Finding properly fitting clothes is a pipedream, really. So he settles for whatever he can find. This usually means that he ends up in clothes that are waaay too baggy or going shirtless, which really doesn’t help with the whole ghoul aesthetic, but what can you do? The boy’s hopeless, really. He does own a single leather jacket that surprisingly does fit, but it was a gift. Apparently when you’re a weapon of the state, visiting a tailor is just too much to ask.

A piercer, however, seemingly isn’t, as both of Duncan’s ears are pierced multiple times. Priorities, people. He has ‘em.

Personality:

A bit of an oddity amongst the Spectres, Duncan is a rather outgoing, gregarious kind of guy. One might even go so far as to call him friendly. And, perhaps on a particularly good day, maybe even funny. One shouldn’t be faulted for thinking that Duncan could even be considered…normal.

But one mustn’t forget the crucial fact that Duncan is a Spectre. And Spectres are, as a whole, anything but normal.

And the truth of the matter is that Duncan is a highly manipulative little shit. Remarkably intelligent, quick witted, and highly proficient at picking up on social cues, along with the whole psionic thing - it’s nothing for Duncan to figure out what particular brand of bullshit to serve whoever has the misfortune of interacting with him. It’s a particularly useful skill to have in his line of work, being able to snake information from a target, but not one that he can so easily switch off.

It’s not that the young Mallard is inherently evil, mind you. It’s more that he lacks an internal moral compass. He was created with the sole purpose of serving the interests of Belisio. His loyalty is unwavering and he is practical to a fault. He wasn’t brought up to question orders, only carry them out. A tool need not worry about the consequences of its actions.

But the tool is still human at its core. Even if it can’t quite connect all the pieces, they’re still there. And even if he cannot hear his own moral compass, there are at least two people who act as his heart. His childhood friend, one Ms. Juno Ohara and fellow Spectre Liffis Kai. The former taught him how to interact with people and how to treat them with kindness. The latter is a source of calmness in a sea of madness. Maybe it’s because of how similar the two hearts are that drives Duncan to attempt to show even the smallest fraction of compassion to his nation’s enemies, to creatures he otherwise wouldn’t even consider living beings. Why he attempts to be a scalpel rather than a chainsaw.

And why he finds himself so painfully at odds with his very purpose.

Background:

TL;DR
designer test tube baby does cow lick hensticks for big brain powers - gets big brainwashing for free*
misses stacy and her mom, but that's okay because big brother loves you until he doesn't

Duckboi Lore Dump

Experiment 970d-0322

Purpose: To gauge the viability of Spectre augmentation upon artificially created humanoids throughout various stages of development.

Method: Fusing stabilized samples of Dr. Jacques Mallard’s somatic cells with human oocytes after removal of the latter’s nucleus. Incubate successful fusions in artificial womb for nine-month gestation period. Rear in isolation with minimal human contact until designated procedure window (970d-series: onset of puberty). Observe physiological developments. Compare against control group (970a series).

Results: Of the five subjects within the 970d series, Subject 970d-0830 expired during gestation. Subject 970d-0301 expired at on-set of puberty. Subjects 970d-0213, 970d-1103, and 970d-0322 all underwent and survived Spectre procedures. Subject 970d-0213 showed unfavorable physiological defects shortly after. Terminated. Subject 970d-0322 displays unusual growth patterns, but otherwise within acceptable margins. Subject 970d-1103 showed minimal deviation from control group physiology.

Conclusions: High fatality rate pre-procedure across all 970 series as well as low success rate of procedure/high rate of terminal physiological changes post-procedure indicate poor viability of artificial humanoids as Spectre candidates with current gestation practices. Recommendation: terminate non-combat ready subjects and proceed to field testing with remaining subjects. Postpone further series until further advancements can be completed on gestation practices.

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970d-0322 grew up just as all his brothers did - mostly alone in a small, sterile white room. The key word being mostly. As 970d-0322 was never truly alone. There was always somebody on the other side of the dark glass. Watching him. Observing him. He couldn’t see them, of course, but they were there. Always. In a way, it was comforting. Three times a day, the buzzer would go off, and that meant that it was time to do his Cow Lick Hensticks (calisthenics). Three more times a day, the light would go on, and that meant it was time to play the thinking games. And twice a day, when he was hungry, the door would open and someone in a puffy white suit would bring him his nutrient paste. 970d-0322 called them the bubblemen. To himself, of course. Never to the bubblemen. He wasn’t supposed to talk to the bubblemen. Ever. That was bad. And he didn’t want to be bad. When he was bad, the bubblemen wouldn’t show up again for a while. Only good boys got their nutrient paste. Good boys always did their Cow Lick Hensticks and played the thinking games whenever the light came on.

But one day, when it was time for the bubblemen to bring his nutrient paste, one spoke to him. 970d-0322 was scared, obviously. He didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t supposed to talk to the bubblemen - that was bad. But ignoring the bubblemen when they told him to play the mind games or do his Cow Lick Hensticks was also bad. This particular bubbleman was persistent though. They pulled out something that 970d-0322 had never seen before - a small, shiny rectangular object. And when they removed the shiny cover, he smelled something strange. Something different. The bubbleman offered it to him, and he took it. They told him to eat it. So he did. It was the first time he had had actual solid food. It was also the first time he had chocolate.

The strange bubbleman came to visit him again time and time again. And they told him all sorts of amazing stories about the word and brought all sorts of snacks and treats for him to try. One day, the bubbleman even took off their bubblehelmet. 970d-0322 couldn’t believe it - they looked just like him underneath it. Just bigger. And pretty. Whatever that meant.

The bubbleman told him that her name was Ms. Ami.

Ms. Ami Ohara.

Occasionally, Ms. Ami would bring her “daughter” Juno Ohara. Juno was small like him. But pretty. Like Ms. Ami. It was frustrating. But he very much liked it when Juno came to play. She was really nice. He didn’t quite understand what “nice” meant, but she let him know that “being nice” meant saying things that made the other person happy. Like calling her or Ms. Ami “pretty” was being nice.

Ms. Ami was the one who decided that 970d-0322 wasn’t a proper name for a little boy (that was what he was!). She decided that the “d” stood for “Duncan”. But when the boy tried to say the name, he misspoke. “Duck can.” he said. And when little Juno heard that, he was “Ducky” in her eyes from then on out.

Over the years, the Cow Lick Hensticks got harder. The mind games more tedious. But Ducky stuck with it. He did his very best. Because when he did good, he got to see Ms. Ami and Juno. And that made it worth it.

But all good things must come to an end, eventually. One day Ms. Ami and Juno stopped showing up. And that was that. The Cow Lick Hensticks got even harder. But he kept pushing himself. It was never enough though. No matter how well he did, it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good anymore. That’s why Ms. Ami went away. Because he was bad.

He was so bad that The Bad Thing happened. The bubblemen came and took him away one day. Away from the small white room. To a large white room. With knives. And the bubblemen cut him. And they took parts of him away. And put other things in. Ducky was asleep for most of it…but not all.

He was in pain for a while after that. It’s hard to tell how long though. It never went away, not truly, but it did become bearable. At least a little. Eventually, however, he was returned to the small white room. To his home. And while he was weak at first…eventually he became stronger. And smarter. The changes came suddenly and harshly. He was doing even more difficult calisthenics than before The Bad Thing, but it came easier. And when he played the mind games, it was as if the answers came flooding into him. Along with other things. Sights. Sounds. From behind the window. From the bubblemen. And eventually…thoughts.

It was intoxicating, these experiences. Even better than Ms. Ami’s stories. He could actually see and hear and feel all these new things. The bubblemen could tell. It made them happy. It made them scared. They called him a miracle of modern science. They called him a monster.

As months passed, Ducky grew. Both in body and in mind. And it was getting difficult to tell which was growing more. While his body began taking up more and more of his little white room, his mind expanded. He learned of the world beyond his walls. Of Belisio - sweet Belisio, the love of his life - for the first time as he peered in the minds of his scientists. It was strange, the moment he became aware of the very concept of Belisio, his nation, his country, his love, he knew in that instance he would do anything, absolutely anything, to protect her. He became obsessed. He had to better himself. For Belisio. Always Belisio.

It was shortly after this revelation that the scientists began having 970d-0322 leave the small white room. The same thing which terrified him to his very core as a child meant nothing now. It wasn’t his home. It wasn’t Belisio. He would train. With others very much like him. And he would learn. Of war. Of the _{disgusting, monsterous, evil} Mages. Of the _{foul wrong BAD} Vaim empire. They were taught everything they needed to know to terminate these Mages. They were given the means. Over years they would become the very tools that Belisio ^{sweet sweet Belisio, always Belisio, my life for Belisio} would use to defend herself and purge the world of evil.

And defend her they did. Exceedingly well. There were only a few of them - six in total - but the clones were incredibly efficient. For a time anyway. Subject 970d-1103, considered the perfect example of what the experiment was meant to produce, led the small band. But the clones were a flawed project based upon a flawed man. And it didn’t take long before this was apparent. One day, six clones left. And only one came back. 970d-0322.

The clone was interrogated relentlessly over the details of the mission, but he had nothing to share. Torture, mental probes, bribes…nothing. He remembered leaving for the mission and he remembered returning. The rest was blank. It was as if an entire section of his memory was just carved out. Which would sound absurd under normal circumstances, but it wasn’t out of the question that the psionic clones had turned rogue. Strange then that one would remain, but it was quite clear that the clone’s loyalty remained as firm as ever.

It wasn’t until recently that 970d-0322 found himself in the company of Liffis Kai. And something about the Holy Man sparked an old memory. A ghost in his head. Of the woman in the bubble suit, and her daughter. Ms. Ami and Juno. He had forgotten about them - hadn’t thought about either in years. At some point, thoughts of Belisio^{glory to Belisioprotect Belisio} had…what? Replaced them? It was odd. Strange. Unpleasant, even. He resented that feeling, resented the Holy Man for bringing it up. But at the same time, he desperately wanted to hold on to it. He didn’t want to forget again, even if he didn’t exactly know why. He was conflicted. Unsure now of his grand purpose.

He wasn’t Ducky, the little boy that spent his days being enraptured by the woman’s tales of the fantastical world outside, but to say that he was just 970d-0322, Belisio’s^{always Belisio} instrument of war…it didn’t feel right anymore either.

Thus, for better or worse, the conflicted soul became the man we know today. He would reach a compromise of sorts - protect Belisio^{die for her! kill for her!} and become good enough to see Ms. Ami and Juno again one day. Wherever they are.

Equipment:

• BCW Spinal Array Custom - A custom suite of cybernetic implants along the spine. The main features include a number of radio transceivers and docking interfaces for the drone units.
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• BCW Optic Relay System - An implant on the optic nerve that allows for the overlaying of images/videos on ones’ sight. Can be used in conjunction with the transceivers within the spinal array and drone platforms to allow for monitoring of the drone platform cameras while in the field.
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• BCW Remote Drone Platform "Ducklings" x5 - Lightweight, armored drone units equipped with audio/video recording capabilities, wireless transmitters, and a small turret capable of firing firing small-caliber energy bolts.
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• Halific .338 - Five round heavy rifle system accurate up to 1,000m in perfect conditions. Suppressor sold separately.
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• Otto 9mm - 15 round lightweight sidearm for use against soft targets in medium to close range.
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• Sol Classic - issa knife. 17cm (~6.75in) in length. If Duncan ever finds himself in a spot where he’s relying on this, he’s probably SOL himself.

Abilities:

• Mindjack - The technique by which Duncan “jacks in” to another person’s mind, enabling him to access any of their senses and relay it back to himself. He uses this in order to see and hear what his comrades are experiencing and, in conjunction with Telepathy, allows him to update Spectres on battlefield conditions in real time. Requires a line of sight to the target, but once he’s in, he can continue jumping to targets in his new POV’s LOS. Duncan refers to hopping this way as “going long.” With each jump from the initial target, Duncan can tap into one less sense at a time. He reaches his limit on the fifth jump, being then only able to access a single sense at a time and unable to jump further without dropping the connection and recovering for a short period..
  
  Alternatively, Duncan can choose to “go wide” with the ability, allowing him to tap into multiple people simultaneously. He taps out again at five connections, able to access a single sense across all five people, such as sight from five different viewpoints, or five people’s hearing, etc.
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• Telepathy - Long range mental walkie-talkie. Duncan requires a visual of the person for the first connection, but if he’s made contact prior and is at least aware of the approximate direction and distance of the person, he can make contact again, although it might take more time/concentration to do so.
  
  Besides communication, Duncan is capable of catching surface level thoughts without leaving much of an impression if any. Deeper thoughts or probing for memories/knowledge/the like is much more invasive and much more obvious/painful for the probee. It’s easy enough for anybody with experience around psionics to shut Duncan out if they so wish. Other psionic users especially.
  
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• Artificially Enhanced Physiology - A strict regimen of chemical soup, cow lick hensticks, and a little dash of surgery has pushed Duncan’s body to its physical limits. The big gangly freak might not look it, but that’s peak human physique right there.
  
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• Artificially Enhanced Intellect / Information Processing - with Doctor Jacques Mallard serving as the template, it was hypothesized that the clones would likely possess a similar intellect. And that hypothesis turned out correct. Duncan’s a smart cookie now. But what’s more impressive is the speed in which he can absorb information. It seems that this came at a price, however, as Duncan is unable to effectively make a physical impact with his psionic abilities. So no barriers. No throwing cars. No fun.

Extra:

Scorched Earth

Howdy hey y'all~

So, I've been lurking for a few days now and just came across this. And I have to say, I absolutely adore the setting and cast that's come together, and if it's not too late, I think I'd like to take a crack at putting together a sheet or two for it? If not, no worries, I've no issues with just creeping around as a reader.

Cheers either way!

Townsfolk of Lorenstad - A Fantasy Village RP

Wow. This is incredibly adorable. It's been awhile, but I think I'll write something up today <3