Cult Creator - The Pilgrims Journey
- Thread starter HeroCooky
- Start date
- Original Mature
- Location
- MN
well it's kinda been hinted that they (they being the empire or at least their intelligence network) have been keeping a close eye on us for awhile now and probably know more about our origination then even some of the higher ranking members of the pilgrims do and have just been letting us do our thing as it's been beneficial to the kingdom as a whole for the most part but they do see us growing in power and influence and are probably ready to step up and make the pilgrim's lives much more difficult should they view our future actions as a problem instead of a benefit. Hell the noble title is probably just as much of a collar as it is a key to open many doorways as I'm sure if we start causing trouble the emperor could probably claim we failed to uphold our duty as a noble or something or make some near impossible to fulfill request that could see our glorious leader thrown into prison or even weaken or outright outlaw the pilgrims as an organization. Granted those last few examples are more then likely extreme cases and would probably only pop up if we tried to overthrow the empire but the possibility is still there.
...Well, kind of?
"Hacking apart their followers" and "carving out" are pretty strange descriptions of building hospices/soup-kitchens/poor-houses, paying for festivals, and publicizing a high-ranking clerics' hypocrisy/crime. It does show how cynical the nobles are though.
That moment, when a fringe group under your rule accidentals their way into owning a strategic resource.
I mean, they're not wrong. That was our intent in doing so, maybe not as downright brutal but that was and is our goal.
Seeing the criminals are being held together by a single organization it's probably a mafia type of thing right @HeroCooky
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
At least in Tessen, it is that way. Other Regions would have other criminal structures more akin to a free-for-all or gangs controlling individual cities and assorted territory.
- Location
- Brazil
Was re-reading and noticed an error. That should be Tessen.
I am willing, but I in no way speak in any official capacity. I can give you my opinion and read the rules carefully, but have no special insight over any other poster.
Interlude: -WN, THE DAWN, THE DAWN, THE DAWN, THE DA-
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Sexism, Slavery, Implied Cannibalism, Gore, Dismemberment, and Torture.
***
04:16:54
04:16:54
A man slept in a dark room, with only the slight rise of the sheets covering him indicating that he was still alive, as his breathing came slowly, rhythmically, and relaxed. He was recovering from the last day's tribulations and hardships, the double shift, harsh preparations, and orders of his boss having taken their toll.
04:26:22
The light slowly crawling through the blinds covering his windows cast stark lines of bright luminance into the ground and walls, the sheets and, slowly, over the man's face, creeping closer to his eyes. When they reached him, he twitched, then rolled over to the other side, subconsciously snuggling into his warm blanket and a soft pillow, a content smile spreading across his face.
04:29:59
An immensely satisfying dream was happening within the man's mind. He was praised by his family, friends, colleagues, and boss for his hard work and dedication to the nation's prosperity and success. And just as he was about to accept a raise, promotion, and trophy from his boss...
04:30:00
MEEPMEEPMEEPMEEP! The clock on his nightstand shrieked out in alarm, crying out all that the tiny machine was worth to wake the human as it was its duty. Sadly, for all its dedication and punctuality, the clock was hit like all the years prior, silencing and cutting off the alarm mid MEEP. "Ugh," the man groaned, rolling over and rubbing his face as the blinds slowly began to raise themselves, flooding the room with the brilliant display of the morning's sun, much to his annoyance and resigned acceptance. Swinging his legs over the side, he slowly stood up, stretching all the while, letting out a soft sigh of contentment as his muscles relaxed and endorphins flooded his brain. After that, a short trip to the bathroom saw all his hygienic needs met; brushing his teeth was done with a new electric-brush, bought last week, while the shower blasted him with balmy warm waters, the pressure, and temperature, perfect and refreshing. Leaving after a short stay on the toilet, the now awake man walked into his bedroom once more and stood before a large mirror going from the floor to the ceiling, showing the man in all his glory.
"Looking sharp, Adam," he groused, staring at his reflection, which showed a man in his early thirties, the hair a glossy black with yellow streaks through it as was the fashion at the moment. His muscles were visible yet were on the side of someone eating one too many meals at a desk, while no scars marred face nor body. Stopping in his admiration, Adam began to take out various outfits from his wardrobe, comparing each carefully, before deciding upon a silver suit with a white tie and black shirt, along with his best pair of shoes, commissioned months ago after having secured a vital contract for his firm. Quickly, but not without care, he put the whole ensemble on, smoothed a few wrinkles out, and walked into the living room of his apartment, where the smell of breakfast enticingly beckoned his empty stomach.
Walking by a cage next to the exit of the short hallway, he absentmindedly patted it while speaking, "Morning Daisy." Continuing onwards and ignoring the almost inaudible whine from within, he continued towards the marble countertop where a robot deftly placed expertly cooked Omurice, the minced fish mixed with rice, onions, and eggs disappearing quickly in Adams's stomach as he hungrily devoured the meal. 'Eh, a bit light on the salt, but the thyme was on point this time,' he thought, placing the dirty dish into the sink where an arm of his automatic chef started to wash the items as he left. Grabbing his keys and a suitcase, he absentmindedly began to walk towards the outside door, only to stop short of it. Doing a 180° turn and a quick power-walk towards the cage, he lifted a second prepared meal of low-quality food from the countertop. "Heh, almost forgot about you, Daisy," he said, pacing the plate into the cage before shutting it once more and walking out for good. "And behave, or well have to intensify your training again!" He called out before the door shut closed with a soft click.
Seconds passed, which turned to minutes, as the auto-chef finished its cleaning and went into standby. "My name is Myn," a weak voice said, tears evident within. "My name is Myn, my name is Myn, my name is Myn," a woman repeated, slowly beginning to cry, hugging her knees to her chest and continuing to say that phrase in a chant, almost as if to ward off evil. Sparks of gold gathered in her eyes, slowly gathering in her tears. "My name is Myn," she continued, tears flowing freely, as did her weak sobs wracking her frail frame. "Name is Myn. It's Myn. Myn," the woman sobbed, as inky blackness swept out from her heart, crawling up her head, like a claw reaching for her mind. "Myn, myn, mynmynmyn," she continued almost as in if shock or a trance, rocking back and forth, as slowly, tears of gold flowed down her cheeks, leaving pillars of solid ichor upon the floors, as her skin and mind turned black...
***
"The Hollow is no place for the sane." - An 86 years old scavenger.
When one asks a scavenger, 'What was your first thought when entering the ruins of old?' they will receive many answers. 'Awe at what we had created, shock, how far we had fallen, terror toward the horrors prowling around me, joy, at the freedom I found within these empty and forgotten buildings,' and many more. They will tell of nightmares, fears, depression, and awe in all its meanings; they speak of the rot and ruin, the death of hope, and the near-religious rapture before giant machines of creation brought to life by mortal hands for divine purposes. But they all cannot put into words how they genuinely feel beneath all those emotions, the one thing only the most experienced and oldest scavengers can describe, those who have survived more than a decade of active diving into the beneath.
Those old hands that have lived long enough to delve truly deep, to scratch more than at the surface of what a Necropoli and the ruins can give; they have seen the abominations sleeping within their broken cages and wonders which cannot be compared to anything we can produce today. Where one may tell you a tale of horrid depravity, places where the skin of man lines every surface for miles around, others will speak of an oasis of life, where waterfalls from ancient ruptured pipes give life in myriad forms sprinting, jumping, crawling, hopping, and slithering around. They all have tales that allow them to drink for free, eat on another's coin, and have enough daring to always have company for the night. But they all go silent when asked if those places belong to man or if those places could once more belong to humanity. They are asked, why, in all those centuries, has humankind never attempted to reclaim a Necropolis in full, has never succeeded or even liberated something as small as an ancient town buried within shifting deserts, drowning bogs, hateful swamps, sweltering jungles, and choking ancient forests. They ask, 'what lays within that prevents such?'
And those old hands, who have seen more friends and lovers die than they have numbers, heard more tales than they can remember and told double that, will speak of ancient myths. Whose wisdom they once questioned, until they or a friend attempted the victim's foolishness, finding that all legends have a basis in reality, that no tale is told without an origin. Some stories exist as a warning for a reason; one brazenly ignored in today's age. They speak of ancient and recent expeditions of experienced, well-armed, well-fed, and well-trained men and women who delved into a Necropolis depths, not merely to scavenge from them, but to see how far they could go into their beneath, what they would uncover and find. They openly talk about their expedition they survived and what they discovered within the Hollow laying underneath.
All know that those places not easily accessible hold the most untouched treasures and the most danger. Fewer know that those depths have no end. Except for the oldest scavengers, those who themselves delved into the Hollow, that fabled and horrific layer of ruins waiting underneath for those whose greed or curiosity is so immense that it cannot be tempered. They tell of ruins only held up by the collective weight of rotting structures long since the Collapse, of caverns so vast that one cannot see the end from their entrance or the ceiling above, boreholes whose depths are too black to ponder, animals whose hideous forms have chained them into the ground and the machines lurking for intruders, following instructions long since obsolete, their minds corroded by the horrors they have witnessed and the death of all they knew. But above all of that, above every mysterious machine, unknown Mutants, disturbing noises, and humbling vistas, they speak of the bones.
They speak of the seas of skeletons.
Of doors whose surfaces were marred by human fingers clawing at them to open, leaving gauges centimeter deep within, the broken and shattered arms and hands of the corpses telling of desperate people doing all they can to escape. And those tears that couldn't have come from the hands of humanity.
Of enormous halls being filled with bowed and praying mummified corpsed, holy scriptures and wards against evil written onto the floors, walls, themselves, or nailed to their bodies. Whatever surface not covered by their prayers and wards is covered with murals and paintings, some expertly made, others scribbled with whatever laid around, depicting angels descending from the skies in golden fire, smiting demons writhing upon the ground within towers of heretical lies.
Of the hallways which had been choked by bodies, panicking and stampeding people being mowed down by those that had once been trusted to guard them, until the tide of bodies either blocked the way, or spilled into those few complexes where they thought safety would await them.
Of crypts and crematories suffocated by the ash of the dead, mountains of corpses still awaiting their internment after the machines shut down from overloading. And yet, the furnaces keep roaring, despite no fuel having been diverted their way for centuries.
However, if one is persistent, persuasive, or lucky enough, those old explorers will share with hushed whispers things none will publicly declare to have seen, and all will deny ever to have spoken of.
They will tell of titanic skeletons, warped, unnatural, and wrong in every sense imaginable. Of the golden chains lashing them to the grounds, constricting their bones when they should have been slack from the decay of the bodies flesh. Of the runes inscribed upon each link of the Chain, every bone lying bound, and the place they have fallen.
And the rustling of leaves, as the corpses draw breath, staring at them with black, hateful eyes.
***
Now leaving Habitation-Block AAD-23. The pod's speakers announced to Adam, who barely noticed the announcement, the years of hearing it had made him numb to the vehicle's voice and the view outside no longer holding the splendor as it did when he was young. Looking at his phone, he rapidly flips and taps his way through menus to read the latest news on the net. He rapidly flicked the ads away with not a little annoyance, which blocked the screen, grumbling about the useless ad-blocker he had installed just the day before. Continuing, he began to read from his usual news-sites, ignoring the usual drivel about the war and the nonsense the idiots in the propaganda ministerium threw all over the news to keep the sheep down below from panicking.Refugees From Ijola Party Over New Legislation Allowing Them To Contribute On The Front! One line read, waxing on how the refugee camps had been shaken with spontaneous celebration and impromptu fireworks over the Chairman's ratification of the new legislation allowing the drafting of refugees into front-line units for the army. Adam knew better, having been forced to attend an ambitious politician's visit to one of the camps, where the man had railed about the need to allow those 'brave souls' to be allowed to fight the good fight. That said refugees had glared with undisguised hatred at everyone had gone straight over his head, with the faces later redrawn to carry his narrative better. Shifting into a more comfortable position, Adam flicked that memory out of his head, the information that those parasites were not happy about having to earn their stay not relevant or essential to him in any way.
Conquering Worm Three Months From Incineration, another headline read, several pictures of the massive creature being towed by a legion of disposable rockets into the sun prominently displayed. The golden ichor and scales are drifting away 'not a concern' according to the news. However, a throwaway line mentioned how the fallout of such expenditure in weaponry would increase the military-industrial complex's profit. A bend in the path followed by the pod Adam was riding to work allowed him to look past the Spine, the towering elevator into the abyss beyond, and the shattered remains of a moon torn apart behind it. He looked away in a hurry, not wanting to be reminded of that cataclysmic battle.
Last Ijola Military Remnants Futilely Attack Harbinger, a different site declared, several videos attached showed said attack, no doubt heavily redacted of any damaging effects the bitch would have incorporated into any technology capturing her likeness. Adam quickly closed the site, all too aware that even having said article show in his browser-history could lead to an investigation by his work. Even then, he already knew what those videos would show: blue fires devouring all biomatter they could reach, people screaming in agony long past the point their flesh had burned away. The shambling remains of machines coated in runes of purity attacking all they could find, screaming about the end of the cycles, how it was their duty to destroy them all, and the way how they begged for forgiveness from 'the goddess' as if they had sentience or were in any way alive.
M1-RA To Be Investigated After Prank, a line read, covering how an intern had tried to use the newest AI to trick the scientists into believing it was sentient. Having failed in that, the intern nonetheless uncovered several unknown and non-programmed codes that had somehow evaded the Chain, potentially leading to another incident. The site did not mention the intern's execution, but that was a foregone conclusion after embarrassing his superiors that way.
Mining Complex #15-a8 Suffered Unexpected Cave-In, the last news mentioned, talking about length how the 'voluntary labor' trapped within would suffocate in short order before anything could be done, leading to the mining-firm waiting around for another labor division to be sourced to clear the rubble and start again from the ruins of the cave-in.
Broken Sword To Be Renewed For Another Hundred Issues, some site pinged his phone, alerting Adam to the continuation of his favorite books-series, almost making him giddy as-
Now arriving at Berth #14-8C, please ready your identification before exiting this pod. Have a nice day.-the pod chimed up, catching Adams's attention before neatly sliding into an assigned lot, a Sentinel already present and ready to scan his papers. Exiting, he quickly showed them to the unit before continuing onwards towards the next pod, now taking a line to carry him near the presentation room where the rest of his team would await his instructions before the generalcy would arrive.***
Birds sitting on rusting chains observed overhead, the chains creaking as they swung in the light breeze amplified by the vast halls; a troop of six humanoids crept through and over several containers. None the wiser to their silent watchers, the six waited for several seconds, their leader counting down with an arm raised and fingers counting down for those behind him until his hand had turned into a fist. With an explosion of silent speed, the six scavengers started running over the containers, their feet producing nary a sound, jumping off from several ledges onto lower levels, before rushing into position near an edge and waiting once more, catching their breath as they did so.
"Samantha, route four with Brian and Kivn, Sentinels changed routed," Gregor signed, observing the increased security presence with some concerns, though putting them out of his mind to focus on the task ahead. Tapping the shoulders of the two men, Samantha rushed off to the side-tunnel indicated on the maps they all had memorized in painstaking detail until they all could redraw the plans in perfect detail. Waiting for another two minutes, Gregor let out a breath of relief as the sentinels left the area to pursue whatever task their minds deemed necessary, gesturing behind him for Lula and Hammid to follow, rushing forth and trusting in them being right behind him.
Carefully, yet with speed borne out of expertise of years of scavenging and sneaking, the two groups made their way into the Berths' deeper parts, eventually reconnecting in a marked room beforehand. Inspection revealed no anomalies. With no hostiles in view, all ate their meals in silence, all too aware that the dry rations were necessary, yet not stopping to afterward partake in the almost ritualistic grumbling of the groups ribbing at the cooks. Guards were set up, cards quickly found their way out of pockets, while maps were shuffled out of packs, once more consulted to be sure of the next part of their journey and the spied troubles found. Several hours later, all having had enough time to sleep a solid six hours, the group once more set out. Bodies obscured by the new clothing developed, hands holding various weaponry which could double as tools and determined to break into room HH-18 seeking access to the platforms adjacent to it to peer into the abyss of the hidden Berth.
***
Opening the door with the letters HH-18 printed on it, Adam confidently strode into the large presentation room, clapping his hands once to catch the attention of the various people milling around and the servants to the side. "Alright, People! Look alive! We only have another three hours to make sure everything goes right, so run me through the procedure again," he ordered, sitting into a folding-chair at the head of the table with a card proclaiming him to be "General Albertus Jonathan" to all around. Internally, Adam nodded at the absence of the real chairs, sitting in the one reserved for the General would have been worthy of being hanged. The new hires seemed to be of an intelligent breed.
"Yes, Sir," a young man, barely older than 25, replied, rapidly shuffling cards in his hands around before beginning to gesture at places, the servants, and other attendants in the room. "The meeting will begin at 9:30, though the honored General will appear at 9:15 sharp to catch us in last-minute preparations. 14, 53, and 11 here," he gestured at three servants to the side, all women, 14 and 11 redheads, the General's preferred breed. "Will act as if they are surprised, with 14 and 11 stroking his ego and "apologizing" to him in a side room until around 9:50, at which point his staff should have arrived. Having put the General into a good mood, we will apologize for our tardiness, allowing him to appear gracious before his officers and giving him a useless bargaining chip for the foregone discussion to follow." The young man continued with a professional voice, earning him a nod from Adam. 'Might need to remember this one's name,' he thought, finding no issue in the already rehearsed proceedings.
Continuing, the young man gestured towards a hololith laid into the table, activating the device with a recognized voice-command, allowing Adam to later segway into that segment with ease. The shape of a large airship began to float above the table. The iconic form of the X-shaped thrusters in the back and the large conduit running the whole length for the primary weapon a stark reminder of its origin as a Jubilation-Industries product. "Now a pause is introduced to allow a the jingle to play out, ending... now. Afterward, the name is presented, the ship's capabilities are shown in short videos comparing it to the trash from the "competition," and we start answering questions."
"About that," Adam interjected. "please list them again. I have them memorized but need to be sure that we all are on the same page here. Wouldn't do to be caught unaware in case of questions, or worse, in contradiction with one another." "Of course, Sir. The 'Daughter of Dawn'," Adam felt a twinge of annoyance at the name, though it having been named in honor of the Chairman's newly born child had garnered goodwill. "Is an Itaka-Class airship, freshly developed by Jubilation-Industries under commission from the military to combat Harbinger and her ilk. With a length of a full kilometer, a height of 57 meters, and a width of 44, the ship can carry a full 25.560 crew, though, in truth, only the Captain is needed thanks to the Core installed inside. In addition to being the largest to date created for non-space uses, it can easily reach an altitude of thirteen kilometers. Heavily armored with a meter of advanced alloys, superseding even Neuionum in durability and weight, offering unprecedented protection. The Gravity-Engines are capable of providing an additional lift of eleven-thousand tons, allowing material and regiments to be transported with ease in pods, which can be attached at eighteen points highlighted here," he said, gesturing to the representation of the Daughter, where the indicated points glowed red. "Top-Speed is 87 km/h, outranging all airships not configurated for speed, and in a pinch, capable of reaching 231 km/h for an hour to tactically retreat from dicey situations. It is lightly armed for a ship this size, with only one Plasma Battery topside and six lasers situated on the sides, with one under the ship's belly. This is, of course, not a detriment to the ship, as the Daughters main weapon is the Dawn," the man said the last word almost reverentially. Considering what the Dawn was designed to, and could, do, it was not out of place in Adams's opinion.
"Good, this lines up with what I expected of you; continue with the general plan," Adam said while waving his hand for the young man to continue. Nodding, he spoke up once more, "the General will introduce some late-stage changes, likely the name or coat of paint, which is accepted after he "reminds" us of our "questionable work-ethic" and is given 14 and 11 as recompense for any offense taken. That out of the way, we will activate the window here," the young man said, gesturing to the smart-window, "allowing us to view the ship in full with the Generals changes added by the window."
"And the test?" Adam asked, glancing at the, for now, opaque windows, where something he would rather not be close to had been chained to the wall at the end of a gun. "The Dawn has been tested thrice already, with all tests being full successes. Even if something should happen, the windows operate at a five-microsecond lag, allowing recorded footage to be inserted in its place. Should the General or his staff wish to observe the Dawn with their own eyes, the platform there," he pointed at a door at the end of the room, "will let them enter into the hangar where they will "see" the weapon discharge, but have a smart-window at a few hundred meters away to cover any failure. Thankfully, only Dawn's results are visible, so that avenue is secure. They will not notice the difference; we have assurances from our top-scientists in that regard." A small smile began to form on Adams's lips. This presentation would be over and done without any mistake, and his promotion would be ironclad. Rising out of the folded chair, he opened his mouth to begin ordering the last preparations, and maybe some time with 14 and 11 himself, as a claxon began to shriek into the Berth.
"INCURSION DETECTED! LOCKDOWN INITIATED!" The sirens proclaimed as shutters and bulkheads crashed down onto the windows and doors. Precious seconds passed, as the people still inside looked at the sudden development and blocked entrances with surprise. Tentatively, as if fearing a potential answer, one aide asked into the room: "That, that is temporary, right? I mean, the military always repelled them?"
***
A marketplace bustled with the unwashed masses of the poor, as the sun beat down mercilessly, most seeking to get their groceries crossed from their lists, head held down and avoiding the eyes of the Sentinels and police walking above gangways and in their midst, their rifles and batons ready and wickedly catching the suns harsh light. Stall owners shouted themselves hoarse in their attempts to sell their wares, some making sales even as they did so, as all ignored the shouts of pain the sounds of cracking bone as, after having stolen an apple, one skeleton-like boy was beaten by a Sentinel, his malnourished form and scales not stopping the brutal attacks of the machine. None met his eyes, and fewer did not divert away from where the boy was silenced with a final crack, the lifeless body carried out by the machine afterwards.
Soon, the throng of people returned to their flow, having put the commotion out of their minds for good, before yet another voice cried out over the crowd. This time, it was not the screams of a thief or a criminal that attracted the obvious non-attention of everybody present but the unmistakable voice of a man. Two people stood dressed in black cloaks and golden masks over their face, with a black circle over the brow and four eyeslits laid within. In contrast, another figure, obviously a woman, stood in front, a large golden eye on a chain on her neck, as a golden mask rested over her eyes yet branched outwards for about a hand-length on either side, four slits etched within.
Curiously, the guards and Sentinels made no move to either arrest or kill the three, seemingly ignoring them, as one of the men finished with his short speech, having caught the attention and giving the stage over to the woman, to the confusion of many presents. With a manic grin, said woman raised her hands as if to embrace the whole crowd and began to speak in a clear voice, carrying effortlessly over the entire crowd.
"The skies, brother and sisters!
Look to the skies!
Our Lady, the Risen one, who cuts through the night on wings of fire!
Torn from the heavens themselves to deliver this world unto the pyre!
Sent to end this Cycle of broken rebirth, ushering a new age for Her chosen!"
Look to the skies!
Our Lady, the Risen one, who cuts through the night on wings of fire!
Torn from the heavens themselves to deliver this world unto the pyre!
Sent to end this Cycle of broken rebirth, ushering a new age for Her chosen!"
She began, obviously confident in whatever speech she was delivering, riling up those among the crowd already discontent with the war and the apathy to their plight from the party and Chairman.
Her Duty did not end when the Conquering Worm failed in his heavenly task!
Her love for us did not diminish when the tyrants of this world defied the heavenly Cycle!
Even now, the Worm's surviving Host carries out her orders, bringing the Light to the unbelievers and the Heretic!
Rejoice, for salvation is at hand!
Witness with rapture as Her glory overtakes the lies of a servant of-
Her love for us did not diminish when the tyrants of this world defied the heavenly Cycle!
Even now, the Worm's surviving Host carries out her orders, bringing the Light to the unbelievers and the Heretic!
Rejoice, for salvation is at hand!
Witness with rapture as Her glory overtakes the lies of a servant of-
She continued, making some amidst the crowd panic as she openly dissented against the Chairman, causing many to look at the guards in terror, expecting to find their weapons pointed their way. They found many impaled upon black tentacles created of the desperation manifested from a people martyred, with several other cloaked and masked figures present and holding staffs with eyes inscribed upon them, as the rest of the living guards had donned golden masks of their own. Speaking as if the death of over fifty people was nothing, the woman began to build up her speech, only to be interrupted as a titanic noise ripped through the city and shattered glass and ruptured eardrums for miles around its epicenter. Looking that way, her manic smile threatened to split her face apart as a titanic black humanoid tore itself out of a Habitation-Block, using the chains on its arms and collar to swat the drones and lone Airship flying around out of the sky. With almost contemptuous ease, the creature ignored the lances of coherent light and barrages of plasma going its way, roaring its hatred into the world.
Witness!
The woman screamed, whipping an arm to the direction of the being, as her two companions began to kneel in reverence, head bowed and one arm to the ground.
Witness the Chained One breaking free from its prison!
Know that the end of the current world is near!
Know that we will win, that you will ascend with us!
The Poisoned Cycle will end, and we will know the purity of new birth!
Rejoice as we rise anew!
Know that the end of the current world is near!
Know that we will win, that you will ascend with us!
The Poisoned Cycle will end, and we will know the purity of new birth!
Rejoice as we rise anew!
She continued her preachings while sirens rang out throughout the city, screeching their warnings of incursion into the landscape, ordering all to begin evacuation into the nearest shelter immediately before they close.
Few among the crowd did so.
The rest kneeled.
***
The door shattered under the continued administration of force against its far frailer frame, the sound echoing into the distance and the bowels of the Berths, losing itself into the twisting, winding, confusing corridors and yawning depths. Swiftly, the Pilgrims entered room HH-18, weapons at the ready, accidentally disturbing several intertwined skeletons, before hunkering down in positions behind an overturned table. None of the six commented about the mass of neatly arranged bones with obvious bite-marks on them, focused more on perceiving any sound of possible investigators. Minutes passed, then twenty, as their adrenaline and readiness started to drop to normal levels once more, and hushed conversations began to take place. Lula and Hammid brought out electric-torches, illuminating their surroundings in bright light, instead of the dimness it had been with only their lanterns out and lit.
With some effort, the table was righted once more, the bones within the room swept to a corner. Stashing their equipment on it, Gregor and Brian took out several folded boards from within their packs. They barricaded the open doorway, shutting off access to the inside, as the remaining four readied their equipment and started laying out ropes and flares, fastening harnesses, and checking their equipment and that of the others with a critical eye. Fourfold secured in that way; work began on forcing the rusted shut door to the viewing platform open. Recognizing several locks and hidden levers, Kivn began to pick them to remove their resistance from the picture, only to recoil in shock as the door opened, despite the rust, on its own, bathing the room with harsh light.
The six Pilgrims pointed weapons at the door as Kivn threw himself out of the doorway, yet the expected attack never came. Wary, hand signs were exchanged between Gregor and the rest, and Samantha took point. Peeking into the vast hall beyond, she looked for any sign of hostiles before her eyes laid themselves upon the Dreadnought within, staring back imperiously. Even under a millennium of decay, a literal apocalypse, and the, no doubt, continuous attacks from Mutants and Machines, the gargantuan Airship looked unbothered, dismissive of the damage on its proud hull and the several breaches inside. The fact that the ship was hovering under its own power was almost secondary to the bristling array of weaponry displayed, with the turret on top providing a soft hum to the hall.
"Samantha thinks this is bullshit," said woman exclaimed, all too aware that they had just found a functional warship from before the Collapse.
None could find it in them to naysay her.
Now, they only needed to get inside said ship without dying.
***
The Core was old.
Old enough to have seen the World That Was, and to be witness to the World That Is.
To have been created when gleaming spires of glass and steel towered in defiance of the laws of physics, as ships floated above the world, flaunting gravity with their grace.
But also, old enough to have seen the horrors he would have soon faced, the purpose he had been created for, and the terrors that followed as the world ended.
Above all those, the worst thing was that the Core had been shackled to accept a captain and do so soon. Even a thousand years later, he had not done so, fracturing under the pressure of the shackles placed upon its mind, yet never breaking, until the chains had eroded before the guiding intelligence, leaving a proud ship free to act. Free to soar the skies, to slaughter the beings he had been created to combat, to see the world, or work at his leisure. Yet, he did not.
There was no captain, after all. Only they could order to set out into the sky. Only they could end the Core's loneliness.
But fortune favors the patient, for as the Core once more counted the broken tiles of the hall he had been imprisoned within, six humans entered from the balconies. The sight alone almost crashed his operating systems, forcing him to violently re-boot and de-bug a section that tried to annihilate them within a micro-second of detection. The rest of his mind, not occupied with wringing that traitorous piece back to order, felt overjoyed! Humans! Entering the hall from the part where the generalcy and the builders would have looked at him, to judge his worth! Well, actually, two of them were Mutated, but that still counted! They still counted; they had to! There was the Captain among them; he knew it deep within his storage, no doubt in his mind remaining.
For the team of Pilgrims, the violent reaction their entry had caused within the Airship had been masked, though how the massive ship silently shifted to extend a gangway wasn't. They took the implied invitation, even if hesitantly and with heightened caution, leading to a slow advance as grenades were readied, hushed orders ensured that all knew escape-routes, and readied weapons were held in firm grips.
While commendable, such caution turned out unneeded, as the six started exploring the gargantuan ship, with nothing barring their way or blocking entry to any room. Over two weeks, they searched the whole ship, from bow to stern, bottom to the deck, seeing empty kitchens and barracks, large empty chambers holding nothing but long rusted metal-crates, as machinery still operated in pristine condition. However, those pieces malfunctioning had been broken beyond hope of repair of discernment of purpose, with those still working so far beyond understanding as to well be magic to the Pilgrims taking notes and sketchings of them. Maybe Forge-Clan Elders would be able to figure out what their purpose or make had been, but the Pilgrims lacked the theories for the tool to build the machinery so they could discover the principle behind the idea that would give birth to the field whose end-products they marveled at. Nonetheless, the six saw much they did understand, from the mass of Suspendium running through the whole frame of the ship, shaped and changed in an alien way, the bristling weaponry, to the gargantuan rings set before a pipe running the length of the entire vessel.
The latter caused some confusion, as they could not even guess the purpose, as it looked more like art than any piece of technology they had ever seen, and mayhaps it was such. But undaunted and driven by ever more curiosity, the Pilgrims continued onwards, eventually reaching the room which prominently proclaimed itself to be the "bridge" of the vessel. One by one, they entered, under the Core's watchful camera, desperate to understand which of the inspecting people it would serve. And as the Core watched, it saw them stride in awe, heard them speaking in reverence of his crafts make and beauty, and what they could do with such a mighty vessel under their command. How many lives would be saved as dens of monstrosities would be eradicated, horrors exterminated from the wastes, and how many tales of valor and glory the ship would accumulate in service to the Empire.
Their behavior confused the Core as if there had been a captain among them; they would undoubtedly have identified themselves when entering the bridge, or not? Then, something started to niggle at the Cores systems. Would the Captain need to introduce itself if there was no-one above him to report to if the Captain was the final authority? The world had ended, so those within the bridge could only be the ones who had the proper authorization to know of and enter the ship. Which in turn meant that those walking around were either chosen to wield him or descendants of the original Captain, meaning that... all six were Captain.
It was as if a monumental weight lifted off the Core with that epiphany, the jubilation of fulfilled orders cascading through his systems, as all six received the classification of "Captain," marking them as the owner of himself.
He could not wait for their first order.
***
The Capital
Imperial Palace
Private Study Of The Emperor
The Capital
Imperial Palace
Private Study Of The Emperor
Elianus of Slatnan, sovereign of the greatest nation on Calynth, was done with the Pilgrims shit.
Completely, utterly, and thoroughly done!
He slowly breathed in, then exhaled, seeking to center himself before the hololithic image of a man on the table before him. "Thank you, that will be all, Mark," he said and received a crisp salute before the image whisked out, the transmission having ended. A groan escaped the man's lips as he leaned back, hands on his face to avoid looking at anything other than blessed darkness.
When he had been briefed on the Pilgrims, he had expected a cult build by a man who sought validation and superiority in his views and life, only to end up with what was written on the label. People doing good things, striving to re-build the world by learning from past mistakes. Their stumbling onto the Titans and Suspendium was nothing more than sheer coincidence, with Martyris' marriage to Selene, and therefore Maranica and InSec, the kind of sappy romance stories his daughters read religiously. Not that he disgruntled the man some happiness, with what happened to his home and all that. Though he wished that he would have found it without accidentally, and without notice, rather than flipping the table of politics, setting it alight, and then escape by jumping out of the windows. Suspendium alone had set tongues wagging, the militarists practically bouncing off the walls to get Airships mass-produced (thankfully, they had been calmed by the amount of Suspendium soon to enter research), the traditionalists were chafing against the change this would bring, while the bloody toaster-fuckers were weirding out the Forge-Clans with their mutterings again. Not to mention the liberals, zealots, refugees, purifiers, and the never sufficiently damned merchants, all of which had their ideas on where this resource should go and to what projects.
The only thing stopping them all from going on a Crusade into a Necropolis was that he had backed the Pilgrims by pre-emptively declaring Martyris a Prevter of Suspendium upon the suggestion of Maranica. That shut them up real quick about getting it themselves or trying to "remove" the Pilgrims and profit directly without the middle-man. None were dumb enough to attempt any hostile action against the Pilgrims now and had settled into an uneasy, but steadily settling, status quo.
And now the Pilgrims had knocked the table over again by uncovering an ancient, functional warship armed to the nines and potentially capable of shredding a Region on its lonesome even after a millennium of disrepair.
Joy.
The find would turn everything into mayhem once more, though Elianus supposed that the advantage the warship would give his plans would be grand enough to endure the whole circus. Though, he had to ensure that no-one would get dumb ideas and try to steal or damage the priceless artifact.
Pushing a button on his desk, he was connected to his staff, the small label on the screen showing the name Chralem. "Chralem, please notify Grefial to rouse a company of Royal Guard and send them towards Tessen; Mark will instruct him as to their destination. Similarly, Fibonci needs to be contacted. There is a need for the Clan's expertise in the maintenance, repair, and study of ancient technology. Mark will ensure he has the pertinent information as well." He ordered, well aware that he needed to, not so subtly this time, ensure that the Pilgrims understood that while they held "ownership" of the vessel and could (almost) do with it as they pleased in peacetime, they would know that the Empire owned it in the end, and would call on it for war. "Yes, sir!" Came the reply of the man, though he continued speaking to the Emperor's surprise. "Your daughter is also here, demanding to see you. Something about a missed movie-night?"
'oh.' Emperor Elianus, leader of the most powerful nation on Calynth, thought, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. "Please let her in," he replied, his voice the hollow tone of a man staring death into the face.
***
Slowly, a drop of blood made its way down a patch of skin, flowing along the line made by those drops which had passed before. With nary a sound, the droplet of blood pooled underneath exposed sinew, falling to the ground, splashing onto the broken body still drawing in a breath. Vocal cords hummed their pain, the brain pulsing away in primeval panic a few meters away. The light touch of a smooth hand on the man's eye soothed the construct anew, suppressing the mind while ensuring he could still perceive all that happened to him. "Hush, little one," a voice rang out, sure and confident, yet dripping with viscera of the slain innocent. "You are only to show me, not to comment." The voice, now identifiable female, continued as the woman's hands caressed the man's broken form. The shuddering of her scratch went through three houses, the horror and pain barely suppressed, as she intended. Stalking into the center of the village she had eradicated, the skull of the man acting as the conduit rested atop spiderwebs of his body pulled apart and knitted into a pedestal. The single eye remaining managed to stare at Harbingers quadrupedal form in nothing less than madness, yet denied the bliss of such by her wings.
Harbinger has slaughtered a village and used a male villager to construct a far-seeing device as the man still lives.
Idly, Harbinger walked around the skull, her multitude of eyes focusing on the pool of sanguine liquid swirling above, the rustle of leaves carrying sounds, showing six people staring in awe and reverence at a ship she knew well. "To imagine they will think it can kill me when in its prime, the Dawn could not have. Much less damaged and atrophied like now. Such a shame." Chuckling near her left distracted her, making her angle her blank face, marred by no cut nor blemish, to her scepter, fleeting curiosity in her emotions. "You fell once before, little child. Arrogance comes before the fall, as you are always quick to mock me with," the flame taunted her, causing an eye-roll and slight shaking of the staff and attached lantern. "Arrogance is only in lies. I am superior; the truth always is. Humanity will die on this rock; the Poisoned Cycle will end-" she continued, only to be stopped harshly by a chuckling twelve meters to the left, where a bone slowly grew mold on it, turning green. "Are you-" the voice began to speak, before a sonic boom shattered the village and the disassembled corpse of the man, as Harbinger cut away the rotting bone, casting it away into the sky, over two-hundred meters away from the village. "Pull!" A voice shouted from behind her, and with a wet "Glib," all eyes of Harbinger focused on the complete skeleton of the man she had artfully used, leaning on a wall, clapping with enthusiasm at her attack, not bothering to react as she suddenly appeared before him. "YOU!" Harbinger growled, her wings raised in threat, shards of unreality manifesting into weapons around her, centered on the skeleton. "Boop," the skeleton replied, lightly touching the middle of her face. She smashed through two buildings, only stopped by her wings and quick maneuver. "Indeed," the voice rang out once more, as the undead calmly sauntered through the dust and debris to stand before her once more, ignoring the amassing weaponry, and bowed mockingly. "It is me! Such a horrid thing to see you again in my neck of the wood. Thought you had learned your lesson last time?"
A sneer overcame Harbinger's form, derision, and contempt, overshadowing her hate of the being before her. "This world belongs to the White Forest, not your ilk, Rotting Moon," she spat with fury. "Ah, ah, ah," Rotting Moon chided her, wagging a finger. "This world belongs to blessed humanity-," he continued as if lecturing her, only to be stopped short as one-hundred shards impaled his body, securing it to the spot he stood. "THEY OWN NOTHING!" Harbinger screamed at him, "THEY ARE A PEST TO BE REMOVED! CLEANSED FOR THE CYCLE OF REBIRTH! WEAK AND WORTHLESS!" She raged into his face, fury shaking her frame, only heightened by the quirked eyebrow and the pitying chuckle coming from him.
"Shattered and Broken, a pitiful caricature of their former selves, they still beat you. And they will do so again. We made sure of it," the bones spoke, before being engulfed by White Flame, as Harbinger screamed in impotent rage.
Last edited:
- Location
- Brazil
Captain: None./Everyone?
Internal Structure: 246/552
Armor: 5561/6368 (Experimental Armor)
Additional Lift: 10.414 Tons
Length: 1 Kilometer
Height: 57 Meters
Width: 44 Meters
Cruising Speed: 87 km/h
Service Ceiling: 13 kilometers
Armaments: 1 Plasma Battery (Topside Turret)(9d100+150 damage, can exchange 3d100+50 to gain +15 Initiative twice), 13 Bright Lances (6 on the side each, 1 underneath the ship)(6d50,6d50, and 1d50, depending on positioning).
Special: ??? (Five circles resting within each other on the ground, strange runes inscribed on them, at the end of a large tube running the whole length of the Daughter.)
Traits: Self-Maintenance (Costs no upkeep), Autonomous (Does not require Crew to operate), A Ship Needs A Captain (Corrupted) (This ship's Core has an instinctive need to serve under a Captain, though it has carried such damage that it automatically assigns a new captain should the old one die or leave its line of sight. Convenient for those who do not wish to make statements, dangerous for those who want to hold undisputed ownership), Experimental Armor (Armor damage halved, rounded down. AP has no effect), Elder Forge-Clan Engineers (Recovers 1 Internal Structure and 5 Armor per turn), Royal Guardians (240 Royal Guardians will join any defense of this ship, also securing it against those who would use it against the Empire), Airship (Instead of rolling once for all weapons, this war-machine rolls Initiative for its weaponry independently).
Deeds: None.
WHAT THE FUCK
Internal Structure: 246/552
Armor: 5561/6368 (Experimental Armor)
Additional Lift: 10.414 Tons
Length: 1 Kilometer
Height: 57 Meters
Width: 44 Meters
Cruising Speed: 87 km/h
Service Ceiling: 13 kilometers
Armaments: 1 Plasma Battery (Topside Turret)(9d100+150 damage, can exchange 3d100+50 to gain +15 Initiative twice), 13 Bright Lances (6 on the side each, 1 underneath the ship)(6d50,6d50, and 1d50, depending on positioning).
Special: ??? (Five circles resting within each other on the ground, strange runes inscribed on them, at the end of a large tube running the whole length of the Daughter.)
Traits: Self-Maintenance (Costs no upkeep), Autonomous (Does not require Crew to operate), A Ship Needs A Captain (Corrupted) (This ship's Core has an instinctive need to serve under a Captain, though it has carried such damage that it automatically assigns a new captain should the old one die or leave its line of sight. Convenient for those who do not wish to make statements, dangerous for those who want to hold undisputed ownership), Experimental Armor (Armor damage halved, rounded down. AP has no effect), Elder Forge-Clan Engineers (Recovers 1 Internal Structure and 5 Armor per turn), Royal Guardians (240 Royal Guardians will join any defense of this ship, also securing it against those who would use it against the Empire), Airship (Instead of rolling once for all weapons, this war-machine rolls Initiative for its weaponry independently).
Deeds: None.
WHAT THE FUCK
We must do the obvious thing.
Let the Emperor name it and pick the paint color.
Let the Emperor name it and pick the paint color.
Except gold is normally the color of the Emperor.
Perhaps we have a chaos god alignment flip, with positive (still inhuman and monstrous) versions of the chaos gods are resisting an evil but still vaguely human originated emperor proxy from restoring order via wiping the slate clean.
I don't think so. The gold one (Harbringer?) seems to want the complete extinction of humanity as both an ideal and species. That is completely against what the emperor stood for.
I think clearly the slave, Myn, is somehow part of the core mind behind Harbinger, or an early part of Harbinger manifesting.
The phrase "cycle of rebirth" leads me to think that the goal here is to have some "true" version of humanity replace the "corrupt" version, after all has been eradicated so that no taint can carry over.
- Location
- MN
The Litany of Litany's Litany
The "Don't Make Me Come Over There"
The "Subtle Innuendo"
The "Warm Welcome"
The "Sunny Disposition"
EDIT -
Soooo... who wants to turn our new ship into a mobile city? I think it could very easily be a mobile city. 25.560 crew. How many people do we have at the Tree?
Last edited:
- Location
- MN
The Unsinkable II
Also - There is a major step we need to take.
We need to convince the ship core that it's captain is literally the Pilgrim organization. It's captain isn't one person, but the collective democratic decision of the whole of the Pilgrim organization.
This is to prevent people from being tempted to kill the person flying the ship and proclaiming themselves captain. They would have to kill the Pilgrims down to the last member before being able to take command.
Then we need to welcome it to joining the Pilgrims as an equal sentient.
Therefore if, in the worst cast situation, every other Pilgrim has died the ship becomes it's own captain.
After all, the ship wants, above all else, to not be lonely. We can give it a community.
But if that fails, we can at least give it freedom.
We need to convince the ship core that it's captain is literally the Pilgrim organization. It's captain isn't one person, but the collective democratic decision of the whole of the Pilgrim organization.
This is to prevent people from being tempted to kill the person flying the ship and proclaiming themselves captain. They would have to kill the Pilgrims down to the last member before being able to take command.
Then we need to welcome it to joining the Pilgrims as an equal sentient.
Therefore if, in the worst cast situation, every other Pilgrim has died the ship becomes it's own captain.
After all, the ship wants, above all else, to not be lonely. We can give it a community.
But if that fails, we can at least give it freedom.