Penguinimus

The Weirdest World War

This looks super fun. I'm interested.

Illuminati: Becouse the world won't run itself. [Light Hearted, Conspiracy, Urban Magic, Dark Humour]

Looks interesting. Being yet another TSW fan (albeit Templar), I'm definitely drawn to this. Admittedly, though, the title caught my eye for the wrong reason.

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

??? - ???

Pleasant Weather

Dhinas Charrai Fir Aathhavai Rain Sabaaee Jaae…

Submersion; Pressure; Instability; Cold; Warmth. Multiple senses delivered urgent messages in a jumbled mess of voices, like a crowded stock exchange. It was hard to sort through each one of them. Impossible to isolate, or focus.

“Try one at a time...” spoke a soothingly raspy, yet unfamiliar baritone.

Everything was empty. No vision. Not even darkness. Simply, empty: as if vision was a completely unfamiliar concept. Sounds were muffled and scrambled, blurred and indistinct. But each wave of vibrations amplified the pressure in the skull.

“Where are you…?”
“Where are you, Isaac?”

Two voices in a dissonant harmony. One mysterious, one recognizable. A woman’s voice called out to an entity known as Isaac, an amalgamation of a community of subprocesses guided by an emergent, identifiable psychological subroutine known as consciousness.

“Where are you, Isaac?” The woman's voice asked again, this time with a fearful insistence.

"I am..." Isaac replied as the crowds of sensations unified into a singular experience. "I am swimming," He added, feeling the weightlessness and pressure holding his body. "Or I am falling..."

The empty void shifted to blackness. As Isaac regained control of different aspects of his body, he began to remember old sensations. Muscle memory took control of his eyes, performing a check on the lids and the various muscles behind. With each shift came a flash of light.

"Do you see this light, Isaac?" Spoke the mysterious man, whose rumbling voice soothed Isaac's otherwise frantic and panicked mind.

"I see it," Isaac replied. "I need to swim toward it..."

Isaac thrashed about, but couldn't move his body. The pressure was too strong. His body was stiff, unresponsive. Yet the very thought of ascending, the very mental struggle, brought Isaac toward the light all the same. His heart pounded in his chest, desperate. "I can't breathe. I can't breathe!" He shouted. "I'm not swimming fasting enough!" His body shook and his chest began to burn. He could feel every muscle in his nervous system tremble.

"We ensure the most quality and humane care of our patients." Spoke a new voice. Familiar. Male. Nasally. Bookish.

"Useless windbag," Isaac recalled briefly before his focus returned to the sudden collapse of his chest cavity and lungs. "And I'm still drowning!"

"It's alright, honey. It's alright. You're going to be fine."

"Lu..." Isaac's heartrate suddenly slowed. He drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes. The world was a blurry landscape. With a few more tremors, Isaac spoke, "Lu, I'm home."

"Of course you are, sweetie. It's your birthday. We're all here with you. Why don't you come out of the pool? Your parents are going to be here any minute."

Isaac moved his arms to climb out of the pool. But he couldn't. He still felt stiff. "I'm drowning. I'm still drowning. Lu, where are you?"

"Come out of the pool, Daddy."

Mila's voice. She was six years old. "I remember this birthday..." Isaac said, feeling himself sink again. "We went to the theater with my parents. But Mila got food poisoning. Lu...you took Mila to the hospital and I stayed with my parents. We fought that night."

"Where are you, Isaac?!

Lucille's voice became more insistent. Isaac struggled again, his heart pounding once more. "I'm here, Lu! I'm drowning, but I'm here! I will find you!"

"We ensure the most quality and humane care of our patients." The nasally voice spoke again.

"Who the fuck cares? They're Franks." Nosering chuckled. "You can run 'em over and they won't give a shit."

Nosering. Isaac's could feel pressure in the back of his skull as his brain woke further. He became suddenly aware of the pins and needles sensation that had been stabbing his fingers and toes. "Where am I?"

"Where are you, Isaac?"
"Where are you, Isaac?"
"Where are you, Daddy?"

"Where, the fuck are you?!" Nosering shouted, just as Isaac felt a surging pain and pressure across his cheek.

...Aav Ghattai Nar Naa Bujhai Nith Moosaa Laaj Ttukaae

-------------------------------

March 11, 2018 - Harvard, Massachusetts. Bromfield School.

41 Degrees. Partly Cloudy

Nearly twenty years ago, Isaac shared a physics class with a student named James Cole, who was between majors. As Isaac sat watch over the truck's supplies with his hunting rifle resting up against his shoulder, he began to reminisce about his former classmate. James was an idealist in the literal sense of the word, to the point of holding a firm position on relativistic solipsism. As Isaac recalled, James went on to provide a thesis for his Master's degree on how time is not subjective, but truly relativistic to consciousness. As Isaac studied cloud formations, James managed to obtain a Masters in Philosophy with a focus on Cosmology and Consciousness for providing compelling evidence of the ratio of the passage of time in regard to a person's particular enjoyment.

Isaac needed no thesis to prove this concept. He could have sworn that hours had passed since their arrival, but the sun had barely risen. Thirty, maybe forty minutes, tops. It didn't help that Sticks was audibly shivering and Nosering was constantly cracking his jaw, adding two more factors that greatly contributed to Isaac's Psychotemporal Ratio.

This is irrelevant. How did you get here, Isaac?

I need you to focus, Isaac. Pay attention.

With a heavy and muffled sigh, Isaac shifted his gaze several meters south of the truck, where Morgan, Shades, and Gaston were huddled with what appeared to be soldiers and men in lab coats. Beyond them sat a modest-sized building - a school, apparently - with a pleasantly warm red-orange hue to its brick construction and high rooftops. It felt Church-like, if not for the boarded windows, wooden barricades, and chicken-wire surrounding the building. The dead grass and mutilated wildlife that lay strewn about, waiting to be cleaned up didn't help matters, either.

Isaac watched Morgan carefully. He was a big man, for sure, standing at nearly 6'4". While food deprivation might have shed him fifteen or twenty pounds since the Terminus release, Morgan's years of benchpressing and protein shakes was still quite apparent. To match his intimidating size, Morgan's deep brown eyes, shaved head, and melanin rich skin commanded respect. He spoke little, but when he did, it was short and to the point, leaving no room for questioning. Isaac's first impression of the man was simply: efficient. In a world where every resource counted, Morgan knew how to get as much out of his team as possible, with the smallest effort.

Morgan is what a good man should be.

Morgan is scary.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Came the weak and gingivitis-ridden voice of Sticks, who was literally looking over Isaac's shoulder.

Isaac glared impatiently at the emaciated young man. Fortunately, before he could say anything, Nosering pulled him back. "Watch your step, idiot. You almost shoved your foot right into the cargo."

"Sorry..." Sticks said.

"Keep your eye on the body..." Isaac muttered. Sticks looked at Isaac with a glance that questioned the new guy's authority. But after a brief moment, realized it was a good idea. He turned gaze a few meters to the back of the truck, where the bloody and somewhat dismembered mess of what was once a human body flailed about like a ragdoll, voicelessly.

Just then, Isaac felt a tap on his shoulder. Nosering gestured over to the group. Shades had turned around and was walking back toward the truck. "Looks like they're finally ready to get this shit moving."

Isaac started preparing the boxes to be removed. But Shades had other plans. He slapped his palm onto the wood to get Isaac's attention. "Leave them," Shades commanded sternly. "Get out of the truck. We're going for a walk."

"A walk?" Nosering asked. "The fuck are they going to do, give us the five dollar tour?"

"Just shut up and get out of the car, Stan." Shades knocked on the wood again, moving around the truck. Isaac watched him carefully. He was holding fairly tightly to his gun. This wasn't a request. It was a demand. Something was happening. Maybe the deal went bad. Maybe Morgan was in trouble. Isaac's masked face studied Shades' carefully. Watched his lips form a tight line across his pale, Val Kilmer face. The man was expressionless. Very solder-like, if not for his obvious love of the eighties with the Top Gun shades and Mad Max leather jacket.

You don't trust Tim?

He wants to kill you.

Sticks stepped out first, followed by Nosering, who gave Shades a playful shove. Isaac followed, glancing at his surroundings for any sign of a potential ambush. "Is Morgan in trouble?"

"Just get moving." Shades said sternly.

"Suit yourself, Iceman..." Isaac muttered as he followed Nosering.

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

March 11, 2018 - Harvard, Massachusetts. 30 Minutes south of Ft. Devens.

39 Degrees. Partly Cloudy

One of life’s simple pleasures, according to the American Dream handbook, is a peaceful Sunday drive on an open stretch of country road, where the chill of the morning air meets the warm and delicate kiss of the rising sun. With puffs of cumulus bumbling along a gradient canvas, carefree and unencumbered by trivialities. Accompanying on this journey: a spouse, two children, and a dog. Over bridges and underpasses, carefree passengers simply follow the road, no less encumbered than the bumbling cumulus, giving in to the paths laid out before them.

It seemed, to Isaac, that many important details eluded the American Dream handbook. Nowhere did the handbook mention that the spring wind would carry upon its lofty back the choking scent of an M35 series cargo truck’s diesel exhaust. It didn’t account for the bumps, thuds, and jerks as the truck shifted gears or ran over a body. Or that Isaac’s company, instead of a one-spouse and two-kid family, was an unruly bunch of Eastern Front Bandits, whose appearance was fresh out of a 1980s biker gang movie.

Isaac could feel their eyes upon him from time to time as he leaned back against the wooden rails. He knew the look. At best, untrusting. At the worst, cold and bloodthirsty. Six other men accompanied Isaac in the cargo area of the truck. Isaac hadn’t the opportunity or the desire to learn their names. He considered it a waste of time. In the months since the virus, the idea of identity became insignificant. So had permanence, for that matter. Routine had fallen by the wayside. So Isaac thought of temporary names for his companions. Forgettable names, such as Skullface, Nosering, Patriot, Sticks, Gaston, and Shades.

“Hey,” Sticks called out to Skullface, whose appearance was rather intimidating regardless of the skull-printed bandana tied around the lower half of his face. “Bill, pssst. Bill!” Sticks continued to call out.

...Apparently Skullface’s name was Bill. Isaac liked Skullface better.

“Shut up.” Skullface barked, jabbing Sticks’ knee with the butt of his shotgun. After Sticks hissed and winced, Skullface leaned in, “Whatta ya want?”

“What do you think they want to do with Frankie?” Sticks said while rubbing his knee and motioning toward the end of a rope hanging out of the truck. More importantly, he motioned to what was dragging at the end of the rope: a bloody, twitching, groaning husk of a human woman.

“Beats me,” Skullface sighed. “Study her. Fuck her. Put a collar on her and make her beg. I dunno. But who the hell cares? They want Franks, we bring Franks. So long as they pay us, I don’t give a shit what they do to ‘em.”

“I bet the new guy wants to fuck her,” mused Nosering, motioning to Isaac. “Hey, new guy. Want us to pull over so you can take a turn?”

“Already had my turn…” Isaac muttered through his mask.

Nosering smirked. “Did she like it?”

“Don’t know,” Isaac replied coldly. “Ask your buddy, Jacobs, next time you see him.”

Silence. A cold, bitter, windy silence. The truck jerked hard as the driver shifted gears. Tension among the group was palpable. Defensively, Isaac’s free hand moved to his knife. But much to Isaac’s surprise, Nosering erupted into a hearty laugh. The rest of the car followed.

“Jacobs scores even when he’s dead.” Chuckled Nosering.

“Ten bucks says I score twice as many when I’m a Frank.” Boasted Gaston, with a hearty laugh.

A heavy knock came from the inside of the truck. A man by the name of Morgan, the only man whose name Isaac chose to remember, yelled out at the group. “Cut the crap and look sharp. We’re here to do business, look and act like it. Rendezvous in five.”

Morgan’s commanding influence was noteworthy. The laughs were immediately stifled and the entire group shifted their focus to their weapons, triple checking their ammo. Skullface motioned to some boxes next to Isaac. “Scott, Smith, you two are guarding the crates. Tim and I are going with Morgan. New guy, watch our backs. Don’t fall asleep.”

Isaac nodded wordlessly at Skullface.

The road became bumpier as it was littered with bodies downed by the surviving locals. Isaac was thrown out of his seat and was quickly saved by Shades, who pulled him close and muttered, “Jacobs was my best friend. I don’t know who the fuck you are, but I won’t forget that your ugly face was the last thing he saw.”

He shoved Isaac back toward his seat, causing his helmeted head to collide with the wooden rail. Dazed briefly, Isaac gazed up at the sun, just peeking out beyond a slow-drifting cumulus cloud. As the rays warmed him against the bitter wind, Isaac drew in a deep breath. The handbook was right about one thing: there was nothing like the kiss of sunlight to brighten up a Sunday morning drive.

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

.

The Risen: Fear the Fallen

Name: Isaac Singh
Age: 35
Birthday: April 16
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 132lbs (pre-outbreak)
Gender: Male

Orientation/Status: Heterosexual/Separated.
Occupation: Meteorologist
Hometown: Yuba City, California
Current City: On route to Boston, MA.

Biography:

Childhood - Isaac was born an only child to Indian-American Gurren Singh and French Canadian Rita Leblanc. For the duration of his formative years, Isaac grew up in and around Yuba City, California. Much of Isaac’s childhood revolved around his interest in physical sciences. His successes earned him high honors and a scholarship to the University of California, where he obtained a Masters in Atmospheric Science.

Hobbies and Skills - Much of Isaac’s pastimes involved the outdoors: camping, hiking, canoeing, spelunking. His tech savviness, due to his career choice, is above average. Post terminus, Isaac’s hobby skills helped him to become a survivalist, capable of evading or distracting hordes and other survivors.

Family and Career - Isaac’s career path took him to several different locales across the country, first to Colorado where he met his wife, Lucille. The two eventually bought a house in Florida and had a daughter, Mila. Domestic issues and an out-of-state job offer for Isaac fueled Isaac and Lucille’s separation, with Isaac leaving to take the job in Virginia.

Two years after the separation and several days into the Terminus release, Isaac was hiking in the Appalachians. His initial encounter with the virus involved ravenous wildlife. The situation continued to worsen as some of his own traveling party succumbed to the affliction. Fleeing the mountains, escaping crumbling military factions, and seeking the whereabouts of his wife and daughter became top priority in the following months.

Psychological profile:

Although Isaac never fully embraced the faith of his family, Isaac was raised with Sikh traditions and values.

Traumatic events in his nineteenth year combined with workaholic tendencies caused Isaac to turn inward, socially.

Isaac’s separation from his wife and daughter has left him with a lingering sense of guilt and displacement.
Post Terminus, several of Isaac’s encounters with civilians and the military has left him completely distrustful and calculated in his interactions.

Gear and Weapons:

- Backpack with rope, medical supplies, maps, hooks, camping gear, crank flashlight, binoculars, animal traps, a tool kit, and clothing for various weather conditions.
- Heckler & Koch Mk 23 Mod 0
- Browning X-Bolt long range bolt-action shooting rifle
- Flare gun
- USMC Tactical Knife

Apparel:

- Woodland fatigues
- Nike Special Field boots
- Kevlar vest
- Hybrid Helmet
- M17 Gas Mask
- Gloves
- Backpack

Mass Effect Andromeda Multiplayer

From what I've read, there are some things in the multiplayer that get carried over to the single player. Possibly money. There are also, apparently, missions that will be easier if you do with a multiplayer group.

Mass Effect Andromeda Multiplayer

Huh, I didn't realize there was a multiplayer mode. I might be interested, though it might be better to use Discord (VOIP) should there be people who have non-Origin copies.

Not to hijack the thread, but thoughts on MEA, so far?

@Iuniper

So far, I'm enjoying it. There was a lot of griping about animations in the early reviews and I can say for sure that there are some hilarious moments. But it isn't game-breaking for me so far. Gameplay is solid. Story is pretty decent and I'm happy to be back in the M.E. Universe.

Mass Effect Andromeda Multiplayer

I'm not huge into multiplayer in general. I mean, don't get me wrong, I enjoy playing with other people sometimes. But I tend to mute myself and listen to everyone else's banter.

With that said, if you don't mind playing with a guy who doesn't say much, feel free to PM me your Xbox gamertag xD

Secure Login

I didn't see this feature request. But it sure would be nice to have an https login page.