[X] Focus on cycling mana. He will at least be able to move well once deployed. Although, if combat happens, he will have to resort to using his Armature's fists if he wants to help.
Autonomous Divinity: A Cog in the Machine
- Thread starter CatOnTheWeb
- Start date
- Original Sci-Fi Fantasy
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
Alrighty, it's been a minute, but I'm going to start working on the update: should have it out in a couple days. But before that, two things: one, I promised a post about how mechanics work, or at least what all the stats for your character sheet and Armature mean. So I'll put that here. Then, after that, I'm going to need a few rolls. For now, let's just say one per poster.
There are two relevant sections of mechanics: human scale mechanics, and Armature scale mechanics.
First, the Human-Scale.
Core Stats: These are, as the name implies, the five core statistics that influence dice roles. One will always be used, and they're relevant to giving an abstract idea of your character, so they are core. As I currently have it, these stats are never negative, like how they can be with D&D, Pathfinder, and other such rpgs. Might change that in the future, because like the tags say, I have no idea what I'm doing.
Leadership: How good are you at leading, inspiring, communicating, and resisting intimidation. While combat is something to be avoided outside of Armatures, this would be the most relevant stat in human sized combat.
Grace: How good are you at being deft and subtle in various situations. This extends to both social and physical situations, from polite deflections to tiptoeing across a trapped floor.
Wits: Wisdom and cleverness. Figuring things out from context clues, and how good are you at thinking on your feet and improvising.
Knowledge: How learned you are, how much information you have. This is everything from mathematic formulas and principles to history and social sciences.
Resilience: How good are you at resisting harm, resisting pain, resisting unconsciousness? If your Armature gets damaged enough, this stat becomes very relevant to avoid personal injury.
Secondary Stats: these are all important, but they are secondary so, that's what they're called, naturally.
Health: This is the 'still alive' number. You die if its 0.
Evasion: Run small human, run! This stat is essential to not needing to risk your hitpoints, but is completely irrelevant once you're inside your Armature.
Spirit: How much mana do you got? Basically your cultivation stat.
Talents: Talents are special abilities that become relevant to your Armature, and allow you to do cool and special things regardless of what equipment you have. These'll be elaborated on later as they become relevant.
Skills: Skills are random things that are flavorful or relevant to a character as a person, and by and large are mostly just key words that, when relevant, trigger a +3 bonus on dice rolls. They give you an idea of who the character is, and what kind of life they might have lived.
Now onto the Armature Scale mechanics
Form and Size: These describe what level of power Armatures operate at. Form is mostly to give you an idea of the Armature's actual shape, whereas Size is the cultivation level of the giant robot. For example, your Squire is a Medium Armature of the First Sphere.
Armaments: These are the physical weapons and gear Armature's carry around. Guns, swords, canons, physical shields, etc. Some can take up more than one slot, and some can fit into different slots. It's all about the situation.
Subsystems: These are specialized programs that Armature's can run. Advanced scanning, hacking suits, cloaking device, shield generators, etc. The more storage they take up up, the more Subsystem Points they use. As a general rule of thumb: if they're physical, they're an Armament, if they're just code, they're a Subsystem.
HP: Hit Points, what it says on the tin. This is how many hits your Armature can take before getting severely damaged. HP can be easily restored after just a few days of maintenance, even in the field. It can almost be considered normal wear and tear.
Armor: Damage mitigation. The more armor you have, the less damage successful attacks cause.
Capacity: how much mana you can push into your Armature at once. This is an important stat, as it determines how many weapons you can use at once, and how much power you put into them. Such as firing two guns at the same time, or turning a sword a big huge laser sword. That kind of stuff. You're allowed to go over your Capacity, but bad stuff starts happening.
Datasec: This is your defense against spiritual attacks. Higher is better, as it makes it more difficult for spiritual attacks, malware, and the like to effect you.
Cyber: This is a bonus that is added to things like active scans and hacking attempts. Where Datasec is a shield, this is a spear.
Subsystem Points: Basically just your Armature's 'storage space.' Armatures can only fit so many programs into them, and this is the representation of that maximum.
Speed: How fast can you cover ground. This determines how fast Armatures can close the distance with their enemy - or how able they are to get away from them.
Evasion: Your dodge stat. Where speed covers how much ground you can cover, and Armor reduces the damage of any hits that land, Evasion is what you want to avoid getting hit in the first place, whether it is ranged or melee attacks.
Stability: This stat is how close your Armature is to a complete breakdown. If your HP hits zero, or if you go above Capacity, then you lose a point of Stability. Doing this immediately resets your HP, but also applies a hefty penalty to your Armature. Stability damage and it's associated penalties require extensive maintenance to fix. These require time and specialized facilities. The only time you do not get a penalty for losing a point of Stability is when you go to Stability 0, as at that point your Armature is destroyed. Likely in a spectacular fashion. I greatly recommend NOT HITTING this point.
Now that that is all out of the way, I need a few rolls for Pence in the coming update. There are a few other people who are getting roles as well, but I'll be doing them as they aren't the player character.
I need 4 rolls:
There are two relevant sections of mechanics: human scale mechanics, and Armature scale mechanics.
First, the Human-Scale.
Core Stats: These are, as the name implies, the five core statistics that influence dice roles. One will always be used, and they're relevant to giving an abstract idea of your character, so they are core. As I currently have it, these stats are never negative, like how they can be with D&D, Pathfinder, and other such rpgs. Might change that in the future, because like the tags say, I have no idea what I'm doing.
Leadership: How good are you at leading, inspiring, communicating, and resisting intimidation. While combat is something to be avoided outside of Armatures, this would be the most relevant stat in human sized combat.
Grace: How good are you at being deft and subtle in various situations. This extends to both social and physical situations, from polite deflections to tiptoeing across a trapped floor.
Wits: Wisdom and cleverness. Figuring things out from context clues, and how good are you at thinking on your feet and improvising.
Knowledge: How learned you are, how much information you have. This is everything from mathematic formulas and principles to history and social sciences.
Resilience: How good are you at resisting harm, resisting pain, resisting unconsciousness? If your Armature gets damaged enough, this stat becomes very relevant to avoid personal injury.
Secondary Stats: these are all important, but they are secondary so, that's what they're called, naturally.
Health: This is the 'still alive' number. You die if its 0.
Evasion: Run small human, run! This stat is essential to not needing to risk your hitpoints, but is completely irrelevant once you're inside your Armature.
Spirit: How much mana do you got? Basically your cultivation stat.
Talents: Talents are special abilities that become relevant to your Armature, and allow you to do cool and special things regardless of what equipment you have. These'll be elaborated on later as they become relevant.
Skills: Skills are random things that are flavorful or relevant to a character as a person, and by and large are mostly just key words that, when relevant, trigger a +3 bonus on dice rolls. They give you an idea of who the character is, and what kind of life they might have lived.
Now onto the Armature Scale mechanics
Form and Size: These describe what level of power Armatures operate at. Form is mostly to give you an idea of the Armature's actual shape, whereas Size is the cultivation level of the giant robot. For example, your Squire is a Medium Armature of the First Sphere.
Armaments: These are the physical weapons and gear Armature's carry around. Guns, swords, canons, physical shields, etc. Some can take up more than one slot, and some can fit into different slots. It's all about the situation.
Subsystems: These are specialized programs that Armature's can run. Advanced scanning, hacking suits, cloaking device, shield generators, etc. The more storage they take up up, the more Subsystem Points they use. As a general rule of thumb: if they're physical, they're an Armament, if they're just code, they're a Subsystem.
HP: Hit Points, what it says on the tin. This is how many hits your Armature can take before getting severely damaged. HP can be easily restored after just a few days of maintenance, even in the field. It can almost be considered normal wear and tear.
Armor: Damage mitigation. The more armor you have, the less damage successful attacks cause.
Capacity: how much mana you can push into your Armature at once. This is an important stat, as it determines how many weapons you can use at once, and how much power you put into them. Such as firing two guns at the same time, or turning a sword a big huge laser sword. That kind of stuff. You're allowed to go over your Capacity, but bad stuff starts happening.
Datasec: This is your defense against spiritual attacks. Higher is better, as it makes it more difficult for spiritual attacks, malware, and the like to effect you.
Cyber: This is a bonus that is added to things like active scans and hacking attempts. Where Datasec is a shield, this is a spear.
Subsystem Points: Basically just your Armature's 'storage space.' Armatures can only fit so many programs into them, and this is the representation of that maximum.
Speed: How fast can you cover ground. This determines how fast Armatures can close the distance with their enemy - or how able they are to get away from them.
Evasion: Your dodge stat. Where speed covers how much ground you can cover, and Armor reduces the damage of any hits that land, Evasion is what you want to avoid getting hit in the first place, whether it is ranged or melee attacks.
Stability: This stat is how close your Armature is to a complete breakdown. If your HP hits zero, or if you go above Capacity, then you lose a point of Stability. Doing this immediately resets your HP, but also applies a hefty penalty to your Armature. Stability damage and it's associated penalties require extensive maintenance to fix. These require time and specialized facilities. The only time you do not get a penalty for losing a point of Stability is when you go to Stability 0, as at that point your Armature is destroyed. Likely in a spectacular fashion. I greatly recommend NOT HITTING this point.
Now that that is all out of the way, I need a few rolls for Pence in the coming update. There are a few other people who are getting roles as well, but I'll be doing them as they aren't the player character.
I need 4 rolls:
- Activation: 1d10+6, with the target being between 6 and 20. No that's not a typo, in this situation it is a pro-forma roll more than anything.
- Scouting: 1d20+3, target 17
- Attack 1: 1d20+4, target 13
- Attack 2: 1d20+4, target 13
Last edited:
- Location
- Earth
I'll take Scouting.
Edit: 8 against target 17.
Edit: 8 against target 17.
Last edited:
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I'll do roll 3
Edit: oof, just missed the DC
Edit: oof, just missed the DC
Last edited:
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I'll take roll 4.
Edit:😎
Edit:😎
Last edited:
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
Alright, now just 1d6.
WhoTheHeckity
But no one ever asks HowTheHeckity
- Location
- Murica 🦅
Dibs
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Bit late for the vote. It closed half-a-month ago.
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
What? No that was only a few…..
Where the hell did my days go?
Prologue Part 4
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
Alright! Not entirely happy with this, but it's been almost two months and I think I've had enough of this update fighting me.
Pence sat inside the torso - no, the cockpit - of his Armature. It was cramped with the door closed and the control systems active, a half-dozen screens clustering around him, showing bright color graphs and fluctuating numbers that he couldn't begin to parse. His hands gripped control yokes of hardened plastic, and his weight rested against the seat, the synthetic smell of it filling his nose. He kept his eyes closed, and focused on his breath like Bran had recommended. In through his nose for a count of three, out through his mouth for a count of eight.
Pence's mana, that sharp, gnawing cold that coiled inside him still, swirled through him as he did, following a path that mirrored his blood vessels. He could feel it brushing against the siphons as it passed through his wrists, ankles, neck, and the base of his spine. It was separated from the leads only by the surface of his skin. But it didn't go into them like it was supposed to. So he kept breathing.
He didn't know how long he had been doing it. There was a time function on the screens, but he hadn't tried to find it. It would just distract him.
In for three. Out for eight.
Breath in, breath out.
In, and out.
In. Out.
In-
Something caught, like a screw threading itself into a washer.
Pence felt his mana surge into the siphons. Ice-blue pain flaked away with each lead it passed, and under it was the feeling of something else breaking away as well, sucked up by the hoses attached to his limbs. He couldn't describe what that other feeling was, but he almost felt lesser for having lost it.
The inside of the Armature hummed with a guttural growl, and the wall of the cockpit winked to life, revealing itself to be a screen wrapping from Pence's right to his left. It showed the interior of the armature bay. Sound filtered in, the creak of metal, the clatter of feet on gantries, the quiet mutter of conversation between technical personnel. Over top it all was the rumble of over a dozen activated Armatures, their systems coming awake one by one.
And then Pence breathed out, and felt that indescribable sensation - less than had been taken- flow back into him. He lost the rhythm to his breaths, but it didn't matter. His mana was feeding itself into the Armature on its own now.
"Oh thank the gods," Pence said, all but collapsing as tension he hadn't even noticed bled out of his body.
"Pilots of the 140th," the crackle of speaker systems filled the air outside Pence's Armature. He recognized it as Captain Reynard's. "My clock reads as 1525. Prepare to move out, but be careful. The caravan will not be stopping. You will be deploying in the air. Should be no issue, so long as you remember your training.. Good hunting, and go with the grace of the gods."
Clanks filled the air as the clamps that held the Armatures in place released. Several Armatures started to stand, legs and arms hissing as they did. Pence glanced around as the controls mounted onto his seat, trying to figure out which button would let him stand.
His eyes landed on one screen by his elbow, and the text-box there. 'Fresh Pilot record detected,' it said. 'Would you like to activate Assisted Piloting mode?'
He hit the confirmation button without even thinking. The text-box was replaced by a series of diagrams and texts, showing him how to move the control yokes in just such a way that he could move from a kneeling crouch into a full stand. Apparently he had to actually control the legs himself, instead of letting the machine do that for him.
"Not like I expected this to be easy," Pence muttered to himself, and began to push the left yoke forward as he twisted the other clockwise.
His Armature rose to a stand in a slow, almost unsteady manner, the left foot scraping with the screech of metal against the deck of the hangar as the right straightened. The torso moved as that happened, and Pence could feel the internal gyros twisting and turning as it did, keeping him upright as his angle inside the machine changed. It felt like the world should be tilting as he rose, the gantries and catwalks lowering past the cameras inside his Armature's head.
Finally, after several tense, heart racing seconds, he came to a full stand.
"Good job on standing up." He almost startled at the sound of Bran's came from his left. When Pence turned to look, he heard the head of his machine turn with him, metal grinding as the glass-plated helmet shifted to take in the heavily armored Armature that stood there. Even though it was taller than his machine, Pence couldn't help but find the thing small. It was an Armature, a machine crafted by godly might. There was a canon rising up over the right shoulder for gods' sakes. And yet, looking at it head on through the cameras of his own god-touched machine, it looked little more than a tall, broad shouldered man clad in armor and safety gear.
"You ok in there, Pence?" Bran said his light, almost child-like voice at distinct odds with the appearance of his machine. "Oh right, no external speakers. I'll send you a communique request."
A prompt appeared on one of Pence's screens, and he accepted it after only a moment's pause. These touch screens Avalon had were something else. A camera feed of Bran's face popped up on the screen, the image small and to the side.
"So, how're you doing?" Bran said. "Nothing like feeling your Armature wake up for the first time, right? It's always a rush to feel your mana slip your control, to just become a part of something so much bigger than you. Oh wait no I asked you how you were doing and now I'm talking on and-"
"I'm good," Pence cut him off, unable to keep the smile from his lips. "And yeah, it is something. We should get ready, right?" He nodded to where other Armatures were lining up in groups of two before the blast-shield doors.
"Aha, yeah, right." One of Bran's ears flicked, and with far more grace than Pence had shown, he moved his Armature into position. It was a struggle to follow, but Pence managed to follow after a few, halting steps. They were eighth in line.
"By the way, what's your Armature?" Pence asked. "The name won't mean much to me, but I'm curious."
"Oh this?" Bran asked. His Armature's helmet-like head twisted as he spoke, almost like it was showing off. "This is a Model 29 Chaplain. My mentor personally ordered it when I was confirmed to be a Pilot. It's not as flexible as your Squire is - that is, how it should be - but it's a great heavy machine, perfect for fire support, field support, and holding the line. I'll take point when deploy- if that's alright with you that is. I don't want to step on your toes or anything."
"Pilots!" Captain Reynard's voice cut Pence off before he could assure the other boy that it was fine. "The clock reads 1530! If you are not ready then you better be ready. The hangar doors will all deploy before the close. Good hunting!"
And with that, the blast-shield doors at the front of the line cracked apart. They rolled with the clanking of heavy gears and the creak of aged metal. Beyond, the wind growled as it raced past the open doorway, and the aurorchs' shadow cast the passing ground into darkness, already growing towards the tree-line as the sun began to set.
The first two Aramtures stepped up to the doorway, and then jumped off, one after the other, into open air. They fell for a moment, before thrusters buried into their backs fired to life. The jets of blue-white flames lasted for only a moment before they went out, but it was enough to propel them forward, away from the road and the long, deceptively fast tread of the aurorchs. The beasts were moving fast enough that the two Armatures passed from sight before they landed.
"Those were jet thrusters," Pence said, blinking. He'd only ever seen the half-rusted remains of those, buried inside the junkpile. As he watched, the second line stepped up to the edge of the bay and took off, soaring through the sky like a pair of thrown stones. He realized, with a sinking sensation, that he'd have to do that as well.
"Yep, everyone's got them, even yours," Bran said. "They're a vital tool for moving around the battlefield, so it's standard for every Foundry designed Armature. Just, don't rely on them. First Sphere Thrusters need a lot of mana." The third line stepped up and launched themselves.
"What happens if I use them too much?" Pence asked. The 'Assisted Piloting' hadn't brought anything up about using thrusters, and he wasn't too sure if it would. He started tapping away at his screens, hoping to find something related to thrusters.
"Oh, you'll probably overload a system and blow with an internal explosion," Bran said with a shrug. "Don't worry about it too much though, just give it a light tap and there's no risk. The real danger is doing it in battle, when your firing guns, powering mana-blades, and using cyber-warfare. That's the real danger." As he spoke, the fourth and fifth lines took off, leaving Bran and Pence just two spots from the front.
"And how do I do that?" Pence asked. He still hadn't found anything inside the confusing control interface.
"Do what?" Bran asked with a tilt of his head. Through the display monitors of his own Armature, Pence saw the Chaplain mimic the motion, its own head twisting as if give him the side-eye.
"Use the thrusters. I don't have any training, remember?" Pence said. The sixth line took off, and without even really thinking, Pence maneuvered his machine to step forwards, still clicking away at tabs. Walking in this thing came surprisingly quick, despite the fact he had just started.
The sixth line shot out of the bay.
"Ok, you're going to need to compress your mana." Bran glanced away, eyes widening as he saw how close they were to the front. The speed of his words picked up, rising in pitch as they rushed to get over each other. "You can do that by- no, better to just brute force it, cut down to essentials. Third tab on the leftmost screen, select the command list half-way down. Go into the seventh folder along the top, and find the command labeled 'back thruster mana compression.' Do not press it yet!"
Pence followed the instructions without hesitation, barely registering the that command list was titled 'manual input mana override commands' and the folder was named 'Danger: emergency maneuvers.'
The seventh line went, and now it was Pence and Bran's turn to step up to the edge of the bay. The ground passed by beneath them, black-pavement road and bright green grass almost a blur due to distance. Or maybe that was just the tension that sat behind Pence's eyes. He was about to go flying out of a moving spirit inside an Armature he barely knew how to pilot, after all.
"Ok, we're going to crouch to get ready for a jump," Bran said. "You know how to do that?"
A message popped up from the Assisted Piloting program, with instructions on how to do just that.
Wordlessly, Pence lowered himself into the ready stance.
"Good," Bran said. "Alright, on three you're going to leap forwards, pushing with toes and ankles. As your feet leave the ground, press that command, and it should take care of the rest."
"That easy huh?" Pence forced himself to chuckle and pressed his weight back into his chair. It was just like jury rigging a patch on a crane. Or getting an engine to start back up. Just patience, timing, and the imminent risk of danger if he did things out of order. He could do this, it'd be fine. He could do this, it'd be fine.
"Yup," Bran said. "On three. One, two, three!"
Pence yanked the control yokes forward with both hands. His left hand released its grip before it stopped moving and smashed into the command prompt for the thrusters. It was such a fast move that his fingers mushed themselves against the hardened surface.
The Squire threw itself forward, hydraulic systems and hundreds of tons of steel pushing off the floor and into the air. Then the thrusters fired, catching the airborn Armature before gravity could, and tossing it out into the forest like a careless child throwing a rock. Pence sank back into his seat, forces greater than anything he had felt holding him tight. Tears formed in his eyes, his head-wings flared in panic. The mana circling inside him dropped, a cup tipped over to pour out half its contents, and then resumed its cycle.
Then the thrusters cut, and the Armature was in among the trees, carried on nothing but its own momentum. The legs moved forwards without Pence's input, and when he crashed to the ground it was onto the left and then the right foot, the override command forcing the machine to move on its own. Trees and fallen trunks broke as it forced its way through them, uncaring of the obstacles in its way and too strong for wood -no matter how old- to stop it. Momentum bled off as the Squire slowed from a run to a jog, to a walk, and then finally to a stop.
Pence collapsed as the g-force of his acceleration left him, chest pumping like bellows as he scrambled to breathe.
Bran's Chaplain lumbered over from its landing point, seeming none the worse for wear.
"Oh thank the gods that worked! I mean, of course it worked, I didn't think it wouldn't. Those kinds of systems are essential and are written in by the Foundry itself, but with how many peripherals you're missing I thought-" Bran visibly cut himself off, the Cat-kin's ears flicking in irritation as he shook his head. "How are you doing, Pence?"
"Good, I'm good. Doing just good, I think," Pence said. "Just, I think that used up some of my mana. Is that a risk, a problem or something to worry about?"
"Well, people die without any mana, Pilot or no, but you should be fine," Bran said. He closed his eyes, and spoke with the air of quotation. "The essential key to Piloting is to cycle your mana, to push it out of your body and into your Armature, before letting it circle back into yourself. You are the engine, the heart and core of the holy machine. So long as you live, you will have mana. So long as you have mana, you will live."
He opened his eyes and scratched the side of his face. "Just, uh, just don't do mana override commands too much. That does burn through your reserves like nothing else. And that can kill you."
"Thanks for the warning," Pence said, his breathing finally coming back under control. He glanced around at the display screen. He tabbed through the Assisted Piloting interface to turn his Armature's head, scanning their surroundings. Even with the height of his Armature, something that stood many meters off the ground, trees rose all around them, towering up to block the sky and cut off the horizon. He could barely see the sunlight. "Which way's the settlement?"
Bran looked down at one of his screens. "Northlight is northeast of us so… that way." One of the Chaplain's arms rose up and pointed off into the trees. The fingers were still extended, leaving the whole hand in the shape of a paddle.
"Best get moving then," Pence said, and started to move.
"But, shouldn't we wait for Isolde?" Bran asked. "She deployed ahead of us, so she should be somewhere to our west."
"That's the opposite direction of where we want to go," Pence said. "Don't worry, she'll catch up." Although part of him hoped she didn't. His one encounter with the noble hadn't been pleasant, and he doubted a second one would be much better. The way she had looked at him, with cold gray eyes that shone like chips of sharpened metal. It set him on edge, and he'd rather not deal with her.
Bran hesitated for a moment, and then his Chaplain fell in behind Pence's Squire.
They walked like that for a few minutes, their great machines walking beneath trees that must have been centuries old. Roots rose up high enough to be hills of their own, covered in rocks and dirt and mosses of a hundred different shades. There was usually space enough to navigate, either by scaling the roots or by winding between trunks that by necessity gave each other space. Every now and then a fall tree would bar a path, but most such cases had been crushed beneath the tread of gargantuan metal feet. This wasn't the ponic-fields of Rustmoor. Spirits lived among these trees, both greater and lesser.
Pence saw a small one, only as big as a child, fleeing with a group of ground dwelling animals as their Armatures passed. It was a beautiful thing, a silver-sleek hide with a long, narrow head. Two tufts of pink, feather-like filaments grew from the base of its skull, flapping like a pair of pennants in the breeze. It paused on a knot of roots to glance back at them, the electric blue light-bulbs of its eyes zooming in a for a brief moment before it turned and fled after the animals it had been escorting.
"Um, Pence?" Bran spoke up, his voice hesitant. "Do you mind if I take the lead?"
"No, go right ahead?" Pence couldn't help the questioning lilt that entered his voice. Why was Bran asking? It's not like Pence was in charge.
"It's just, the Chaplain might not be a dedicated close combatant," Bran said. "But it can serve the roll if needed and I've got guns and subsystems while you…don't. Not that I don't think you couldn't defend yourself if a spirit attacks us, but in this situation I can handle getting hit better than you and I don't want you to get hurt. Not that I think you need protecting! I don't mean anything like that but-"
"It's ok!" Pence said, cutting Bran off. If he waited for a moment to speak, he'd be waiting all day. "You can go ahead, Bran. I trust you. You don't have anything to apologize for."
Bran gave him a hesitant, wordless smile, and then moved his Chaplain forward in a few, quick steps.
"It's amazing, seeing a real forest like this," Bran said. "So old, so ancient. You can't find anything like it in Avalon. Even the gardens feel fake, compared to this."
"Gardens?" Pence asked. "I though Avalon was all steel, a great mountain of steel rising from the floodplains."
"No, well, yes you could call it a mountain, I guess. But that's not really right." Bran's Chaplain swiveled about as he spoke, the torso slowly panning to left and right as the head did much the same, taking in every direction as they moved. "It's made up of nine towers, They're big, they're tall, and if you're far enough away they blend together into one shape. But they're each surrounded by tons and tons of other buildings and structures that have been added on. They're almost like hills, spilling down and out to ground below. I guess you could call that a mountain of steel, but even then there's so much green in them. Vines and aqueducts, rooftop gardens and communal moss cultivars. Humans aren't gods, we weren't made to live without nature, without life, and in the wisdom the ancients built Avalon so that we could have greenery wherever we could fit it. But even then…well look at that." He waved at a pair of trees as he passed them. The two had managed to grow close together, their roots tangling around their bases like a low fence meant to keep livestock inside.
"In the Tree Gardens, you get either row after row of trees like that, nice little corridors that you go for a morning walk in. Or tangled, uncoordinated messes that even the smallest of spirits would struggle to fit through because they were deliberately kept away. For the longest time, I thought that was what nature was like, but here-"
Something crashed into Pence's Squire, the only warning the piercing shrill of an alarm and the brief blur of something leaping from the spot Bran had waved at. His Armature stumbled and tilted to the side. He couldn't compensate, didn't have the instincts for it, and so Pence had the disorienting experience of staring as the entire world twisted the side as he fell over the course of seconds.
When he crashed the ground, the rumbling chainsaw roar of a spirit filled the air. A spirit half of the size of his Squire stood over him, lightless eyes of churning machinery glaring down at him with hate and hunger. It was wolf-like in shape, with a hide of blackened metal that hung from its frame in heavy, uneven plates. Rust had sunk its claws into the creature, eating away at places to expose cords of electricity and leave pistons and shafts without the protection of fiber-muscles. He could even see the gears inside its rib-cage, spinning so fast that they were a blur.
Claws dug into the torso of the Squire and pulled, tearing two great rents in the chassis. Pence flinched back as a sensation that was pain-but-not-pain spilled down from the mana-siphons and into his body.
Pence's instincts screamed to lash out, to flail and escape from this predator that was clawing its way into him, and he obeyed without thought. Instead of struggling in his seat, however, his hands latched onto the control yokes and twisted in the way that engaged the arms of his Squire, bringing them up to strike at the creature.
He missed, the cumbersome limbs of his Armature moving slow enough for the creature to duck out of the way, even as it claws burried themselves inside his chest.
It wasn't fast enough to dodge the blast of energy that slammed into its side however. Metal screeched and groaned, the sound echoing among the forest trees. The rust eaten-hide could not protect from the blast, and with the sickening crunch of overloading system, something exploded with the wolf-spirit's torso.
It tumbled off of Pence's chest, claws torn free from the force of the attack, but it didn't stumble or fall. Instead, it darted to the side, disappearing behind a nearby tree and out of Bran's field of fire. Left behind was a large of piece of machinery that had been perched atop its back, scorched and sparking where the shot had pierced through it.
"Pence, are you alright?" Bran shouted over the connection. His Chaplain stomped forwards until it was right next to Pence, a rifle clasped in its hands. An arm ran from the top of the gun and into the back of his machine, the mounting that kept it attached and powered most likely.
"No." Pence bit out the words and forced himself to begin the awkward process of making his Armature stand up. "Why did that hurt me?"
"Your mana," Bran said, expression serious. His machine's gaze didn't waver from the tree the spirit had hidden behind. "It establishes a connection from you to your Armature, and from your Armature to you. It's low in the First Sphere, but even still you'll feel ghosts of what your machine does, a shadow of what will come."
"Oh, wonderful. So I get a giant machine, and I'm still not safe." Pence's Squire righted itself, and he glanced around. Nothing else was visible, but that meant little considering what had just happened. He lowered himself into a fighting stance, hands held up, ready to punch something that got close.
Silence stretched to fill the air, moments ticking by one after the next. Eventually, Bran lowered his rifle, the tension seeming to bleed out of his Armature.
"It must have run off," Bran said. "Look to find easier prey."
"Do you know what that was?" Pence asked.
"No," Bran admitted. "I didn't study northern spirits much. Some kind of stealth specialist, so it might be weak. It would explain why it ran after just one good hit, although-"
"Above you!" A voice cut through the air, harsh and clear. It only took a second for Pence to recognize it as Isolde's voice. Despite the volume, it didn't seem any more worried than when she had talked to them inside the hangar.
Pence's eyes shot up, towards the canopy, and saw the spirit leaping down from the branches above. How had- did it climb up the opposite side of the trunk?!
Before he could react, the beast had slammed down into the Squire, it's hind legs kicking and tearing at his arm with razor sharp claws that tore through exposed wiring and structure. The not-pain danced up Pence's mind, and before he even knew what he was doing, his left arm came up once, twice, three times to slam into the creature's face. The sounds were cacophonous: metal crashing into metal again and again, steel tearing and rust flaking and crushing under pressure. Too loud, too much, too fast!
Sensation overwhelmed him, and for a moment he lost track of what was happening as ringing filled his ears!
Distantly, he heard the roar of jet engines ratcheting in volume. Then, something slammed into the spirit clawing at him, and it was violently torn away. Metal screeched, and he felt the Squire jerk under him as something broke off, taken and thrown away like trash. A pained roar filled the air, a beast screaming in pain and rage.
For a moment he was back on Rustmoore, the entire village burning as the Fomoraigh crushed and destroyed everything. Blood poured from its eyes, and its flesh bulged with twisting, rotting corruption, blocking out the stars and moon as it howled in grief and rage.
Pence blinked the spots from his eyes and forced himself to focus on moment, on the images he could see just on the display screens of his Armature.
The spirit was running again, its front legs battered and broken. It didn't limp, but it was clear the beast had decided to flee instead of continuing to fight. Unlike before, where it had stopped behind the first tree it had found, it kept going until it disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
There was a new Armature standing next to Bran's Chaplain, and it looked strange to him. The Chaplain was bulky, layers of plate armor made hard by sharp corners and straight lines, and the Squire was practical, its systems and structures making it look like a workman ready for a day's labor. The new Armature was athletic, with slim limbs capped by smooth, polished platting that looked as pristine as they days they had been forged. All of the lines were curve, sleek things that fit together seamlessly, with only the paint to give away that it wasn't all one piece, birthed wholesale by the work of Avalon's gods. Three colors, white, sky blue, and orange wove themselves up and down the body, capping joint and following the curves of human-like musculature. A two pronged spear was held in one hand, and what could only be weapons hung from its back, folded up into small, compact pods that hid their true forms.
The head turned to look at Pence, and he found himself looking into two eyes of blue glass set into an otherwise featureless face, made regal by the two sensor prongs rising up from the Armature's temples. Almost like the antlers of a deer.
Pence knew who it was even before he accepted the communication request from the other Pilot. Isolde's expression was as flat and emotionless as last time. Where he felt like that fight had pushed him through the wringer, she only had a light sheen of sweat on her brow.
"Pilot Pence, you are well?" She asked with quick, clipped words.
"Fine," Pence grunted. He glared at the noble woman through his screen. "You let it get away."
"Indeed," Isolde said with a nod of her head. Her eyes flicked to the side, to another camera feed on her screen. "Pilot Ulfyn, you are unharmed?"
"Uh, yeah, yep! Didn't even scratch me, but I can take it out if it tries to come back." Bran's right ear twitched in agitation, his voice an octave higher than usual. His Chaplain hadn't risen out of its crouch, scanning the tree line with the muzzle of its rifle. A long, thick barreled canon had unfolded over his left shoulder, most of its bulk still clinging to his Armature's back. It moved with his torso, and Pence didn't doubt it'd destroy anything it hit.
"Doubtful," Isolde said. "Shadow Iron Wolves are solitary hunters, and do not attack prey that overmatch them. The fact it attacked at all is surprising."
Pence let out a sigh and forced his Armature to straighten. It had locked itself into crouch when the spirit had leaped down from the canopy, the force of impact and the power surge from damaged systems keeping it from falling over for a moment. "Just my luck, huh? Thanks for the help."
"You are welcome," Isolde said. "But had you waited for me, it is unlikely you would have been damaged in battle."
Pence blew out a breath, taking a long moment to recenter himself. "Yeah, probably. But that's in the past, and where here now. We should get moving, right? Daylight's wasting."
Isolde was silent for a moment, before she nodded in agreement. "Very well. My Riptide is specialized in assault tactics, so I shall take point. Pilot Pence, follow in my wake. Pilot Ulfyn, retrieve the scrapped-systems and then bring up the rear. The journey is not long with the time we have, but can become so if we are bogged down. Best to make the most progress. Move out!"
Putting actions to word, her Riptide set out without a backward glance, two-pronged spear being used like a walking stick. Pence sighed but moved to follow. Arguing would have been pointless at this point, and he was too tired to even want to. The cold feeling still sat inside his mana, pulsing every time it circled through him. It was lesser, lighter even. Eaten away by the siphons that connected him to the Armature he sat inside. But it hadn't gone away. Not yet.
Bran fell in behind Pence after only a minute's walk. The machinery that had sat atop the spirit's back was held against the Chaplain's chest, and in its left hand it clenched a set of sparking, razor sharp claws bigger than a grown man. They must have been torn off when Isolde charged it.
Well, at least something good came out of the attack. There were all sorts of things you could do with Spirit parts, even without an Armature.
The three Armatures walked through the forest for hours, although no Spirits tried to attack them. They followed the trails suggested by their systems, the maps Avalon had provided showing plenty of routes towards the settlement. Eventually, Bran suggested they stop to perform maintenance on their machines, and maybe eat a quick meal.
Isolde agreed, and Pence found himself with some free time as they set up camp in the dead of night.
You can do two actions during the maintenance downtime. Vote for as many as you want, top two win. You will talk to Bran and Isolde as you work, no matter what.
[] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
[] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
[] Ask Isolde if you can borrow a ranged weapon for the duration of the mission, maybe a rifle or something?
[] Ask Bran if you can still borrow that 'Thumper Canon' Heavy Artillery piece. It'll be a bit difficult to switch over in the field, but you think you can do it.
[] Focus on cycling mana. He will at least be able to move well once deployed. Although, if combat happens, he will have to resort to using his Armature's fists if he wants to help.
Pence sat inside the torso - no, the cockpit - of his Armature. It was cramped with the door closed and the control systems active, a half-dozen screens clustering around him, showing bright color graphs and fluctuating numbers that he couldn't begin to parse. His hands gripped control yokes of hardened plastic, and his weight rested against the seat, the synthetic smell of it filling his nose. He kept his eyes closed, and focused on his breath like Bran had recommended. In through his nose for a count of three, out through his mouth for a count of eight.
Pence's mana, that sharp, gnawing cold that coiled inside him still, swirled through him as he did, following a path that mirrored his blood vessels. He could feel it brushing against the siphons as it passed through his wrists, ankles, neck, and the base of his spine. It was separated from the leads only by the surface of his skin. But it didn't go into them like it was supposed to. So he kept breathing.
He didn't know how long he had been doing it. There was a time function on the screens, but he hadn't tried to find it. It would just distract him.
In for three. Out for eight.
Breath in, breath out.
In, and out.
In. Out.
In-
Armature activation is not as simple as simply flipping a switch. These are giant machines that are powered by their pilot, and designed to be usable by Pilots of different skill levels, and different power tiers. If the pilot puts too little mana into their Armature, it won't activate. But if they put too much into it, there is a chance of overloading it. The armature will start, but will recieve minor damage in the process.
Target: 6< 1d10+Pence's Spirit < 20
Roll: 1d10+6 = 14
Because you voted to focus on cycling, there was no risk of a failed Activation. The bottom threshhold would have been 7 in normal circumstances.
Target: 6< 1d10+Pence's Spirit < 20
Roll: 1d10+6 = 14
Because you voted to focus on cycling, there was no risk of a failed Activation. The bottom threshhold would have been 7 in normal circumstances.
Something caught, like a screw threading itself into a washer.
Pence felt his mana surge into the siphons. Ice-blue pain flaked away with each lead it passed, and under it was the feeling of something else breaking away as well, sucked up by the hoses attached to his limbs. He couldn't describe what that other feeling was, but he almost felt lesser for having lost it.
The inside of the Armature hummed with a guttural growl, and the wall of the cockpit winked to life, revealing itself to be a screen wrapping from Pence's right to his left. It showed the interior of the armature bay. Sound filtered in, the creak of metal, the clatter of feet on gantries, the quiet mutter of conversation between technical personnel. Over top it all was the rumble of over a dozen activated Armatures, their systems coming awake one by one.
And then Pence breathed out, and felt that indescribable sensation - less than had been taken- flow back into him. He lost the rhythm to his breaths, but it didn't matter. His mana was feeding itself into the Armature on its own now.
"Oh thank the gods," Pence said, all but collapsing as tension he hadn't even noticed bled out of his body.
"Pilots of the 140th," the crackle of speaker systems filled the air outside Pence's Armature. He recognized it as Captain Reynard's. "My clock reads as 1525. Prepare to move out, but be careful. The caravan will not be stopping. You will be deploying in the air. Should be no issue, so long as you remember your training.. Good hunting, and go with the grace of the gods."
Clanks filled the air as the clamps that held the Armatures in place released. Several Armatures started to stand, legs and arms hissing as they did. Pence glanced around as the controls mounted onto his seat, trying to figure out which button would let him stand.
His eyes landed on one screen by his elbow, and the text-box there. 'Fresh Pilot record detected,' it said. 'Would you like to activate Assisted Piloting mode?'
He hit the confirmation button without even thinking. The text-box was replaced by a series of diagrams and texts, showing him how to move the control yokes in just such a way that he could move from a kneeling crouch into a full stand. Apparently he had to actually control the legs himself, instead of letting the machine do that for him.
"Not like I expected this to be easy," Pence muttered to himself, and began to push the left yoke forward as he twisted the other clockwise.
His Armature rose to a stand in a slow, almost unsteady manner, the left foot scraping with the screech of metal against the deck of the hangar as the right straightened. The torso moved as that happened, and Pence could feel the internal gyros twisting and turning as it did, keeping him upright as his angle inside the machine changed. It felt like the world should be tilting as he rose, the gantries and catwalks lowering past the cameras inside his Armature's head.
Finally, after several tense, heart racing seconds, he came to a full stand.
"Good job on standing up." He almost startled at the sound of Bran's came from his left. When Pence turned to look, he heard the head of his machine turn with him, metal grinding as the glass-plated helmet shifted to take in the heavily armored Armature that stood there. Even though it was taller than his machine, Pence couldn't help but find the thing small. It was an Armature, a machine crafted by godly might. There was a canon rising up over the right shoulder for gods' sakes. And yet, looking at it head on through the cameras of his own god-touched machine, it looked little more than a tall, broad shouldered man clad in armor and safety gear.
"You ok in there, Pence?" Bran said his light, almost child-like voice at distinct odds with the appearance of his machine. "Oh right, no external speakers. I'll send you a communique request."
A prompt appeared on one of Pence's screens, and he accepted it after only a moment's pause. These touch screens Avalon had were something else. A camera feed of Bran's face popped up on the screen, the image small and to the side.
"So, how're you doing?" Bran said. "Nothing like feeling your Armature wake up for the first time, right? It's always a rush to feel your mana slip your control, to just become a part of something so much bigger than you. Oh wait no I asked you how you were doing and now I'm talking on and-"
"I'm good," Pence cut him off, unable to keep the smile from his lips. "And yeah, it is something. We should get ready, right?" He nodded to where other Armatures were lining up in groups of two before the blast-shield doors.
"Aha, yeah, right." One of Bran's ears flicked, and with far more grace than Pence had shown, he moved his Armature into position. It was a struggle to follow, but Pence managed to follow after a few, halting steps. They were eighth in line.
"By the way, what's your Armature?" Pence asked. "The name won't mean much to me, but I'm curious."
"Oh this?" Bran asked. His Armature's helmet-like head twisted as he spoke, almost like it was showing off. "This is a Model 29 Chaplain. My mentor personally ordered it when I was confirmed to be a Pilot. It's not as flexible as your Squire is - that is, how it should be - but it's a great heavy machine, perfect for fire support, field support, and holding the line. I'll take point when deploy- if that's alright with you that is. I don't want to step on your toes or anything."
"Pilots!" Captain Reynard's voice cut Pence off before he could assure the other boy that it was fine. "The clock reads 1530! If you are not ready then you better be ready. The hangar doors will all deploy before the close. Good hunting!"
And with that, the blast-shield doors at the front of the line cracked apart. They rolled with the clanking of heavy gears and the creak of aged metal. Beyond, the wind growled as it raced past the open doorway, and the aurorchs' shadow cast the passing ground into darkness, already growing towards the tree-line as the sun began to set.
The first two Aramtures stepped up to the doorway, and then jumped off, one after the other, into open air. They fell for a moment, before thrusters buried into their backs fired to life. The jets of blue-white flames lasted for only a moment before they went out, but it was enough to propel them forward, away from the road and the long, deceptively fast tread of the aurorchs. The beasts were moving fast enough that the two Armatures passed from sight before they landed.
"Those were jet thrusters," Pence said, blinking. He'd only ever seen the half-rusted remains of those, buried inside the junkpile. As he watched, the second line stepped up to the edge of the bay and took off, soaring through the sky like a pair of thrown stones. He realized, with a sinking sensation, that he'd have to do that as well.
"Yep, everyone's got them, even yours," Bran said. "They're a vital tool for moving around the battlefield, so it's standard for every Foundry designed Armature. Just, don't rely on them. First Sphere Thrusters need a lot of mana." The third line stepped up and launched themselves.
"What happens if I use them too much?" Pence asked. The 'Assisted Piloting' hadn't brought anything up about using thrusters, and he wasn't too sure if it would. He started tapping away at his screens, hoping to find something related to thrusters.
"Oh, you'll probably overload a system and blow with an internal explosion," Bran said with a shrug. "Don't worry about it too much though, just give it a light tap and there's no risk. The real danger is doing it in battle, when your firing guns, powering mana-blades, and using cyber-warfare. That's the real danger." As he spoke, the fourth and fifth lines took off, leaving Bran and Pence just two spots from the front.
"And how do I do that?" Pence asked. He still hadn't found anything inside the confusing control interface.
"Do what?" Bran asked with a tilt of his head. Through the display monitors of his own Armature, Pence saw the Chaplain mimic the motion, its own head twisting as if give him the side-eye.
"Use the thrusters. I don't have any training, remember?" Pence said. The sixth line took off, and without even really thinking, Pence maneuvered his machine to step forwards, still clicking away at tabs. Walking in this thing came surprisingly quick, despite the fact he had just started.
The sixth line shot out of the bay.
"Ok, you're going to need to compress your mana." Bran glanced away, eyes widening as he saw how close they were to the front. The speed of his words picked up, rising in pitch as they rushed to get over each other. "You can do that by- no, better to just brute force it, cut down to essentials. Third tab on the leftmost screen, select the command list half-way down. Go into the seventh folder along the top, and find the command labeled 'back thruster mana compression.' Do not press it yet!"
Pence followed the instructions without hesitation, barely registering the that command list was titled 'manual input mana override commands' and the folder was named 'Danger: emergency maneuvers.'
The seventh line went, and now it was Pence and Bran's turn to step up to the edge of the bay. The ground passed by beneath them, black-pavement road and bright green grass almost a blur due to distance. Or maybe that was just the tension that sat behind Pence's eyes. He was about to go flying out of a moving spirit inside an Armature he barely knew how to pilot, after all.
"Ok, we're going to crouch to get ready for a jump," Bran said. "You know how to do that?"
A message popped up from the Assisted Piloting program, with instructions on how to do just that.
Wordlessly, Pence lowered himself into the ready stance.
"Good," Bran said. "Alright, on three you're going to leap forwards, pushing with toes and ankles. As your feet leave the ground, press that command, and it should take care of the rest."
"That easy huh?" Pence forced himself to chuckle and pressed his weight back into his chair. It was just like jury rigging a patch on a crane. Or getting an engine to start back up. Just patience, timing, and the imminent risk of danger if he did things out of order. He could do this, it'd be fine. He could do this, it'd be fine.
"Yup," Bran said. "On three. One, two, three!"
Pence yanked the control yokes forward with both hands. His left hand released its grip before it stopped moving and smashed into the command prompt for the thrusters. It was such a fast move that his fingers mushed themselves against the hardened surface.
The Squire threw itself forward, hydraulic systems and hundreds of tons of steel pushing off the floor and into the air. Then the thrusters fired, catching the airborn Armature before gravity could, and tossing it out into the forest like a careless child throwing a rock. Pence sank back into his seat, forces greater than anything he had felt holding him tight. Tears formed in his eyes, his head-wings flared in panic. The mana circling inside him dropped, a cup tipped over to pour out half its contents, and then resumed its cycle.
Then the thrusters cut, and the Armature was in among the trees, carried on nothing but its own momentum. The legs moved forwards without Pence's input, and when he crashed to the ground it was onto the left and then the right foot, the override command forcing the machine to move on its own. Trees and fallen trunks broke as it forced its way through them, uncaring of the obstacles in its way and too strong for wood -no matter how old- to stop it. Momentum bled off as the Squire slowed from a run to a jog, to a walk, and then finally to a stop.
Pence collapsed as the g-force of his acceleration left him, chest pumping like bellows as he scrambled to breathe.
Bran's Chaplain lumbered over from its landing point, seeming none the worse for wear.
"Oh thank the gods that worked! I mean, of course it worked, I didn't think it wouldn't. Those kinds of systems are essential and are written in by the Foundry itself, but with how many peripherals you're missing I thought-" Bran visibly cut himself off, the Cat-kin's ears flicking in irritation as he shook his head. "How are you doing, Pence?"
"Good, I'm good. Doing just good, I think," Pence said. "Just, I think that used up some of my mana. Is that a risk, a problem or something to worry about?"
"Well, people die without any mana, Pilot or no, but you should be fine," Bran said. He closed his eyes, and spoke with the air of quotation. "The essential key to Piloting is to cycle your mana, to push it out of your body and into your Armature, before letting it circle back into yourself. You are the engine, the heart and core of the holy machine. So long as you live, you will have mana. So long as you have mana, you will live."
He opened his eyes and scratched the side of his face. "Just, uh, just don't do mana override commands too much. That does burn through your reserves like nothing else. And that can kill you."
"Thanks for the warning," Pence said, his breathing finally coming back under control. He glanced around at the display screen. He tabbed through the Assisted Piloting interface to turn his Armature's head, scanning their surroundings. Even with the height of his Armature, something that stood many meters off the ground, trees rose all around them, towering up to block the sky and cut off the horizon. He could barely see the sunlight. "Which way's the settlement?"
Bran looked down at one of his screens. "Northlight is northeast of us so… that way." One of the Chaplain's arms rose up and pointed off into the trees. The fingers were still extended, leaving the whole hand in the shape of a paddle.
"Best get moving then," Pence said, and started to move.
"But, shouldn't we wait for Isolde?" Bran asked. "She deployed ahead of us, so she should be somewhere to our west."
"That's the opposite direction of where we want to go," Pence said. "Don't worry, she'll catch up." Although part of him hoped she didn't. His one encounter with the noble hadn't been pleasant, and he doubted a second one would be much better. The way she had looked at him, with cold gray eyes that shone like chips of sharpened metal. It set him on edge, and he'd rather not deal with her.
Bran hesitated for a moment, and then his Chaplain fell in behind Pence's Squire.
They walked like that for a few minutes, their great machines walking beneath trees that must have been centuries old. Roots rose up high enough to be hills of their own, covered in rocks and dirt and mosses of a hundred different shades. There was usually space enough to navigate, either by scaling the roots or by winding between trunks that by necessity gave each other space. Every now and then a fall tree would bar a path, but most such cases had been crushed beneath the tread of gargantuan metal feet. This wasn't the ponic-fields of Rustmoor. Spirits lived among these trees, both greater and lesser.
Pence saw a small one, only as big as a child, fleeing with a group of ground dwelling animals as their Armatures passed. It was a beautiful thing, a silver-sleek hide with a long, narrow head. Two tufts of pink, feather-like filaments grew from the base of its skull, flapping like a pair of pennants in the breeze. It paused on a knot of roots to glance back at them, the electric blue light-bulbs of its eyes zooming in a for a brief moment before it turned and fled after the animals it had been escorting.
"Um, Pence?" Bran spoke up, his voice hesitant. "Do you mind if I take the lead?"
"No, go right ahead?" Pence couldn't help the questioning lilt that entered his voice. Why was Bran asking? It's not like Pence was in charge.
"It's just, the Chaplain might not be a dedicated close combatant," Bran said. "But it can serve the roll if needed and I've got guns and subsystems while you…don't. Not that I don't think you couldn't defend yourself if a spirit attacks us, but in this situation I can handle getting hit better than you and I don't want you to get hurt. Not that I think you need protecting! I don't mean anything like that but-"
"It's ok!" Pence said, cutting Bran off. If he waited for a moment to speak, he'd be waiting all day. "You can go ahead, Bran. I trust you. You don't have anything to apologize for."
Bran gave him a hesitant, wordless smile, and then moved his Chaplain forward in a few, quick steps.
"It's amazing, seeing a real forest like this," Bran said. "So old, so ancient. You can't find anything like it in Avalon. Even the gardens feel fake, compared to this."
"Gardens?" Pence asked. "I though Avalon was all steel, a great mountain of steel rising from the floodplains."
"No, well, yes you could call it a mountain, I guess. But that's not really right." Bran's Chaplain swiveled about as he spoke, the torso slowly panning to left and right as the head did much the same, taking in every direction as they moved. "It's made up of nine towers, They're big, they're tall, and if you're far enough away they blend together into one shape. But they're each surrounded by tons and tons of other buildings and structures that have been added on. They're almost like hills, spilling down and out to ground below. I guess you could call that a mountain of steel, but even then there's so much green in them. Vines and aqueducts, rooftop gardens and communal moss cultivars. Humans aren't gods, we weren't made to live without nature, without life, and in the wisdom the ancients built Avalon so that we could have greenery wherever we could fit it. But even then…well look at that." He waved at a pair of trees as he passed them. The two had managed to grow close together, their roots tangling around their bases like a low fence meant to keep livestock inside.
"In the Tree Gardens, you get either row after row of trees like that, nice little corridors that you go for a morning walk in. Or tangled, uncoordinated messes that even the smallest of spirits would struggle to fit through because they were deliberately kept away. For the longest time, I thought that was what nature was like, but here-"
Pence scouting: 1d20+3(Perception), target 17 =8
Bran scouting: 1d20+5(Eyes of She Who Watches the Horizon subsystem), target 17=10
Stealth specialist spirit gets a surprise attack. Targets Pence.
Shadow Iron Wolf makes a melee attack on Squire. +1 Accuracy because of successful stealth.
Accuracy and Difficulty are temporary modifiers added or subtracted 1d6 to a roll. They cancel out at a 1:1 rate. In situations where there are multiple Accuracy or Difficulty modifiers left after this cancellation, roll as many d6 as needed, and pick the highest result.
Shadow Iron Wolf:1d20+2(claws)+1d6, target 15 (10+5 evasion)=16+4=20. Pass
Damage:2d3+2 slashing=5
Squire's Armor rating:0, no damage reduction
Pence's Squire: HP 5/10, Stability 4/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: HP 5/10, Stability 4/4
Bran scouting: 1d20+5(Eyes of She Who Watches the Horizon subsystem), target 17=10
Stealth specialist spirit gets a surprise attack. Targets Pence.
Shadow Iron Wolf makes a melee attack on Squire. +1 Accuracy because of successful stealth.
Accuracy and Difficulty are temporary modifiers added or subtracted 1d6 to a roll. They cancel out at a 1:1 rate. In situations where there are multiple Accuracy or Difficulty modifiers left after this cancellation, roll as many d6 as needed, and pick the highest result.
Shadow Iron Wolf:1d20+2(claws)+1d6, target 15 (10+5 evasion)=16+4=20. Pass
Damage:2d3+2 slashing=5
Squire's Armor rating:0, no damage reduction
Pence's Squire: HP 5/10, Stability 4/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: HP 5/10, Stability 4/4
Something crashed into Pence's Squire, the only warning the piercing shrill of an alarm and the brief blur of something leaping from the spot Bran had waved at. His Armature stumbled and tilted to the side. He couldn't compensate, didn't have the instincts for it, and so Pence had the disorienting experience of staring as the entire world twisted the side as he fell over the course of seconds.
When he crashed the ground, the rumbling chainsaw roar of a spirit filled the air. A spirit half of the size of his Squire stood over him, lightless eyes of churning machinery glaring down at him with hate and hunger. It was wolf-like in shape, with a hide of blackened metal that hung from its frame in heavy, uneven plates. Rust had sunk its claws into the creature, eating away at places to expose cords of electricity and leave pistons and shafts without the protection of fiber-muscles. He could even see the gears inside its rib-cage, spinning so fast that they were a blur.
Claws dug into the torso of the Squire and pulled, tearing two great rents in the chassis. Pence flinched back as a sensation that was pain-but-not-pain spilled down from the mana-siphons and into his body.
Pence's instincts screamed to lash out, to flail and escape from this predator that was clawing its way into him, and he obeyed without thought. Instead of struggling in his seat, however, his hands latched onto the control yokes and twisted in the way that engaged the arms of his Squire, bringing them up to strike at the creature.
He missed, the cumbersome limbs of his Armature moving slow enough for the creature to duck out of the way, even as it claws burried themselves inside his chest.
It wasn't fast enough to dodge the blast of energy that slammed into its side however. Metal screeched and groaned, the sound echoing among the forest trees. The rust eaten-hide could not protect from the blast, and with the sickening crunch of overloading system, something exploded with the wolf-spirit's torso.
It tumbled off of Pence's chest, claws torn free from the force of the attack, but it didn't stumble or fall. Instead, it darted to the side, disappearing behind a nearby tree and out of Bran's field of fire. Left behind was a large of piece of machinery that had been perched atop its back, scorched and sparking where the shot had pierced through it.
Pence makes an improvised melee attack, target 13: 1d20+4(Wits)=12, miss
Bran takes a shot with the Nine Prayers of Judgment rifle, target 13: 1d20+2(Grace)+4(Weapon Bonus)=24, hit.
Damage:1d6+2 energy=8
Shadow Iron Wolf has 1 Armor: damage reduced to 7
Shadow Iron Wolf tries to claw Pence, target 15: 1d20+2(Claws)=14, miss
Pence's Squire: HP 5/10, Stability 4/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: Hp 8/10, Stability 3/4
Shadow Iron Wolf looses a point of Stability: Stealth System lost.
Bran takes a shot with the Nine Prayers of Judgment rifle, target 13: 1d20+2(Grace)+4(Weapon Bonus)=24, hit.
Damage:1d6+2 energy=8
Shadow Iron Wolf has 1 Armor: damage reduced to 7
Shadow Iron Wolf tries to claw Pence, target 15: 1d20+2(Claws)=14, miss
Pence's Squire: HP 5/10, Stability 4/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: Hp 8/10, Stability 3/4
Shadow Iron Wolf looses a point of Stability: Stealth System lost.
"Pence, are you alright?" Bran shouted over the connection. His Chaplain stomped forwards until it was right next to Pence, a rifle clasped in its hands. An arm ran from the top of the gun and into the back of his machine, the mounting that kept it attached and powered most likely.
"No." Pence bit out the words and forced himself to begin the awkward process of making his Armature stand up. "Why did that hurt me?"
"Your mana," Bran said, expression serious. His machine's gaze didn't waver from the tree the spirit had hidden behind. "It establishes a connection from you to your Armature, and from your Armature to you. It's low in the First Sphere, but even still you'll feel ghosts of what your machine does, a shadow of what will come."
"Oh, wonderful. So I get a giant machine, and I'm still not safe." Pence's Squire righted itself, and he glanced around. Nothing else was visible, but that meant little considering what had just happened. He lowered himself into a fighting stance, hands held up, ready to punch something that got close.
Silence stretched to fill the air, moments ticking by one after the next. Eventually, Bran lowered his rifle, the tension seeming to bleed out of his Armature.
"It must have run off," Bran said. "Look to find easier prey."
"Do you know what that was?" Pence asked.
"No," Bran admitted. "I didn't study northern spirits much. Some kind of stealth specialist, so it might be weak. It would explain why it ran after just one good hit, although-"
"Above you!" A voice cut through the air, harsh and clear. It only took a second for Pence to recognize it as Isolde's voice. Despite the volume, it didn't seem any more worried than when she had talked to them inside the hangar.
Pence's eyes shot up, towards the canopy, and saw the spirit leaping down from the branches above. How had- did it climb up the opposite side of the trunk?!
Before he could react, the beast had slammed down into the Squire, it's hind legs kicking and tearing at his arm with razor sharp claws that tore through exposed wiring and structure. The not-pain danced up Pence's mind, and before he even knew what he was doing, his left arm came up once, twice, three times to slam into the creature's face. The sounds were cacophonous: metal crashing into metal again and again, steel tearing and rust flaking and crushing under pressure. Too loud, too much, too fast!
Sensation overwhelmed him, and for a moment he lost track of what was happening as ringing filled his ears!
Shadow Iron Wolf makes a plunging attack on Squire. +1 advantage.
Shadow Iron Wolf: 1d20+2(claws)+1d6, target 15=12+2+2=16, hit
Damage:2d3+2 slashing=8
Squire's Armor rating:0, no damage reduction
Pence makes an improvised melee attack roll on the Shadow Iron Wolf, target 13:1d20+4(wits)=19+4=23
Damage:1d6=5
Shadow Iron Wolf has 1 armor: damage reduced to 4
Bran attacks Shadow Iron Wolf with Stone Chelae knife: 1d20+2(Grace)=6, miss
Pence's Squire: HP 7/10, Stability 3/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: Hp 4/10, Stability 3/4
Squire looses a point of Stability: 1d6=1, Direct Hit. At Stability 3, you are Stunned and skip a turn.
Shadow Iron Wolf: 1d20+2(claws)+1d6, target 15=12+2+2=16, hit
Damage:2d3+2 slashing=8
Squire's Armor rating:0, no damage reduction
Pence makes an improvised melee attack roll on the Shadow Iron Wolf, target 13:1d20+4(wits)=19+4=23
Damage:1d6=5
Shadow Iron Wolf has 1 armor: damage reduced to 4
Bran attacks Shadow Iron Wolf with Stone Chelae knife: 1d20+2(Grace)=6, miss
Pence's Squire: HP 7/10, Stability 3/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: Hp 4/10, Stability 3/4
Squire looses a point of Stability: 1d6=1, Direct Hit. At Stability 3, you are Stunned and skip a turn.
Distantly, he heard the roar of jet engines ratcheting in volume. Then, something slammed into the spirit clawing at him, and it was violently torn away. Metal screeched, and he felt the Squire jerk under him as something broke off, taken and thrown away like trash. A pained roar filled the air, a beast screaming in pain and rage.
For a moment he was back on Rustmoore, the entire village burning as the Fomoraigh crushed and destroyed everything. Blood poured from its eyes, and its flesh bulged with twisting, rotting corruption, blocking out the stars and moon as it howled in grief and rage.
Pence blinked the spots from his eyes and forced himself to focus on moment, on the images he could see just on the display screens of his Armature.
The spirit was running again, its front legs battered and broken. It didn't limp, but it was clear the beast had decided to flee instead of continuing to fight. Unlike before, where it had stopped behind the first tree it had found, it kept going until it disappeared into the darkness of the forest.
Isolde makes a charge attack on the Shadow Iron Wolf using her Horns of the Bull spear, target 13: 1d20+3(Leadership)+5(Weapon Bonus)=20, hit
Damage=1d6+2 piercing=5, divided by 2 rounded up because of Charge.
Shadow Iron Wolf has 1 armor: damage reduced to 2, Shadow Iron Wolf is knocked prone and off of Squire. Other attacks have 1 Advantage
Bran attacks Shadow Iron Wolf with Stone Chelae knife: 1d20+2(Grace)+1d6=21, hit
Damage:1d3+1 energy=4
Shadow Iron Wolf tries to flee. Neither Isolde or Bran contest. Shadow Iron Wolf Escapes.
Pence's Squire: HP 7/10, Stability 3/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: Hp 8/10, Stability 2/4
Isolde's Riptide: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf looses 1 point of Stability, Claws destroyed.
Damage=1d6+2 piercing=5, divided by 2 rounded up because of Charge.
Shadow Iron Wolf has 1 armor: damage reduced to 2, Shadow Iron Wolf is knocked prone and off of Squire. Other attacks have 1 Advantage
Bran attacks Shadow Iron Wolf with Stone Chelae knife: 1d20+2(Grace)+1d6=21, hit
Damage:1d3+1 energy=4
Shadow Iron Wolf tries to flee. Neither Isolde or Bran contest. Shadow Iron Wolf Escapes.
Pence's Squire: HP 7/10, Stability 3/4
Bran's chaplain: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf: Hp 8/10, Stability 2/4
Isolde's Riptide: HP 10/10, Stability 4/4
Shadow Iron Wolf looses 1 point of Stability, Claws destroyed.
There was a new Armature standing next to Bran's Chaplain, and it looked strange to him. The Chaplain was bulky, layers of plate armor made hard by sharp corners and straight lines, and the Squire was practical, its systems and structures making it look like a workman ready for a day's labor. The new Armature was athletic, with slim limbs capped by smooth, polished platting that looked as pristine as they days they had been forged. All of the lines were curve, sleek things that fit together seamlessly, with only the paint to give away that it wasn't all one piece, birthed wholesale by the work of Avalon's gods. Three colors, white, sky blue, and orange wove themselves up and down the body, capping joint and following the curves of human-like musculature. A two pronged spear was held in one hand, and what could only be weapons hung from its back, folded up into small, compact pods that hid their true forms.
The head turned to look at Pence, and he found himself looking into two eyes of blue glass set into an otherwise featureless face, made regal by the two sensor prongs rising up from the Armature's temples. Almost like the antlers of a deer.
Pence knew who it was even before he accepted the communication request from the other Pilot. Isolde's expression was as flat and emotionless as last time. Where he felt like that fight had pushed him through the wringer, she only had a light sheen of sweat on her brow.
"Pilot Pence, you are well?" She asked with quick, clipped words.
"Fine," Pence grunted. He glared at the noble woman through his screen. "You let it get away."
"Indeed," Isolde said with a nod of her head. Her eyes flicked to the side, to another camera feed on her screen. "Pilot Ulfyn, you are unharmed?"
"Uh, yeah, yep! Didn't even scratch me, but I can take it out if it tries to come back." Bran's right ear twitched in agitation, his voice an octave higher than usual. His Chaplain hadn't risen out of its crouch, scanning the tree line with the muzzle of its rifle. A long, thick barreled canon had unfolded over his left shoulder, most of its bulk still clinging to his Armature's back. It moved with his torso, and Pence didn't doubt it'd destroy anything it hit.
"Doubtful," Isolde said. "Shadow Iron Wolves are solitary hunters, and do not attack prey that overmatch them. The fact it attacked at all is surprising."
Pence let out a sigh and forced his Armature to straighten. It had locked itself into crouch when the spirit had leaped down from the canopy, the force of impact and the power surge from damaged systems keeping it from falling over for a moment. "Just my luck, huh? Thanks for the help."
"You are welcome," Isolde said. "But had you waited for me, it is unlikely you would have been damaged in battle."
Pence blew out a breath, taking a long moment to recenter himself. "Yeah, probably. But that's in the past, and where here now. We should get moving, right? Daylight's wasting."
Isolde was silent for a moment, before she nodded in agreement. "Very well. My Riptide is specialized in assault tactics, so I shall take point. Pilot Pence, follow in my wake. Pilot Ulfyn, retrieve the scrapped-systems and then bring up the rear. The journey is not long with the time we have, but can become so if we are bogged down. Best to make the most progress. Move out!"
Putting actions to word, her Riptide set out without a backward glance, two-pronged spear being used like a walking stick. Pence sighed but moved to follow. Arguing would have been pointless at this point, and he was too tired to even want to. The cold feeling still sat inside his mana, pulsing every time it circled through him. It was lesser, lighter even. Eaten away by the siphons that connected him to the Armature he sat inside. But it hadn't gone away. Not yet.
Bran fell in behind Pence after only a minute's walk. The machinery that had sat atop the spirit's back was held against the Chaplain's chest, and in its left hand it clenched a set of sparking, razor sharp claws bigger than a grown man. They must have been torn off when Isolde charged it.
Well, at least something good came out of the attack. There were all sorts of things you could do with Spirit parts, even without an Armature.
The three Armatures walked through the forest for hours, although no Spirits tried to attack them. They followed the trails suggested by their systems, the maps Avalon had provided showing plenty of routes towards the settlement. Eventually, Bran suggested they stop to perform maintenance on their machines, and maybe eat a quick meal.
Isolde agreed, and Pence found himself with some free time as they set up camp in the dead of night.
You can do two actions during the maintenance downtime. Vote for as many as you want, top two win. You will talk to Bran and Isolde as you work, no matter what.
[] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
[] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
[] Ask Isolde if you can borrow a ranged weapon for the duration of the mission, maybe a rifle or something?
[] Ask Bran if you can still borrow that 'Thumper Canon' Heavy Artillery piece. It'll be a bit difficult to switch over in the field, but you think you can do it.
Rockeye
Plausible Engineer
- Location
- Midwestern U.S.
Glad to see this back! I really like the theme!
Upgrades, people, upgrades!
[x] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
Upgrades, people, upgrades!
[x] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
[X] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
[X] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
- Location
- Earth
[x] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
[X] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
Last edited:
- Location
- United States
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[X] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
Glad to see you're back.
[X] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
Glad to see you're back.
Ok. So, we got slightly shellacked. Get fixed, then get some weapons.
[X] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[X] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
[X] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[X] Harvest wood and plantlife to rig some armor for your Squire. It's temporary, shoddy, and won't last long, but that Wolf cut its way through your Squire too easy for comfort. (2 Armor for the rest of the mission).
SleepyCaterpilar
Just a Rapariga
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[x] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[x] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
What could be better than appearing out of cloak to tear a foe apart?
[x] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[x] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.
What could be better than appearing out of cloak to tear a foe apart?
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] Repair some of the damage done to the Squire.
[X] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
[X] Scrap the Shadow Iron Wolf's claws to add a dedicated melee weapons to your Squire.
- Location
- Third planet from the star named Sol
- Pronouns
- He/They
alright, looks like the vote is done at this point. I'm not going to start writing until tomorrow, so I'll leave the vote open till then. as it is, the winners look to be a melee weapon regaining a few hitpoints.
WhoTheHeckity
But no one ever asks HowTheHeckity
- Location
- Murica 🦅
[X] Rig the Shadow Iron Wolf's destroyed stealth system to your Squire's giving you a temporary invisibility.