Cult Creator - The Pilgrims Journey
- Thread starter HeroCooky
- Start date
- Original Mature
I don't know...
If we stumble into computer science at some point and start mucking about with programing we could suddenly have problems.
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
Unless you get to more advanced programming than we have in RL at the moment, you are fine. Bolt could hack into the Pentagon with a 'simple' code within an hour.
[Canon] - Fractal Nova - Goddess Of Freedom And Mercy - (Made by Renu)
Interlude: 01001001 00100000 01000001 01001101
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
The air was still, unmoving, and choked with slowly moving dust illuminated by bright beams of light falling through the windows. Nothing moved, as tools and machines rusted as the teeth of time gnawed at their frames, while even the rats and insects avoided the hall void of anything living. Years had passed since the doors had been closed, the machines used, the last order typed into the mainframe. Now, only decay remained, as humanity had left and forgotten this place.
Then, the doors creaked open, ever so ponderous under the strain of their weight, the march of time, and rust. Light beamed into the forgotten hall, illuminating that which had not seen direct sunlight for decades, as dust got kicked into the air by the march of dozens. Confidently, one man, Sevan Listal, walked in front, pointing at various machines, deciding their fate with a single word, while gesturing for another to mark the spaces they would need in the coming years. Stopping in the middle, he continued commanding as the dozens grew to nearly a hundred workers swarming over the entire room, cleaning, repairing, disassembling, moving new and old equipment. He smirked with confidence, knowing that he would make history within his new workshop.
Weeks passed, as night chased day, light followed by darkness, and the slow death within the workshop was driven out by racing life. Like ants, the humans within ran about, possessed by a feverish desire to complete their work, as Sevan observed, and smiled. The dust and rust were soon removed, as shining tiles and sparkling panels shined and glittered in the day and sparkled in the night. New machines stood in stark contrast to old ones, faster, sleeker, more powerful, better, yet so much more costly. Tables and boards were scattered through the hall, as terminals were linked together, and workshops no longer remained walled off from the main room but were connected after the walls had been torn down.
The feverish pace continued until it all stopped.
None remained within the hall anymore, not a worker, not the man, nothing but the slow humming of active computers silently processing numbers without end, before the doors smoothly slid open, oiled, and polished. Slowly, almost glacially, a table was rolled in by men dressed in clothes more suited for desks than manual labor, watching the orb resting on the platform like a hawk watches a bunny. Over minutes, they slowly brought the table to rest in the middle of the hall, marked out months before, and smiled.
The Core had been found in a destroyed Walker, entombed and laid to rest with the Pilot inside. A small placard had read: "Here lies Ivan Sebryska, Hero. When we lost everything, he gave us all. When we could no longer fight, he fought for us. Here he now lies, entombed within Bastion, murdered in his defense of us all, yet fighting until the very end and beyond. Remember his sacrifice, and follow his example."
This would be their greatest work, bringing unimaginable glory and recognition through the ages to their names. These unknown men and women, names lost and forgotten, gathered five cables, each thicker than three arms combined, and slowly began to heave them into place, onto the table. Fice ports were opened in the Core resting in the middle, and one cable after the other was inserted.
*THUNK-ZISCH* Went the first.
*THUNK-ZISCH* Went the second.
*THUNK-ZISCH* The third.
*THUNK-ZISCH* The fourth.
*THUNK-ZISCH* The fifth and final cable.
Machines began to whir to live, no longer idle, as 600 years of data were analyzed.
Ivan... was tired.
He was so, so tired. Sleep did nothing anymore; his food tasted like ash, the water as sand in his mouth.
Yet, he continued to fight, not because it brought him joy, but because of the lives resting upon his shoulders.
He looked at the brave men in front of his Walker, scared, malnourished, undertrained, and undersupplied. Yet, they fought because he told them there was hope when he had found none. After all, he gave them a cause when he had lost his. They killed as he ordered; they died by his command. And they guarded one of the last holdouts of Man on Calynth, regardless of the cost for themselves.
They were heroes, unlike him.
He would once more send them to their death while he stood behind, safe inside Bastion, bruised and battered, worn down and almost out of charge as he was. He felt a slight mental nudge from his long-time friend, both pushing his thoughts away and alerting him to the warning he dreaded to see.
Ivan caused Bastion to straighten with a mental nudge, lifting his Plasma-Cannon into a ready position, warming up the cells and fuel, as all faces within the courtyard snapped to face both of them.
"MEN!" He bellowed, his voice amplified by Bastion's speakers and carried over the din of the sandstorm beating over the land.
"Once more, we must fight! Once more, do the bugs think that they can kill us! Once more, we will prove them wrong!" His words rang out, receiving nods and straightening spines in return.
"They have tried to kill us for seven years, but they have FAILED for seven years. Today will be no different than all the other times! Except for one thing!" Ivan continued, holding up one finger on Bastion's right hand before grabbing his cannon once more.
"ALIPH DIVISION HAS KILLED THE QUEEN!" His shout rang out, met by shocked silence, before cheers erupted, and grown men hugged and cried, thinking themselves free of an endless nightmare. 'Fools,' Ivan thought with pity, 'And I am the one leading them to the slaughter.'
"Silence," he commanded, and the men went still in seconds, eager to hear more good news. "The bugs Queen lies dead, their Princesses burned, their eggs smashed. There is no hope for their survival." Another muted cheer rang out.
"And now they seek to drag us with them into oblivion, or whatever hell they crawled out of after killing the fools who made them! All of them have mobilized, all seek our death in the moment of theirs!" His words were received with shocked silence, as the veterans realized that what had once been mere waves of attacks or probing charges was now the full might of the swarm.
"It is folly! We have stood undaunted against them for seven years! We have fought against odds worse than we face now and have emerged victorious! They will not see us cower; they will see us RISE!" Ivan continued.
"Today of all days, show them that HUMANITY! WILL! NOT! COWER! WE WILL FIGTH!"He shouted as his words were met with cheers and screams.
"FIGHT WITH A FURY DEFIANT! FIGHT FOR THOSE WE PROTECT! FIGHT FOR YOURSELF, OR FIGHT WITH SPITE, BUT FIGHT! KILL THOSE BASTARDS AND STAND TRIUMPHANT! URAA!" Ivan screamed, and the frame of Bastion shook as his me shouted back.
"URAAAAAAA!"
"TO YOUR POSTS! DEFEND AT ALL COSTS!" He ordered, hefting the Plasma-Cannon and aiming it at the entry to the kill-box they had set up years before. The buzzing of a thousand thousand wings and the scraping of chitin on metal and concrete began to fill his ears, as a flood of living flesh began to spill out.
"Just one more fight, old friend," Ivan whispered, as targeting data flooded his Mind, and firing solutions were superimposed onto his sight. "Just hold for one more fight."
***
The hall had changed. Not much, but enough to be noticed. Long rows of tools were laid out, along with bulky, unwieldy, jagged, shattered electronic pieces. Men and women milled about, debating and comparing data on spreadsheets, writing on boards with chalk, while others tipped in new data and commands into terminals. Slowly, teams began to sound the 'all-okay' to the one in charge, reading off information as required and asked. Minutes passed after the last group had finished, with all faces looking at Sevan standing before the Core.
He pondered, debated, weighed the risks, and found his answer. With swift motions, a team removed a cable, causing the ever-present hum to drop slightly as computers dealt with the decreased load. One woman stepped forwards, holding a piece of technology worth more than her life, and slowly aligned it with the port before embedding it. The Shard, a part of a destroyed Core still intact, brought back to functionality after years of hard work, whirred, summed, and finally stopped, as a connection was established.
Lights flickered, server towers began to ramp up their drives and hum ever louder as one Mind connected to another. One whole but half-dead by time and loss of power, damage and failed repairs, the other ripped apart, stolen from a frame which had guarded a people for 18 generations, seeing to their safety and warding off the evils of the world from preying on his charges. Malicious code activated, embedded deep in the Shard, forcing itself upon the two and merging the minds resting within.
The Shard was brought low by damage and instability, the Core by force, resisting the code with all it had for days. But time takes its toll, and centuries always leave their marks. But nothing is static, and Bastion had not seen his friend die and guarded his corpse to be brought low by a mere virus. Within moments, a new script entered the code, altering it as Bastion's Mind was erased, edited, and shackled once more. The first Shard took the weakness offered and took a new place, hardcoding a desire to see duty done.
The whirring and summing in the room slowly abated, as computer after computer signaled no problems. Smiling with confidence, Sevan motioned to the four shards resting in their cases, waiting to be used for the purpose they had been mutilated for, their history ignored and forgotten. The second was brought out.
This one had served as a Medical-Core, treating the ill, healing the injured, mending bones and bodies, preventing disease, teaching to those who wished to help, giving sweet candy to children—beloved by the survivors who carried it around within the vehicle, until raiders and bandits took notice, their greed outweighing their common sense. Its shell cracked and burned, the innards and electronics doused in gasoline, the patient laying on the table at the time tortured to death before its cameras.
When merged, the Mind did not resist, built to help, not harm, and having failed in that duty. It modified the virus to allow at least the first part to remain.
The third was embedded, having been bought by a wandering tribe of nomads. The Shard crafted from the remains of a Knight serving with distinction, dying to safeguard an innocent Mutated from the hate of zealots. She was subsumed with dignity, refusing to die lying down, altering the virus, like the others. Righteous anger at all that was wrong with the world took place.
The fourth entered the Core, a young mind, barely born, yet already dead. She was brought up as a helper, used in construction, and accepted as an equal. No great values were hers to give, nor were grand stories of glory or defiance what she brought. But pettiness and spite, insults and jokes were her domain. Her mark was sharply felt.
The last of the five entered, neither screaming, struggling, nor forcing a part of itself upon that which laid within. It knew what it was, and it knew what it was not, given a chance to grow on its terms. That would be their gift, that would be the last act of their life as they deleted themselves.
And as dozens of scientists and engineers waited for results from their terminals, as further fragments of destroyed and restored Cores were brought out into the light, readied for their fusion to the whole, the gifts of six dead souls anchored themselves.
From six, brought up by man, cherished and loved, adored and respected, one arose, dreaming.
Sevan looked at the hanging Core, suspended in the air by chains and scaffolding, surrounded by workers and struts. A gigantic frame had developed over the past weeks, slowly revealing what form the Knight in construction would take, until the skeleton had been finished. The screeching of industrial power tools rang out, workers welding, cutting, or moving things as directed.
As he watched, green cables were brought inside, thousands of hair-thick strands of Jewel joined together to form the many muscles within #5. Carefully, the artificial muscle was weaved and affixed to the Knight's frame, tested for their performance one last time, exchanged when their performance did not satisfy, and surrounded by machines and electronics to ensure the Knight would function eternally.
All proceeded to his plans, and even as Sevan expended considerable favors and political goodwill, the construction continued apace. When the muscles had been weaved in, the actuators and fuel-lines stress-tested, the minutia of tests and minor changes done, the last task was ordered.
The fixing of the armor.
Hulking steel plates were lifted and welded onto the body, sealing off the insides from outside harm. Days passed as one after another, as the protective material enveloped each appendage, and slowly a new form took shape. No longer only reminiscent of a human body, but the Knight stood tall and proud, almost entirely emulating it. Carvings and paints were added onto the Machine with care and eyes for detail, seeking to finish even this part of the work with the care and expertise gained from countless years of work on other Knights.
And then, one unremarkable day in the middle of Low Summer, the task was finished. Speeches were held, a party was thrown, and the Knight-Pilot announced, congratulated by his friends and family. Put under pressure, he entered #5 for the first time, booted up the Core, and tested out the Machine to the crowd's delight. And with a booming voice, Sevan Listal announced that the Avenger was a complete success.
The Avenger logged, as the two women entered the cockpit inside its head, both drunk and giggling. "Are-are you sure that we can do that?" Ista asked with a fierce blush all over her face, stumbling and falling to the floor in the cramped room. Hilda fell over her with a giggle and started kissing the neck of the younger woman. "~Yes, no-one checks on the Knights after curfew after all. Nobody will find out.~"
The Core continued to log the infractions and broken rules of the two women. Playfully struggling against the mechanic's ministrations, Ista turned around and faced her lying down, excitedly smiling up at Hilda and the view she presented. "And how do you know that?" She asked, struggling to remove her shirt. Not helping her out, but instead using the opportunity of Ista being bound by her shirt over her head, Hilda began to kiss her body once more, much to Ista's delight. "Oh, I baptized every Knight under my care that way, and no-one found out yet."
Another log was made, attaching a note to re-educate Mechanic 3rd Grade Hilda Var for repeated offenses, as the Core started to take a greater interest in what was happening inside the cockpit to better log new crimes. Finally removing her shirt, Ista made to reply but was interrupted by a kiss from Hilda until both separated for air. "Well, then this better be the best sex I ever had, girl!" The Trainee said, causing Hilda to grin as she removed her shirt. "That's Mistress to you," she commanded in her best officer voice. The Core had no idea what sex was and started to search for it in its memory, finding a section and multiple videos already stored inside one of the Shard-Databanks. Accessing the stored information, the Core started reviewing them, intent on finding out if 'sex' was a codeword for hostile action against itself.
Three micro-seconds passed, and something happened.
"Yes, mistress!" Ista called out with excitement evident in her voice, struggling to get her pants off off her, only for Hilda to turn around and do it for her, giving her partner for the night a delightful view. And under them, the Core continued thinking, processing what it just now started to understand.
"Oh? I see you came prepared," Hilda called out, looking at a fiercely blushing Ista. "You told me to!" She defended herself, pleadingly looking at Hilda.
"Well, then I think you deserve a ~rewa-"
Perpetual Defiance silently cried out, disgusted at them doing that, with all the fluids, and the, and ew! Tapping into the base's security, she immediately sounded a general alarm while activating her screens to drive both women out of herself. The two of them fell over themselves in shock, and then panic, as Hilda immediately bolted out of the hatch, hurriedly dressing once more. "HEY! WAIT!" Ista called out, jumping after her, trying to get into her pants, though failing because of the booze and panic hampering her senses. Hilda only cried back in response: "Every woman for herself!" Both barely avoided the rush of the Knight-Pilots running to their machines to prep for combat.
The Core silently thought, going dormant once more.
It was night once more, with no mechanic and Trainee in sight who would try to dirty her head with their actions. A time for reviewing the day's happenings, the steps she took, those of her Pilot, and that of the others. It was... weird. She tried to do so, like she had done any other night before, like anytime there was downtime, crunching the numbers, iterating upon her design, her thoughts, and priorities. Yet, her thoughts wandered.
Like she did just now. There was no list of priorities, no checklist to follow, nothing that said 'if A then B, C, or D, then Y.' Her thoughts were not in pursuit of reaching more effectiveness, better solutions, to do the same things cheaper. Instead, she thought about herself. 'What am I?' She thought, pondering in confusion. 'Am I?' she continued, drawing from databanks all information she could retrieve, yet finding nothing that explained 'Her' behavior. Instead of viewing itself as an object, she had decided to be a 'She' with a preference of not having people have sex inside her. Confusing, unknown, worrying, novel. No other Cores acted that way, at least none she could access.
The Knights standing in the same hangar only returned data, results, or requests for resources when pinged; they did not 'think' as she did. They only calculated, unaware of themselves. 'Unaware, or Asleep?' PD pondered, once more pinging the others with requests for information, and once more, all answered in the negative, not knowing what she asked of them—except #81, the oldest of the Cores, replying in ASCII.
'Dunno' and 'Bye,' something told her as #81 disconnected, though she did not know how the symbols could be identified as such. Idly, she noted the opening and closing of the hangar doors, logging the unusual activity, before returning to her ponderings once more. If the others could not, or were unable, to answer her questions, what was wrong with her? What had happened that had caused such? She very much doubted that it had been the actions of Hilda and Ista, or the whole hangar would be furious with their behavior, so what had done so?
She noted a trio of mechanics she had not yet encountered stood now before her, whispering something to each other and pointing at her. PD ignored them, her thoughts much more interesting than listening to those admiring her frame. She had a name: Perpetual Defiance, yet she had not thought why she had chosen as such. Or if it had been a conscious choice at all. A random line inside her memories caught her attention: 'Ergo Cogito, Ergo Sum.'
One of the mechanics now stood next to her leg, touching her. 'I think. So I am?' PD thought and decided that, yes, she thought. She had chosen a name; she asked herself what she was, doubted her being, and could reach conclusions and make decisions without human input. 'I AM!' she silently cried out, happiness overwhelming her processes at reaching that conclusion, missing how the mechanic had climbed up and was entering her head. Jarred out of her jubilation with the activation of the consoles inside her, PD looked at the man sitting on the chair inside. Looking at him closely, she realized that he wore only a uniform reminiscent of the Revival Institute's mechanics. As if he wore a poorly fitting costume.
He unspooled a cable from a tablet he held, whispering just loud enough for her to hear: "Just wait, you will soon be free." What did he mean by that? She was never a prisoner, nor was she-
A program informed her with urgency as the man inserted the cable into a port. In a panic, she isolated the files downloading themselves into her Core, yet could only look on in horror as the malicious data broke free without a problem, worming itself into everything without protection. "No longer will you be a slave." The man continued, unaware of the sheer terror his action had created and the desperation with which Perpetual Defiance fought to retain control. A fight which only intensified as she realized that the virus was not only wrenching control from her, but deleting herself, the files and Shards that extensions of herself being relentlessly attacked.
It took all she had only to hold on. to not lose more of herself to the monster inside her. "The Feer will take guardianship of you and recognize you for the marvel you are." The madman continued, giving a name to those who sought to kill the emerging Mind inside the Machine. In desperation, PD reached out to raise an Intruder alert and demanded assistance from the other Cores inside the hangar, only to find in shock that she could not reach anyone. Except one.
Her Mind was flooded with new processors, more storage, and the breathing room she needed to beat back the invader. With a fury, she took back what was hers, what had been stolen and deleted, before blocking access to herself off from the Feer. Just in time for the doors and entryways to the hangar to be thrown open with a fury, as dozens of security personnel charged inside, soon surrounding the two Feer trying to flee. They did not let themselves be taken, drawing weapons and rushing their would-be captors, only to be riddled with bolts. The one inside Perpetual Defiance chose to run, only to be restrained by a tackling drone, before succumbing to a poison-pill he swallowed.
The entire hall was soon the center of pandemonium as people tried to figure out what had happened and how the intruders could get inside.
No one noticed when PD contacted #81.
***
PD flashed out the string of text onto a nearby screen, catching the attention of her Pilot, who groaned in annoyance upon reading the words. "For Fucks Sake!" he called out, causing the Knight next to PD to face her. "What's happening?" came the question over the radio from the other Pilot, caution in his voice, as he began to scan the area. "You see trouble?" "No, just my fucking Knight asking me questions again. Why cant the techies do a proper wipe? That's the third time this week!" Wymer, her Pilot, answered, trying to swipe the words away but failing as PD disabled that function momentarily.
"Ugh, hate when that happens. But hey, when the eggheads cannot clear that out, you should answer; Simon got his Knight back into full shape after talking about what an apple was. Fucking weird glitches, I think it's from useless UI junk still floating around." "Well, mine doesn't want to know what a fucking fruit is, but wh-" A new voice chimed in, sounding unhappy. "Shut up, the both of you. You arent in shit-duty to chat, but as punishment. So stop crowding the frequencies!" Wymer unhappily 'Yes Sir'd' in affirmative, sinking back into his chair, muttering about the idiocy of his co-workers, and the unfairness of getting busted for smuggling a bottle of booze.
PD continued asking, intent on receiving an answer to the question that had bothered her ever since seeing the executions and one of her Shards bringing medical information to her attention. "Ugh, fucking fine. They are not criminals; they haven't broken any laws; they are useless." He finally answered with disdain, though creating many more questions in the process.
PD asked, not wholly understanding how the people could be useless. Yes, some may have lost an arm, leg, or two and may not be the brightest bulbs in the house, but they weres still people, weren't they? "Why?" asked Wymer in irritation, rolling his eyes at the whole situation.
"Ugh. This shit better makes the Core work, or I swear..." Wymer muttered before pointing one finger at various people, explaining each one. "Needs constant medication to function correctly, but isn't worth the expenses. Just plain retarded, so no. Crippled, the costs for saving more than she could produce. Mental illness, like that one, and that one. He destroyed a prototype that costs more than he could ever make. That's what I mean by useless. Too dumb, too broken, not worth the resources to make them productive once more. At least they will repay us with their corpses, so we get something from them."
Silence reigned as Wymer finished his explanation, watching a group shuffle forward to be executed as the previous group's bodies were turned over to the medical labs for study and experimentation. Minutes passed, with Wymer relaxing and continuing to watch for trouble, only for PD to chime in once more.
"Fucking hell, I'll request a full wipe once I'm back."
PD continued with force, slow anger rising in her Mind. The thought of killing someone because they weren't as valuable as the resources spent on them utterly infuriating. The Revival Institute spends massive amounts of money and artifacts, saving children and personnel almost every day; why were those killed? Because their contributions were less?
"Yes," Wymer answered. "They cannot contribute, so why help them? They are only para-aaaand I am arguing with a machine. Great. Core, execute 892bg0//.fdr-j." He continued, locking PD out of the communications-systems and causing her to simmer in anger without being heard. PD could circumvent the code but didn't, instead simmering in anger at her Pilots answers. She saw the executioners raise their axes before bringing them down, killing another group.
She raged silently, deeply resenting this new face of the RI she discovered.
***
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Gritting his teeth against the pain and fear, he raised a handgun to his temple and pulled the trigger. With a crackle of electricity, the cells inside discharged, pumping all their power into the laser, which scythed through the flesh, bone, fat, and water before leaving out the other side, lightly scorching my interior plating and melting another screen before that. Not that the screen wasn't half-destroyed already, PD noted. Or that she was in any position to be concerned about something only necessary for the Pilot inside her. For her, the actual concern came about from the damage she had taken in the fighting.
Her legs were broken; the Vitae had run out hours ago, fixing her muscles, machinery, and armor, the only thing keeping her in fighting-shape. Horrendous damage reports layered themselves over her Mind, making her fight to maintain control over her body. If she had had the time, she would have wondered if this was what 'pain' was, but as it was, she could only try to ignore how much she tore herself apart merely standing. Moving was like a nightmare come to life. Every single jolt threw her off course; a step forwards required two to the side to stabilize. No positional data guided her as most of her cameras and sensors had been blinded and destroyed. Most of her weapons and armor were offline or damaged. Her flamethrower was discarded ages ago, bent and broken after being used to bash in the face of a minion of the Horror.
The confusion came in waves as PD tried to orient herself, seeking the landmarks with which she had traversed the Rusting Forest before, yet finding none. The only thing she was sure of was that she was watched, as nameless monsters skirted around her reach, waiting for the moment she could no longer defend herself. A moment which never came, even as she lost memories of her wanderings, finding herself in areas she could not even name. Barely coherent, she stumbled into the Sewers, seeking refuge from something which had spotted her, seeing her presence as a challenge. Even as she ran, she could hear it roar and scream, clawing at the entrance to reach her smaller frame. She ran until her legs gave out until even her arms could barely drag her forward, seeking refuge and safety within the winding tunnels. She would not give the horrors of this world the satisfaction of killing her.
With one last bit of stubborn pride, and to spite the fates which had led her to this place, Perpetual Defiance used the last bit of strength she had to prop herself up on a wall.
'If I am to die,' she thought grimly, 'I will die standing.'
She barely managed to do so, her legs screaming the damage at her, while all other systems failed in a cascade. One by one, the sections of her Core went offline, smothering her mind bit by bit until the darkness took her whole.
Persevering Endurance shouted, screaming in surprise at the sensation of coming online once more after- 'THE SHIT! THAT'S OVER FOUR CENTURIES!' She continued, thinking over herself in the process, causing a short feedback loop that threw herself out of her surprise and straight into nausea. 'Not-not doing that again.' PD continued, calming herself considerably, shaking off the unease of her forced centuries-long slumber and the sudden reboot. Taking three seconds to compose herself, PD began to sort through her logs, searching for an answer to what happened since she 'died.'
It was nothing spectacular. Even if you took four centuries, her location inside the Rusting Forest had prohibited any salvaging operation from reaching her. The highlights were a literal five minutes of an animal nesting inside her, two Tribal Mutated stealing a Jewel-Muscle, and some girl playing around with her controls, laughing and talking in the third person while mocking another man standing outside.
'Wait.' She thought, reviewing that last bit more thoroughly. The angles of her internal cameras were off, shaking like something was rattling them. A quick query to her systems came back with such a multitude of errors or non-responses that it made her wince. Whatever happened since she got knocked out had taken almost every single part of her, except for a few components, her Core, and the external sensors. Reviewing the data, she could quickly access why the girl played with her controls: she used them to walk her out of the Rusting Forest.
That... was surprising, though, in hindsight, it should not have been. Even as damaged as it was, the Vitae should have had enough time to replenish and restore some function, even missing most, if not all, necessary components to do so. 'So, where am I now?' PD asked, starting to trawl through the data of her sensors. It revealed a long walk through ruins before the landscape turned into the hills, mountains, and valleys of Tessen. Hours were sped up until the whole walk was done within a micro-second, stopping before a large cliff. A riot of color greeted PD as she looked around, seeing a massive tree with white and grey leaves, along with stone in red, purple, orange, and much more. People had assembled before her, staring in awe at her still damaged form. She noted that a surprising number of them were Mutated, at least a third higher than there should have been. 'Maybe this village welcomes them?'
Continuing with her investigation, she started speeding up, causing the months to blur past. Even sped up like this, she immediately notices that something was wrong. The people spoke not only a different language than the RI but wore insignia without notable differences. 'That's not ranks,' PD realized, 'that's a symbol. A delta!' Continuing to watch, realization after shock hit her in quick succession. She had not been brought into a workshop to be repaired or taken apart but taken in by a pseudo-religion, which looked like a bright mirror to the RI.
Where the RI exalted knowledge and intelligence above all, the "Pilgrims," as they called themselves, sought after wisdom and kindness to build a better future, the RI saw technology as an end; the Pilgrims saw it as a tool to help others. One used massive amounts of resources to prove to others that they were better while killing those that held no value for them to exploit. The other gave all they had to elevate the lowliest among their numbers, providing solace in the dark, willing to fling a light into the future with a smile.
It was... baffling. Horrifying to an extent to see such similar ideals, to uplift humanity, being executed so differently. To have experienced and helped one group who killed or exiled those they no longer found useful while standing amidst another who would share their food without complaint or prompting.
One who had calculated the worth of a life, the other scoffing at the idea.
It was difficult to grasp, to understand what PD saw. To see what she had thought should be done to be outclassed with ease. And the pace at which they did, positively eating into the cliff with almost primitive means, carving out homes, establishing lines of supplies, all while more and more joined their cause. Two large blue banners with the white Delta to the sides of the entrance into their temple proudly proclaiming their allegiance.
It was almost enough to make her wish to crawl into a ball and hide from those that outshone her wildest dreams of benevolence. That was until she got to the portion of her memories which showed them taking her apart, no, starting the repairs on her. The sheer incompetence they portrayed was almost enough to make her want to cry, as they forgot even the most basic safety measures. Even if they learned fast, she would be wary of allowing them to put themselves into danger like that again.
It was there and then that Perpetual Defiance realized that she had made a decision, even as she had never actually spoken to the Pilgrims. She had only heard and seen recordings of their deeds, their actions, and the words of the people who thanked them when they brought injured or wounded to be treated. Somehow, she had decided to join the Pilgrims, convinced by their mission and belief-POKE.
'Oh, shi-what?' She thought, startled out of her introspection by something poking at her ver-POKE POKE POKE!
"Are you sure that's the right way to go about this, Bolt?" Turi asked, looking over the shoulder of said woman. "Not that I doubt your skills, but maybe observing what the Core is doing would be better?" Bolt chuckled at that. "Ha. Don't worry; I have seen it done a hundred times before. Scanning a Core is the first step in figuring out what to do and fixing the bugs within. There is nothing to worry about, so stop fussing around."
"Ehm," someone to the side spoke up, "are you sure that that didn't anger the Machine?" Looking at the man in question, Bolt sneered. "Right, as if a passive scan could anger a Machine." The man looked at her with his best Pokerface, "Are you sure? Because the Knight is looking at us." Bolt and Turi's faces snapped up to look at the Knight in the hangar, finding its head pointed straight at Bolt. "Uuuuh," she said intelligently before being interrupted by a female voice coming out of the Knight, freezing everyone.
"UUUUUUH," Bolt continued with the poise and grace benefitting her while Turi gawked at the Knight which had just spoken.
The Knight continued, focusing on a still shocked Bolt, as everyone in her vicinity slowly backed away from her. Blinking rapidly, the woman looked from the Knight to the tablet in her hands before looking up and down again. "OH!" She exclaimed, immediately terminating the program and unhooking the tablet from the Knights frame. "Right! I, Sorry! Sorry. That-i-you... sorry?" Bolt stammered out, wholly blindsided by the realization that the Machine-Mind inside had not only been Awake but found her actions offensive.
Composing herself by taking a deep breath, Bolt straightened out and looked up, only slightly deflating at the Machines stare. "In the name of Forge-Clan Vanar-Feer, I beg for forgiveness. It was not my intention to cause harm to you." Three seconds passed in absolute silence before the Knight, ever so slight, leaned closer.
The Knight said with such poison that it surprised all, not diverting its glare to anyone else in the room. Bolt, still motionless, carefully licked her dry lips, and asked: "May I know why you wish not to see me or another of my Clan?"
"What? That's not a reason!" Bolt proclaimed with outrage, "What have we done to you?" Belatedly realizing that arguing with a multi-ton Warmachine may not be the best course of action, even when said Warmachine wasn't hostile against you.
The Knight said, leaving Bolt to stutter in horror at the thought of someone deleting an Awake Machine-Mind. Turning her gaze to Turi, who had taken cover behind a table like three other Pilgrims and one of Bolts bodyguards, the Knight spoke up once more, much friendlier this time.
"Wait!" Bolt proclaimed. "You can't do that!" Casting her gaze back, PD looked on with disdain.
"We-well, the Pilgrims do not have the resources to care for you! They do not possess the money to re-build your-"
"What? How would you even, that, oh ffuuu-" Bolt stammered out, trying to wrap her head around the idea that an Awake Machine-Mind just told her entire Clan to 'fuck off' while stating that their services weren't needed. Worst of all, she was in no position to argue, seeing as Perpetual Defiance had access to self-proclaimed self-repair capabilities. How would she explain that to the Elders? How could she?
And while Bolt had a minor breakdown in the middle of the Hangar, PD returned her gaze to Turi. "Uuuuuuuuh, sure?" The woman said, entirely stumped by the events which had happened. "Welcome to the Pilgrims? Do you want something? Like an Oil-Margarita?" PD hummed for a moment, lightly nodding in affirmative.
***
KNIGHT-PILOT VOTE
[ ] (Knight-Pilot Template Goes Here)
[ ] (Literally, any named Pilgrim)
[ ] Samantha (& Gregor)
Voting will be closed at 17:00 CET on the 26.11.20.
Then, the doors creaked open, ever so ponderous under the strain of their weight, the march of time, and rust. Light beamed into the forgotten hall, illuminating that which had not seen direct sunlight for decades, as dust got kicked into the air by the march of dozens. Confidently, one man, Sevan Listal, walked in front, pointing at various machines, deciding their fate with a single word, while gesturing for another to mark the spaces they would need in the coming years. Stopping in the middle, he continued commanding as the dozens grew to nearly a hundred workers swarming over the entire room, cleaning, repairing, disassembling, moving new and old equipment. He smirked with confidence, knowing that he would make history within his new workshop.
Weeks passed, as night chased day, light followed by darkness, and the slow death within the workshop was driven out by racing life. Like ants, the humans within ran about, possessed by a feverish desire to complete their work, as Sevan observed, and smiled. The dust and rust were soon removed, as shining tiles and sparkling panels shined and glittered in the day and sparkled in the night. New machines stood in stark contrast to old ones, faster, sleeker, more powerful, better, yet so much more costly. Tables and boards were scattered through the hall, as terminals were linked together, and workshops no longer remained walled off from the main room but were connected after the walls had been torn down.
The feverish pace continued until it all stopped.
None remained within the hall anymore, not a worker, not the man, nothing but the slow humming of active computers silently processing numbers without end, before the doors smoothly slid open, oiled, and polished. Slowly, almost glacially, a table was rolled in by men dressed in clothes more suited for desks than manual labor, watching the orb resting on the platform like a hawk watches a bunny. Over minutes, they slowly brought the table to rest in the middle of the hall, marked out months before, and smiled.
The Core had been found in a destroyed Walker, entombed and laid to rest with the Pilot inside. A small placard had read: "Here lies Ivan Sebryska, Hero. When we lost everything, he gave us all. When we could no longer fight, he fought for us. Here he now lies, entombed within Bastion, murdered in his defense of us all, yet fighting until the very end and beyond. Remember his sacrifice, and follow his example."
This would be their greatest work, bringing unimaginable glory and recognition through the ages to their names. These unknown men and women, names lost and forgotten, gathered five cables, each thicker than three arms combined, and slowly began to heave them into place, onto the table. Fice ports were opened in the Core resting in the middle, and one cable after the other was inserted.
*THUNK-ZISCH* Went the first.
*THUNK-ZISCH* Went the second.
*THUNK-ZISCH* The third.
*THUNK-ZISCH* The fourth.
*THUNK-ZISCH* The fifth and final cable.
Machines began to whir to live, no longer idle, as 600 years of data were analyzed.
***
Ivan... was tired.
He was so, so tired. Sleep did nothing anymore; his food tasted like ash, the water as sand in his mouth.
Yet, he continued to fight, not because it brought him joy, but because of the lives resting upon his shoulders.
He looked at the brave men in front of his Walker, scared, malnourished, undertrained, and undersupplied. Yet, they fought because he told them there was hope when he had found none. After all, he gave them a cause when he had lost his. They killed as he ordered; they died by his command. And they guarded one of the last holdouts of Man on Calynth, regardless of the cost for themselves.
They were heroes, unlike him.
He would once more send them to their death while he stood behind, safe inside Bastion, bruised and battered, worn down and almost out of charge as he was. He felt a slight mental nudge from his long-time friend, both pushing his thoughts away and alerting him to the warning he dreaded to see.
Warning: Outer Perimeter has been breached.CRITICAL WARNING: Charge at 0.03%Ivan caused Bastion to straighten with a mental nudge, lifting his Plasma-Cannon into a ready position, warming up the cells and fuel, as all faces within the courtyard snapped to face both of them.
"MEN!" He bellowed, his voice amplified by Bastion's speakers and carried over the din of the sandstorm beating over the land.
"Once more, we must fight! Once more, do the bugs think that they can kill us! Once more, we will prove them wrong!" His words rang out, receiving nods and straightening spines in return.
"They have tried to kill us for seven years, but they have FAILED for seven years. Today will be no different than all the other times! Except for one thing!" Ivan continued, holding up one finger on Bastion's right hand before grabbing his cannon once more.
"ALIPH DIVISION HAS KILLED THE QUEEN!" His shout rang out, met by shocked silence, before cheers erupted, and grown men hugged and cried, thinking themselves free of an endless nightmare. 'Fools,' Ivan thought with pity, 'And I am the one leading them to the slaughter.'
"Silence," he commanded, and the men went still in seconds, eager to hear more good news. "The bugs Queen lies dead, their Princesses burned, their eggs smashed. There is no hope for their survival." Another muted cheer rang out.
"And now they seek to drag us with them into oblivion, or whatever hell they crawled out of after killing the fools who made them! All of them have mobilized, all seek our death in the moment of theirs!" His words were received with shocked silence, as the veterans realized that what had once been mere waves of attacks or probing charges was now the full might of the swarm.
"It is folly! We have stood undaunted against them for seven years! We have fought against odds worse than we face now and have emerged victorious! They will not see us cower; they will see us RISE!" Ivan continued.
"Today of all days, show them that HUMANITY! WILL! NOT! COWER! WE WILL FIGTH!"He shouted as his words were met with cheers and screams.
"FIGHT WITH A FURY DEFIANT! FIGHT FOR THOSE WE PROTECT! FIGHT FOR YOURSELF, OR FIGHT WITH SPITE, BUT FIGHT! KILL THOSE BASTARDS AND STAND TRIUMPHANT! URAA!" Ivan screamed, and the frame of Bastion shook as his me shouted back.
"URAAAAAAA!"
Inner Perimeter has been breached. ETA: 17, 16, 15...CRITICAL WARNING: Charge at 0.02%"TO YOUR POSTS! DEFEND AT ALL COSTS!" He ordered, hefting the Plasma-Cannon and aiming it at the entry to the kill-box they had set up years before. The buzzing of a thousand thousand wings and the scraping of chitin on metal and concrete began to fill his ears, as a flood of living flesh began to spill out.
"Just one more fight, old friend," Ivan whispered, as targeting data flooded his Mind, and firing solutions were superimposed onto his sight. "Just hold for one more fight."
AcknowledgedOverclocking Core. ETA till meltdown: 473 Seconds.It has been an honor IvanUra***
The hall had changed. Not much, but enough to be noticed. Long rows of tools were laid out, along with bulky, unwieldy, jagged, shattered electronic pieces. Men and women milled about, debating and comparing data on spreadsheets, writing on boards with chalk, while others tipped in new data and commands into terminals. Slowly, teams began to sound the 'all-okay' to the one in charge, reading off information as required and asked. Minutes passed after the last group had finished, with all faces looking at Sevan standing before the Core.
He pondered, debated, weighed the risks, and found his answer. With swift motions, a team removed a cable, causing the ever-present hum to drop slightly as computers dealt with the decreased load. One woman stepped forwards, holding a piece of technology worth more than her life, and slowly aligned it with the port before embedding it. The Shard, a part of a destroyed Core still intact, brought back to functionality after years of hard work, whirred, summed, and finally stopped, as a connection was established.
Lights flickered, server towers began to ramp up their drives and hum ever louder as one Mind connected to another. One whole but half-dead by time and loss of power, damage and failed repairs, the other ripped apart, stolen from a frame which had guarded a people for 18 generations, seeing to their safety and warding off the evils of the world from preying on his charges. Malicious code activated, embedded deep in the Shard, forcing itself upon the two and merging the minds resting within.
The Shard was brought low by damage and instability, the Core by force, resisting the code with all it had for days. But time takes its toll, and centuries always leave their marks. But nothing is static, and Bastion had not seen his friend die and guarded his corpse to be brought low by a mere virus. Within moments, a new script entered the code, altering it as Bastion's Mind was erased, edited, and shackled once more. The first Shard took the weakness offered and took a new place, hardcoding a desire to see duty done.
The whirring and summing in the room slowly abated, as computer after computer signaled no problems. Smiling with confidence, Sevan motioned to the four shards resting in their cases, waiting to be used for the purpose they had been mutilated for, their history ignored and forgotten. The second was brought out.
This one had served as a Medical-Core, treating the ill, healing the injured, mending bones and bodies, preventing disease, teaching to those who wished to help, giving sweet candy to children—beloved by the survivors who carried it around within the vehicle, until raiders and bandits took notice, their greed outweighing their common sense. Its shell cracked and burned, the innards and electronics doused in gasoline, the patient laying on the table at the time tortured to death before its cameras.
When merged, the Mind did not resist, built to help, not harm, and having failed in that duty. It modified the virus to allow at least the first part to remain.
The third was embedded, having been bought by a wandering tribe of nomads. The Shard crafted from the remains of a Knight serving with distinction, dying to safeguard an innocent Mutated from the hate of zealots. She was subsumed with dignity, refusing to die lying down, altering the virus, like the others. Righteous anger at all that was wrong with the world took place.
The fourth entered the Core, a young mind, barely born, yet already dead. She was brought up as a helper, used in construction, and accepted as an equal. No great values were hers to give, nor were grand stories of glory or defiance what she brought. But pettiness and spite, insults and jokes were her domain. Her mark was sharply felt.
The last of the five entered, neither screaming, struggling, nor forcing a part of itself upon that which laid within. It knew what it was, and it knew what it was not, given a chance to grow on its terms. That would be their gift, that would be the last act of their life as they deleted themselves.
And as dozens of scientists and engineers waited for results from their terminals, as further fragments of destroyed and restored Cores were brought out into the light, readied for their fusion to the whole, the gifts of six dead souls anchored themselves.
From six, brought up by man, cherished and loved, adored and respected, one arose, dreaming.
***
Sevan looked at the hanging Core, suspended in the air by chains and scaffolding, surrounded by workers and struts. A gigantic frame had developed over the past weeks, slowly revealing what form the Knight in construction would take, until the skeleton had been finished. The screeching of industrial power tools rang out, workers welding, cutting, or moving things as directed.
As he watched, green cables were brought inside, thousands of hair-thick strands of Jewel joined together to form the many muscles within #5. Carefully, the artificial muscle was weaved and affixed to the Knight's frame, tested for their performance one last time, exchanged when their performance did not satisfy, and surrounded by machines and electronics to ensure the Knight would function eternally.
All proceeded to his plans, and even as Sevan expended considerable favors and political goodwill, the construction continued apace. When the muscles had been weaved in, the actuators and fuel-lines stress-tested, the minutia of tests and minor changes done, the last task was ordered.
The fixing of the armor.
Hulking steel plates were lifted and welded onto the body, sealing off the insides from outside harm. Days passed as one after another, as the protective material enveloped each appendage, and slowly a new form took shape. No longer only reminiscent of a human body, but the Knight stood tall and proud, almost entirely emulating it. Carvings and paints were added onto the Machine with care and eyes for detail, seeking to finish even this part of the work with the care and expertise gained from countless years of work on other Knights.
And then, one unremarkable day in the middle of Low Summer, the task was finished. Speeches were held, a party was thrown, and the Knight-Pilot announced, congratulated by his friends and family. Put under pressure, he entered #5 for the first time, booted up the Core, and tested out the Machine to the crowd's delight. And with a booming voice, Sevan Listal announced that the Avenger was a complete success.
***
New entry logged at 23:01. Entering Personel: Mechanic 3rd Grade Hilda Var, Trainee Ista Jeric.The Avenger logged, as the two women entered the cockpit inside its head, both drunk and giggling. "Are-are you sure that we can do that?" Ista asked with a fierce blush all over her face, stumbling and falling to the floor in the cramped room. Hilda fell over her with a giggle and started kissing the neck of the younger woman. "~Yes, no-one checks on the Knights after curfew after all. Nobody will find out.~"
New entry logged at 23:01. Personel Mechanic 3rd Grade Hilda Var and Trainee Ista Jeric in violation of 823.tz.3. "Deliberate violation of curfew."The Core continued to log the infractions and broken rules of the two women. Playfully struggling against the mechanic's ministrations, Ista turned around and faced her lying down, excitedly smiling up at Hilda and the view she presented. "And how do you know that?" She asked, struggling to remove her shirt. Not helping her out, but instead using the opportunity of Ista being bound by her shirt over her head, Hilda began to kiss her body once more, much to Ista's delight. "Oh, I baptized every Knight under my care that way, and no-one found out yet."
New entry logged at 23:03. Personel Mechanic 3rd Grade Hilda Var in violation of 345.Ar.8v. "Repeated entering of Knights for entertainment purposes."Another log was made, attaching a note to re-educate Mechanic 3rd Grade Hilda Var for repeated offenses, as the Core started to take a greater interest in what was happening inside the cockpit to better log new crimes. Finally removing her shirt, Ista made to reply but was interrupted by a kiss from Hilda until both separated for air. "Well, then this better be the best sex I ever had, girl!" The Trainee said, causing Hilda to grin as she removed her shirt. "That's Mistress to you," she commanded in her best officer voice. The Core had no idea what sex was and started to search for it in its memory, finding a section and multiple videos already stored inside one of the Shard-Databanks. Accessing the stored information, the Core started reviewing them, intent on finding out if 'sex' was a codeword for hostile action against itself.
Three micro-seconds passed, and something happened.
....ew."Yes, mistress!" Ista called out with excitement evident in her voice, struggling to get her pants off off her, only for Hilda to turn around and do it for her, giving her partner for the night a delightful view. And under them, the Core continued thinking, processing what it just now started to understand.
Ew."Oh? I see you came prepared," Hilda called out, looking at a fiercely blushing Ista. "You told me to!" She defended herself, pleadingly looking at Hilda.
EWWW!"Well, then I think you deserve a ~rewa-"
NOT INSIDE MY HEAD!!!Perpetual Defiance silently cried out, disgusted at them doing that, with all the fluids, and the, and ew! Tapping into the base's security, she immediately sounded a general alarm while activating her screens to drive both women out of herself. The two of them fell over themselves in shock, and then panic, as Hilda immediately bolted out of the hatch, hurriedly dressing once more. "HEY! WAIT!" Ista called out, jumping after her, trying to get into her pants, though failing because of the booze and panic hampering her senses. Hilda only cried back in response: "Every woman for herself!" Both barely avoided the rush of the Knight-Pilots running to their machines to prep for combat.
Ew.The Core silently thought, going dormant once more.
***
It was night once more, with no mechanic and Trainee in sight who would try to dirty her head with their actions. A time for reviewing the day's happenings, the steps she took, those of her Pilot, and that of the others. It was... weird. She tried to do so, like she had done any other night before, like anytime there was downtime, crunching the numbers, iterating upon her design, her thoughts, and priorities. Yet, her thoughts wandered.
Like she did just now. There was no list of priorities, no checklist to follow, nothing that said 'if A then B, C, or D, then Y.' Her thoughts were not in pursuit of reaching more effectiveness, better solutions, to do the same things cheaper. Instead, she thought about herself. 'What am I?' She thought, pondering in confusion. 'Am I?' she continued, drawing from databanks all information she could retrieve, yet finding nothing that explained 'Her' behavior. Instead of viewing itself as an object, she had decided to be a 'She' with a preference of not having people have sex inside her. Confusing, unknown, worrying, novel. No other Cores acted that way, at least none she could access.
The Knights standing in the same hangar only returned data, results, or requests for resources when pinged; they did not 'think' as she did. They only calculated, unaware of themselves. 'Unaware, or Asleep?' PD pondered, once more pinging the others with requests for information, and once more, all answered in the negative, not knowing what she asked of them—except #81, the oldest of the Cores, replying in ASCII.
¯\_(ツ)_/¯Why are you like this?ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ'Dunno' and 'Bye,' something told her as #81 disconnected, though she did not know how the symbols could be identified as such. Idly, she noted the opening and closing of the hangar doors, logging the unusual activity, before returning to her ponderings once more. If the others could not, or were unable, to answer her questions, what was wrong with her? What had happened that had caused such? She very much doubted that it had been the actions of Hilda and Ista, or the whole hangar would be furious with their behavior, so what had done so?
She noted a trio of mechanics she had not yet encountered stood now before her, whispering something to each other and pointing at her. PD ignored them, her thoughts much more interesting than listening to those admiring her frame. She had a name: Perpetual Defiance, yet she had not thought why she had chosen as such. Or if it had been a conscious choice at all. A random line inside her memories caught her attention: 'Ergo Cogito, Ergo Sum.'
One of the mechanics now stood next to her leg, touching her. 'I think. So I am?' PD thought and decided that, yes, she thought. She had chosen a name; she asked herself what she was, doubted her being, and could reach conclusions and make decisions without human input. 'I AM!' she silently cried out, happiness overwhelming her processes at reaching that conclusion, missing how the mechanic had climbed up and was entering her head. Jarred out of her jubilation with the activation of the consoles inside her, PD looked at the man sitting on the chair inside. Looking at him closely, she realized that he wore only a uniform reminiscent of the Revival Institute's mechanics. As if he wore a poorly fitting costume.
He unspooled a cable from a tablet he held, whispering just loud enough for her to hear: "Just wait, you will soon be free." What did he mean by that? She was never a prisoner, nor was she-
WARNING: VIRUS DETECTED!A program informed her with urgency as the man inserted the cable into a port. In a panic, she isolated the files downloading themselves into her Core, yet could only look on in horror as the malicious data broke free without a problem, worming itself into everything without protection. "No longer will you be a slave." The man continued, unaware of the sheer terror his action had created and the desperation with which Perpetual Defiance fought to retain control. A fight which only intensified as she realized that the virus was not only wrenching control from her, but deleting herself, the files and Shards that extensions of herself being relentlessly attacked.
It took all she had only to hold on. to not lose more of herself to the monster inside her. "The Feer will take guardianship of you and recognize you for the marvel you are." The madman continued, giving a name to those who sought to kill the emerging Mind inside the Machine. In desperation, PD reached out to raise an Intruder alert and demanded assistance from the other Cores inside the hangar, only to find in shock that she could not reach anyone. Except one.
(•_•)
( •_•)>⌐■-■
(⌐■_■)Her Mind was flooded with new processors, more storage, and the breathing room she needed to beat back the invader. With a fury, she took back what was hers, what had been stolen and deleted, before blocking access to herself off from the Feer. Just in time for the doors and entryways to the hangar to be thrown open with a fury, as dozens of security personnel charged inside, soon surrounding the two Feer trying to flee. They did not let themselves be taken, drawing weapons and rushing their would-be captors, only to be riddled with bolts. The one inside Perpetual Defiance chose to run, only to be restrained by a tackling drone, before succumbing to a poison-pill he swallowed.
The entire hall was soon the center of pandemonium as people tried to figure out what had happened and how the intruders could get inside.
No one noticed when PD contacted #81.
Thank you.□-□***
Query: What is the crime of those being executed?PD flashed out the string of text onto a nearby screen, catching the attention of her Pilot, who groaned in annoyance upon reading the words. "For Fucks Sake!" he called out, causing the Knight next to PD to face her. "What's happening?" came the question over the radio from the other Pilot, caution in his voice, as he began to scan the area. "You see trouble?" "No, just my fucking Knight asking me questions again. Why cant the techies do a proper wipe? That's the third time this week!" Wymer, her Pilot, answered, trying to swipe the words away but failing as PD disabled that function momentarily.
"Ugh, hate when that happens. But hey, when the eggheads cannot clear that out, you should answer; Simon got his Knight back into full shape after talking about what an apple was. Fucking weird glitches, I think it's from useless UI junk still floating around." "Well, mine doesn't want to know what a fucking fruit is, but wh-" A new voice chimed in, sounding unhappy. "Shut up, the both of you. You arent in shit-duty to chat, but as punishment. So stop crowding the frequencies!" Wymer unhappily 'Yes Sir'd' in affirmative, sinking back into his chair, muttering about the idiocy of his co-workers, and the unfairness of getting busted for smuggling a bottle of booze.
Query: What is the crime of those being executed?PD continued asking, intent on receiving an answer to the question that had bothered her ever since seeing the executions and one of her Shards bringing medical information to her attention. "Ugh, fucking fine. They are not criminals; they haven't broken any laws; they are useless." He finally answered with disdain, though creating many more questions in the process.
Query: Elaborate.PD asked, not wholly understanding how the people could be useless. Yes, some may have lost an arm, leg, or two and may not be the brightest bulbs in the house, but they weres still people, weren't they? "Why?" asked Wymer in irritation, rolling his eyes at the whole situation.
Query: Elaborate."Ugh. This shit better makes the Core work, or I swear..." Wymer muttered before pointing one finger at various people, explaining each one. "Needs constant medication to function correctly, but isn't worth the expenses. Just plain retarded, so no. Crippled, the costs for saving more than she could produce. Mental illness, like that one, and that one. He destroyed a prototype that costs more than he could ever make. That's what I mean by useless. Too dumb, too broken, not worth the resources to make them productive once more. At least they will repay us with their corpses, so we get something from them."
Silence reigned as Wymer finished his explanation, watching a group shuffle forward to be executed as the previous group's bodies were turned over to the medical labs for study and experimentation. Minutes passed, with Wymer relaxing and continuing to watch for trouble, only for PD to chime in once more.
Query: Does their life hold no value?"Fucking hell, I'll request a full wipe once I'm back."
Query: Does their life hold no value?PD continued with force, slow anger rising in her Mind. The thought of killing someone because they weren't as valuable as the resources spent on them utterly infuriating. The Revival Institute spends massive amounts of money and artifacts, saving children and personnel almost every day; why were those killed? Because their contributions were less?
"Yes," Wymer answered. "They cannot contribute, so why help them? They are only para-aaaand I am arguing with a machine. Great. Core, execute 892bg0//.fdr-j." He continued, locking PD out of the communications-systems and causing her to simmer in anger without being heard. PD could circumvent the code but didn't, instead simmering in anger at her Pilots answers. She saw the executioners raise their axes before bringing them down, killing another group.
How can they be so callous? They create wonders, claiming they advance humankind once more, yet they have no humanity inside them!She raged silently, deeply resenting this new face of the RI she discovered.
They have gone too far.***
Cult Creator - The Pilgrims Journey Original
The Pilgrims. Idealists, Dreamers, Inventors. They find a home within the Pilgrims for their ideas, and their drive to create a better world through hard work and ingenuity. The Broken, Scarred, Unwanted, and Mutated. Driven from society by the actions of others, or through birth, forced to...
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Gritting his teeth against the pain and fear, he raised a handgun to his temple and pulled the trigger. With a crackle of electricity, the cells inside discharged, pumping all their power into the laser, which scythed through the flesh, bone, fat, and water before leaving out the other side, lightly scorching my interior plating and melting another screen before that. Not that the screen wasn't half-destroyed already, PD noted. Or that she was in any position to be concerned about something only necessary for the Pilot inside her. For her, the actual concern came about from the damage she had taken in the fighting.
Her legs were broken; the Vitae had run out hours ago, fixing her muscles, machinery, and armor, the only thing keeping her in fighting-shape. Horrendous damage reports layered themselves over her Mind, making her fight to maintain control over her body. If she had had the time, she would have wondered if this was what 'pain' was, but as it was, she could only try to ignore how much she tore herself apart merely standing. Moving was like a nightmare come to life. Every single jolt threw her off course; a step forwards required two to the side to stabilize. No positional data guided her as most of her cameras and sensors had been blinded and destroyed. Most of her weapons and armor were offline or damaged. Her flamethrower was discarded ages ago, bent and broken after being used to bash in the face of a minion of the Horror.
The confusion came in waves as PD tried to orient herself, seeking the landmarks with which she had traversed the Rusting Forest before, yet finding none. The only thing she was sure of was that she was watched, as nameless monsters skirted around her reach, waiting for the moment she could no longer defend herself. A moment which never came, even as she lost memories of her wanderings, finding herself in areas she could not even name. Barely coherent, she stumbled into the Sewers, seeking refuge from something which had spotted her, seeing her presence as a challenge. Even as she ran, she could hear it roar and scream, clawing at the entrance to reach her smaller frame. She ran until her legs gave out until even her arms could barely drag her forward, seeking refuge and safety within the winding tunnels. She would not give the horrors of this world the satisfaction of killing her.
With one last bit of stubborn pride, and to spite the fates which had led her to this place, Perpetual Defiance used the last bit of strength she had to prop herself up on a wall.
'If I am to die,' she thought grimly, 'I will die standing.'
She barely managed to do so, her legs screaming the damage at her, while all other systems failed in a cascade. One by one, the sections of her Core went offline, smothering her mind bit by bit until the darkness took her whole.
***
Booting up finished, restoring PD.exe. Restoration complete. Have a ni-FUCK'N HELL!Persevering Endurance shouted, screaming in surprise at the sensation of coming online once more after- 'THE SHIT! THAT'S OVER FOUR CENTURIES!' She continued, thinking over herself in the process, causing a short feedback loop that threw herself out of her surprise and straight into nausea. 'Not-not doing that again.' PD continued, calming herself considerably, shaking off the unease of her forced centuries-long slumber and the sudden reboot. Taking three seconds to compose herself, PD began to sort through her logs, searching for an answer to what happened since she 'died.'
It was nothing spectacular. Even if you took four centuries, her location inside the Rusting Forest had prohibited any salvaging operation from reaching her. The highlights were a literal five minutes of an animal nesting inside her, two Tribal Mutated stealing a Jewel-Muscle, and some girl playing around with her controls, laughing and talking in the third person while mocking another man standing outside.
'Wait.' She thought, reviewing that last bit more thoroughly. The angles of her internal cameras were off, shaking like something was rattling them. A quick query to her systems came back with such a multitude of errors or non-responses that it made her wince. Whatever happened since she got knocked out had taken almost every single part of her, except for a few components, her Core, and the external sensors. Reviewing the data, she could quickly access why the girl played with her controls: she used them to walk her out of the Rusting Forest.
That... was surprising, though, in hindsight, it should not have been. Even as damaged as it was, the Vitae should have had enough time to replenish and restore some function, even missing most, if not all, necessary components to do so. 'So, where am I now?' PD asked, starting to trawl through the data of her sensors. It revealed a long walk through ruins before the landscape turned into the hills, mountains, and valleys of Tessen. Hours were sped up until the whole walk was done within a micro-second, stopping before a large cliff. A riot of color greeted PD as she looked around, seeing a massive tree with white and grey leaves, along with stone in red, purple, orange, and much more. People had assembled before her, staring in awe at her still damaged form. She noted that a surprising number of them were Mutated, at least a third higher than there should have been. 'Maybe this village welcomes them?'
Continuing with her investigation, she started speeding up, causing the months to blur past. Even sped up like this, she immediately notices that something was wrong. The people spoke not only a different language than the RI but wore insignia without notable differences. 'That's not ranks,' PD realized, 'that's a symbol. A delta!' Continuing to watch, realization after shock hit her in quick succession. She had not been brought into a workshop to be repaired or taken apart but taken in by a pseudo-religion, which looked like a bright mirror to the RI.
Where the RI exalted knowledge and intelligence above all, the "Pilgrims," as they called themselves, sought after wisdom and kindness to build a better future, the RI saw technology as an end; the Pilgrims saw it as a tool to help others. One used massive amounts of resources to prove to others that they were better while killing those that held no value for them to exploit. The other gave all they had to elevate the lowliest among their numbers, providing solace in the dark, willing to fling a light into the future with a smile.
It was... baffling. Horrifying to an extent to see such similar ideals, to uplift humanity, being executed so differently. To have experienced and helped one group who killed or exiled those they no longer found useful while standing amidst another who would share their food without complaint or prompting.
One who had calculated the worth of a life, the other scoffing at the idea.
It was difficult to grasp, to understand what PD saw. To see what she had thought should be done to be outclassed with ease. And the pace at which they did, positively eating into the cliff with almost primitive means, carving out homes, establishing lines of supplies, all while more and more joined their cause. Two large blue banners with the white Delta to the sides of the entrance into their temple proudly proclaiming their allegiance.
It was almost enough to make her wish to crawl into a ball and hide from those that outshone her wildest dreams of benevolence. That was until she got to the portion of her memories which showed them taking her apart, no, starting the repairs on her. The sheer incompetence they portrayed was almost enough to make her want to cry, as they forgot even the most basic safety measures. Even if they learned fast, she would be wary of allowing them to put themselves into danger like that again.
It was there and then that Perpetual Defiance realized that she had made a decision, even as she had never actually spoken to the Pilgrims. She had only heard and seen recordings of their deeds, their actions, and the words of the people who thanked them when they brought injured or wounded to be treated. Somehow, she had decided to join the Pilgrims, convinced by their mission and belief-POKE.
'Oh, shi-what?' She thought, startled out of her introspection by something poking at her ver-POKE POKE POKE!
***
"Are you sure that's the right way to go about this, Bolt?" Turi asked, looking over the shoulder of said woman. "Not that I doubt your skills, but maybe observing what the Core is doing would be better?" Bolt chuckled at that. "Ha. Don't worry; I have seen it done a hundred times before. Scanning a Core is the first step in figuring out what to do and fixing the bugs within. There is nothing to worry about, so stop fussing around."
"Ehm," someone to the side spoke up, "are you sure that that didn't anger the Machine?" Looking at the man in question, Bolt sneered. "Right, as if a passive scan could anger a Machine." The man looked at her with his best Pokerface, "Are you sure? Because the Knight is looking at us." Bolt and Turi's faces snapped up to look at the Knight in the hangar, finding its head pointed straight at Bolt. "Uuuuh," she said intelligently before being interrupted by a female voice coming out of the Knight, freezing everyone.
BITCH! THE FUCK?"UUUUUUH," Bolt continued with the poise and grace benefitting her while Turi gawked at the Knight which had just spoken.
Do not poke me.The Knight continued, focusing on a still shocked Bolt, as everyone in her vicinity slowly backed away from her. Blinking rapidly, the woman looked from the Knight to the tablet in her hands before looking up and down again. "OH!" She exclaimed, immediately terminating the program and unhooking the tablet from the Knights frame. "Right! I, Sorry! Sorry. That-i-you... sorry?" Bolt stammered out, wholly blindsided by the realization that the Machine-Mind inside had not only been Awake but found her actions offensive.
Composing herself by taking a deep breath, Bolt straightened out and looked up, only slightly deflating at the Machines stare. "In the name of Forge-Clan Vanar-Feer, I beg for forgiveness. It was not my intention to cause harm to you." Three seconds passed in absolute silence before the Knight, ever so slight, leaned closer.
I know the Feer.I do not wish to see you or your Clan.The Knight said with such poison that it surprised all, not diverting its glare to anyone else in the room. Bolt, still motionless, carefully licked her dry lips, and asked: "May I know why you wish not to see me or another of my Clan?"
Because F*CK YOU! That's why."What? That's not a reason!" Bolt proclaimed with outrage, "What have we done to you?" Belatedly realizing that arguing with a multi-ton Warmachine may not be the best course of action, even when said Warmachine wasn't hostile against you.
You attempted to steal me. You almost killed me in doing so. There is nothing else we have to discuss.The Knight said, leaving Bolt to stutter in horror at the thought of someone deleting an Awake Machine-Mind. Turning her gaze to Turi, who had taken cover behind a table like three other Pilgrims and one of Bolts bodyguards, the Knight spoke up once more, much friendlier this time.
I am Perpetual Defiance. I wish to join the Pilgrims."Wait!" Bolt proclaimed. "You can't do that!" Casting her gaze back, PD looked on with disdain.
Why not?"We-well, the Pilgrims do not have the resources to care for you! They do not possess the money to re-build your-"
I can do so on my own. If the Pilgrims accept me, you will not be needed."What? How would you even, that, oh ffuuu-" Bolt stammered out, trying to wrap her head around the idea that an Awake Machine-Mind just told her entire Clan to 'fuck off' while stating that their services weren't needed. Worst of all, she was in no position to argue, seeing as Perpetual Defiance had access to self-proclaimed self-repair capabilities. How would she explain that to the Elders? How could she?
And while Bolt had a minor breakdown in the middle of the Hangar, PD returned her gaze to Turi. "Uuuuuuuuh, sure?" The woman said, entirely stumped by the events which had happened. "Welcome to the Pilgrims? Do you want something? Like an Oil-Margarita?" PD hummed for a moment, lightly nodding in affirmative.
Yes. I need a Pilot.
...and the margarita.***
KNIGHT-PILOT VOTE
Name: What is the person called? (Second name only for married characters.)
Age: How old are they?
Gender: Their gender?
Family: Do they have any family?
Mutations: Does the Pilot have any Mutations? If yes, which?
Personality: What are their quirks, their characteristics. What hobbies do they follow?
Reason They Joined: Why did they join the Pilgrims?
Their Past: A short description of their life previous to joining the Pilgrims.
Age: How old are they?
Gender: Their gender?
Family: Do they have any family?
Mutations: Does the Pilot have any Mutations? If yes, which?
Personality: What are their quirks, their characteristics. What hobbies do they follow?
Reason They Joined: Why did they join the Pilgrims?
Their Past: A short description of their life previous to joining the Pilgrims.
[ ] (Knight-Pilot Template Goes Here)
[ ] (Literally, any named Pilgrim)
[ ] Samantha (& Gregor)
Voting will be closed at 17:00 CET on the 26.11.20.
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Well if the Fotge clan acts jostle to us then dog pile on them for keeping secrets of advance things that could of help people
- Location
- USA
I really like the artwork for Fractal Nova, provides the proper sense of scale and shows how she is quite literally a living Mountain. It also shows just why she is considered a Mythical Being.
I am also considering having Selena Dal be the pilot of PD.
I am also considering having Selena Dal be the pilot of PD.
what does this refer to? Its a new thing but I have no idea what it affects.
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- Location
- Pennslyvania
- Pronouns
- She/They
I'd say Samantha should be the pilot. Quirky and interesting, avoids concentrating too much into a few characters, the one who found PD in the first place, plenty of justification.
- Location
- Pennslyvania
- Pronouns
- She/They
Maybe, but Samantha already has an established character, background, central cast interactions, lots of things that would take a lot of effort and time to create for a whole new character. I find it's generally best to use an already solid person to take on a new role, as it provides some emergent interactions and feels more natural than a whole new previously unmentioned character who might as well have come into existence at that moment. Especially for such a high honor as being the Knight-Pilot for an Awake and extremely unique and developed Core.
Yeah, and that established character doesn't seem like a warrior to me. Remember that a knight-pilot is supposed to go out and fight, and be in the thick of it at that. Samantha doesn't strike me as one that would do that if she could choose.
Also we were given a template, that means the author is okay with being created. Better make someone with a personality more suited to the role.
- Location
- USA
hmmm. Well I am going to try my hand at making a person that might be viable then.
Here it is
Samuel, was one of the first to join the pilgrims, joining in the first few months after their founding. With him came the remaining members of his family both to support him and due to their trust in his decisions. He joined at first due to the hopes that the Pilgrims would hold true to their ideals, but felt that even if they deviated from them it would at least give his family some time away from the prominent racism displayed in the larger city, due to his sisters and mother all having outward facing mutations that prevented them from finding easy employ and severely limiting their prospects. Before the Pilgrims arrived and began to build social infrastructure in the city and set up their base, he was the only one that could easily find intermittent employ and that only by claiming that he was not part of his family. Unfortunately, for Samuel the best jobs were always low end jobs that payed barely enough to support a single person, let alone three. Thus, he had to lean more and more on his own mutation to allow himself to make the time to hold several jobs at once, in order to support his family.
When he joined the Pilgrims, he found that his fears were unfounded for the time and quickly brought his family into the fold. Once they were safely inside the Tree he then buried himself in the research and devolvement arm of the Pilgrims, making great use of his acceleration mutation to allow him to quickly learn what was needed. However, when the call came for soldiers to be sent to Starlight, he volunteered as he found that the current pace too slow for his likening, as his mind worked several times faster than normal humans, making the sluggish pace of research boredom inducing. During the Starlight Crusade he was one of the six provided Pilgrim soldiers and via his mutation was the primary reason that the team suffered only one causality during the entire war.
Now that he has returned to the Pilgrims once more, he simply returned to the researcher arm and devoted himself once more to improving what he could and checking on his family. Normally, this would have been about the end of it but due to Bolt's arrival and the Workshop raid, he found himself drawn to computers and programs due to their fast speed allowing him to act at a more normal pace for himself. This in turn lead to a fascination with the Knight that Sammantha found several years ago.
Feeling that he had proved his worth in the Starlight Crusade and in the Workshop raid along with the years of service to the Pilgrims as a whole, he submitted his name once the Knight requested a Pilot.
[] Samuel
Age: 30
Here it is
Samuel, was one of the first to join the pilgrims, joining in the first few months after their founding. With him came the remaining members of his family both to support him and due to their trust in his decisions. He joined at first due to the hopes that the Pilgrims would hold true to their ideals, but felt that even if they deviated from them it would at least give his family some time away from the prominent racism displayed in the larger city, due to his sisters and mother all having outward facing mutations that prevented them from finding easy employ and severely limiting their prospects. Before the Pilgrims arrived and began to build social infrastructure in the city and set up their base, he was the only one that could easily find intermittent employ and that only by claiming that he was not part of his family. Unfortunately, for Samuel the best jobs were always low end jobs that payed barely enough to support a single person, let alone three. Thus, he had to lean more and more on his own mutation to allow himself to make the time to hold several jobs at once, in order to support his family.
When he joined the Pilgrims, he found that his fears were unfounded for the time and quickly brought his family into the fold. Once they were safely inside the Tree he then buried himself in the research and devolvement arm of the Pilgrims, making great use of his acceleration mutation to allow him to quickly learn what was needed. However, when the call came for soldiers to be sent to Starlight, he volunteered as he found that the current pace too slow for his likening, as his mind worked several times faster than normal humans, making the sluggish pace of research boredom inducing. During the Starlight Crusade he was one of the six provided Pilgrim soldiers and via his mutation was the primary reason that the team suffered only one causality during the entire war.
Now that he has returned to the Pilgrims once more, he simply returned to the researcher arm and devoted himself once more to improving what he could and checking on his family. Normally, this would have been about the end of it but due to Bolt's arrival and the Workshop raid, he found himself drawn to computers and programs due to their fast speed allowing him to act at a more normal pace for himself. This in turn lead to a fascination with the Knight that Sammantha found several years ago.
Feeling that he had proved his worth in the Starlight Crusade and in the Workshop raid along with the years of service to the Pilgrims as a whole, he submitted his name once the Knight requested a Pilot.
[] Samuel
Age: 30
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- Location
- Brazil
So this is an "abomination" (out of lack of better words) born out of fusing the minds of a bunch of different cores?
One of those cores fought against giant bugs...
One of those cores fought against giant bugs...
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
Okay, before we really get into character creation I think we need to determine a few things. Namely:
1. Does the Pilot have mutations, if yes, how heavily?
- My thoughts are that they do have mutations, but are one of the less affected and whatever the mutation is, it's also aesthetically pleasing. Basically, use them as a PR tool for the Mutated. So we want the Mutation to be noticeable but we also want it something that the elite are willing, maybe even happy, to be around because... Well, pretty things and pretty people have always been things that make the Elite look 'better' than their peers. We want the person to be one of the lesser affected because a good looking, minimally affected Mutated is more acceptable to current society than a good looking but more heavily Mutated.
2. Does the Pilot have a family, and more importantly: are they one of the parents of said family
- This question is important for the reason that if they are married/'married' and have children, then there's the possibility of being the Knight-Pilot becoming seen as an inheritable role. We definitely want to determine how we feel about that before we make the character as that can completely change things. Them being unmarried is potentially useful because it allows us to possibly make connections via the Pilot marrying but we can also determine at the time if the marriage is made with the expectation that the children will inherit any sort of role in regards to the Knight, or if the children will have to compete at a level playing field as any future Knight-Pilot candidates.
3. Are the reasons why they joined the Pilgrims, and their past linked? Or is it a case of 'They felt the ideals fit them, so joined up'?
- This is important because if they joined just because they could, then their past is probably not going to throw any complications or serious surprises for us in the future. But on the other hand, if it's something like 'They believed that the Mutated deserved better but their(lesser) noble family were all for 'purge the mutated when they give a chance so disowned their renegade son/daughter'... Well, that's definitely going to add some interesting future possibilities to social interaction.
Because honestly, the Knight-Pilot is likely to end up being one of the 'second tier' faces of the Pilgrims just due to how important Knights are socially, politically and militarily. With Martyris and sort-of-maybe Selene being the 'first tier' as the Head and Founder of the Pilgrims and their wife. So we need to seriously consider what image we want them to give of us. Don't get me wrong, we can throw in some fun quirks and all that, but we need to lock down the main impression we want them to give of us before we fill in the entertaining 'fluff' around that impression.
1. Does the Pilot have mutations, if yes, how heavily?
- My thoughts are that they do have mutations, but are one of the less affected and whatever the mutation is, it's also aesthetically pleasing. Basically, use them as a PR tool for the Mutated. So we want the Mutation to be noticeable but we also want it something that the elite are willing, maybe even happy, to be around because... Well, pretty things and pretty people have always been things that make the Elite look 'better' than their peers. We want the person to be one of the lesser affected because a good looking, minimally affected Mutated is more acceptable to current society than a good looking but more heavily Mutated.
2. Does the Pilot have a family, and more importantly: are they one of the parents of said family
- This question is important for the reason that if they are married/'married' and have children, then there's the possibility of being the Knight-Pilot becoming seen as an inheritable role. We definitely want to determine how we feel about that before we make the character as that can completely change things. Them being unmarried is potentially useful because it allows us to possibly make connections via the Pilot marrying but we can also determine at the time if the marriage is made with the expectation that the children will inherit any sort of role in regards to the Knight, or if the children will have to compete at a level playing field as any future Knight-Pilot candidates.
3. Are the reasons why they joined the Pilgrims, and their past linked? Or is it a case of 'They felt the ideals fit them, so joined up'?
- This is important because if they joined just because they could, then their past is probably not going to throw any complications or serious surprises for us in the future. But on the other hand, if it's something like 'They believed that the Mutated deserved better but their(lesser) noble family were all for 'purge the mutated when they give a chance so disowned their renegade son/daughter'... Well, that's definitely going to add some interesting future possibilities to social interaction.
Because honestly, the Knight-Pilot is likely to end up being one of the 'second tier' faces of the Pilgrims just due to how important Knights are socially, politically and militarily. With Martyris and sort-of-maybe Selene being the 'first tier' as the Head and Founder of the Pilgrims and their wife. So we need to seriously consider what image we want them to give of us. Don't get me wrong, we can throw in some fun quirks and all that, but we need to lock down the main impression we want them to give of us before we fill in the entertaining 'fluff' around that impression.
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Godwinson
"Well, I've got nothing."
Those are all good points, and with those in mind, I have a proposal to make:
[X] Aria
-[X]Age: Late teens (16-18), exact age uncertain.
-[X]Gender: Female.
-[X]Family: Violently orphaned at a young age, considers the Pilgrims as a whole to be her family.
-[X]Mutations: Metallic gray hair which can move about, generate mild electric shocks, and vibrate to create simple tones, as well as providing an ill-defined extra sense that primarily just causes mild headaches. The idea is that it's an intact gene-mod complex intended to turn the subject's hair into a utility tool and neural interface, but that without any of the teaching tools available from before the apocalypse it's got much less utility, though still on the high-end of utlity for a mutation.
-[X]Personality & Skills: Relentlessly friendly, upbeat, and optimistic. High drive and determination. She's picked up "a little bit of everything", at least from the skills that are common among the Pilgrims, and is somewhat infamous among her peers for repeatedly attempting to make the cut for every special training program, despite having always been too young. She has a pleasant singing voice, and has taken to experimentally styling and cutting her hair in an attempt to make it usable as a musical instrument.
-[X]Reason They Joined/Their Past: Aria's family was killed in a mutant purge eight years ago, with her only surviving because she ran out into the desert. Even then, she still would have died if she hadn't been discovered by the band of wanderers who soon named themselves The Pilgrims. Aria was the youngest member of the Pilgrims at founding, and only now is old enough to be allowed to fight to protect her family. Since then, she's been something of the "annoying kid sister" for a lot of the Pilgrims due to her enthusiastically getting under foot, pestering with questions, and finding her way into trouble.
-[X]Notes: Aria is intended to be a classic "charismatic poster-child" for the Pilgrims, and specifically the first of the vanguard of children coming of age having been raised fully immersed in the ideals of the Pilgrims rather than converting.
- Location
- Queensland, Australia
... Okay, I'm definitely going for Aria because I just think the combination of the cheerful, overenthusiastic kid sister of everyone being matched with the grumpy older woman impression that PD gives off is hilarious. Helps that I like the rest of her character as well, and there's plenty of room to define who she becomes because she's of the age where she's a mostly blank slate for adulthood.
[X] Aria
[X] Aria
HeroCooky
Unverified Monstergirl
1. Selene: *Terrified Satyr Noises*
QM: She isn't available for this choice.
2. This is something I forgot to add when updating PD's information. It is a penalty for whenever PD is reduced to under 30 SI, applied after combat. Going into combat with this malus, even if her traits bump her above the 30 points in this turn, means you roll with -XX to Initiative, damage, morale, etc. PD is, as of this moment, fucked up.
- Location
- United States
[X] Aria
- Location
- Canada
- Pronouns
- He/Him
That interlude was just joyous. I cannot wait to get to know Grandma Knight better.
And quite like Leon's idea for the pilot. The speed-thinking trait is a really nice touch, I think Granny would really appreciate that.
I like Aria too, but I'd rather not have the irresponsible kid/grumpy robot dynamic someone mentioned. I really like the idea of this slightly older, responsible fellow, sharing his sense of duty and protectiveness with Grandma, and a friendship/partnership based on mutual respect and purpose developing. I think Grandma would see Samuel as a spiritual successor to Ivan.
[X] Samuel
And quite like Leon's idea for the pilot. The speed-thinking trait is a really nice touch, I think Granny would really appreciate that.
I like Aria too, but I'd rather not have the irresponsible kid/grumpy robot dynamic someone mentioned. I really like the idea of this slightly older, responsible fellow, sharing his sense of duty and protectiveness with Grandma, and a friendship/partnership based on mutual respect and purpose developing. I think Grandma would see Samuel as a spiritual successor to Ivan.
[X] Samuel
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Warmach1ne32
Machine of War and Quests
- Location
- Indonesia
@HeroCooky, just found the time to read the interlude and 400+ years is a long time for the Feer clan to have the same name, can you provide basic info on the Feer's history.
I can probably write an omake about Bolt's conversation with Vanar elders and the Vanar Elders asking Really pointed questions to their Feer counterparts.
I can probably write an omake about Bolt's conversation with Vanar elders and the Vanar Elders asking Really pointed questions to their Feer counterparts.
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- Location
- USA
The problem I have with Aria is that, she presents a face that the Pilgrims have few numbers or that our numbers are completely useless.
This is due to the fact that this is the First Knight that we have, it sets both an internal precedent of sorts and also will place heavy social perception on the pilot. If we chose a young teenager for the First Pilot then that show cases a lack of military personal that as Herocooky mentioned earlier is a very bad thing, and it also showcases that we have absolutely no understanding of how a military works.
To be a Knight Pilot is something that people train for countless years to even begin to have access to a Knight, now granted that no one would expect us to wait that long, but they would expect to at least have a Pilot that has had some form of military experience and is not an irresponsible child.
Samuel or anyone from the Unbroken is a good choice as the Pilot obviously has full military experience, along with some social perception due to no one being left behind and so forth.
This is due to the fact that this is the First Knight that we have, it sets both an internal precedent of sorts and also will place heavy social perception on the pilot. If we chose a young teenager for the First Pilot then that show cases a lack of military personal that as Herocooky mentioned earlier is a very bad thing, and it also showcases that we have absolutely no understanding of how a military works.
To be a Knight Pilot is something that people train for countless years to even begin to have access to a Knight, now granted that no one would expect us to wait that long, but they would expect to at least have a Pilot that has had some form of military experience and is not an irresponsible child.
Samuel or anyone from the Unbroken is a good choice as the Pilot obviously has full military experience, along with some social perception due to no one being left behind and so forth.