- Location
- Rockford, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Them
A definite non-canon, if a glorious one. Have a lesser bonus going toward, "Utter bullshit."
Dragon Ball: After the End
- Location
- Somewhere I shouldn't be
ElleonXan
Self-Proclaimed King of the Dumpster Fires
- Location
- USA
I know, but it ruins the joke if I have to shoehorn it into the correct system, thus... speechcraft.
- Location
- Somewhere I shouldn't be
Actually, I think you were right. It's speechcraft. Kakara said so.
Cariyaga
Handsome Gentleperson
- Location
- United States
Yep, since I started really getting into this quest, I've realized it's definitely up there with the other quest I follow, which is the highest praise I can give (as someone responsible for 6000+ posts in the other quest
).Props to PoptartProdigy for the stellar writing and incredible engagement. They're awesome.
Canon Omake: Second Thoughts
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Okay, this is a bit more serious than the last omake...
Second Thoughts
Tarra, native of the debris field that once was Lonabar and now was memory, blinked in surprise as their target rose into the air. Then watched, wary, as the taller girl wearing schoolchild clothes spooled up to a power level that matched their heaviest bruiser, and smashed the tranq-prod aside. As an utterly squishy, obvious civilian boy suddenly flared with the energies of a ten-year veteran, as though by magic from nowhere.
This was getting weird. Weird, and bad, and she knew it.
Once, she'd harbored fancies that the fleet- or some of it- could simply hide here on Garenhuld. Blend in. With the right technologies and tools it could be done. They might never suspect aliens walked among them. But that was a foolish idea. Perhaps half the fleet consisted of humans that could pass for natives of Garenhuld, or near-humans that could pass with minor cosmetic surgery. What would the other half do? Even suggesting something like that could sow chaos among the alliances holding them all together.
No, they would have to stay together. And on a planet like this, that meant conquest. The locals were blinkered xenophobes; if a starship had touched down on this planet in the last thousand years, there were no traces of it. The scouts, or the army behind them, would have to impel the natives to accept their presence with a clenched fist, not an open hand.
Which had seemed easy at first. At a glance, the natives had seemed utterly, stupidly ignorant of the nature of true power. They had no chance at all of against an army of warriors that could fly like falling meteors and shatter mountains with a wave of their hands. The planet was defenseless-
Until suddenly, it wasn't. Someone had spirited away their starship. That could have been done by locals with no powers, conceivably. Maybe. But then had come the battle last year. Someone had taken Meerak. Meerak wasn't one of their strongest, but he wasn't going to roll over and play dead for a fragile candyfloss thing like ramjet fighters or an armored division.
No, there were native champions on this planet, and they were very, very good at hiding.
...
After long months of searching, they'd finally found one- and then this. What was the plan now, to kidnap a child and take them hostage? Against an unknown number of enemies? If there were three of the secret warriors training at this school alone, how many more were there across the planet? Even if the mousy little girl with the brown hair and the improbable power level were some kind of freak by local standards, the mission was a failure, plain and simple.
The trouble was, the boss didn't seem to have read the memo. Didn't notice what was changing, as the taller girl hovered in front of him, talking like a miniature vest-pocket queen. Maybe there was a way to blend in, if native champions this good at hiding were already doing it.
But their pseudo-avian commander, for all that he was a canny warrior and a great tactician with centuries of experience, was a warrior, Tarra thought grimly. No more, no less. Military reconaissance was his strength, and diplomacy his crushing weakness. He'd spent his first days on this world expecting to conquer it, and hadn't handled the frustration well.
Songs-through-Murk crossed his arms. "Then you are naive and a waste of our time. This conversation is over. This is your last chance."
And of course her hotheaded cousin Meldax would be the one to point out to him the stupidity of all this. Meldax, who had barely finished his training before everything went to hell. Her jaw flexed as she listened to Songs-through-Murk curse him for his disrespect, watched Meldax's shoulders bunch and caught his eye with a quick motion of her hand. None of that. Hold steady. She knew the boy would be tempted to try and snap Songs-through-Murk's neck for that last sneering remark, and knew how terribly that would end, even if he had the power to do it in theory.
In theory- the old warrior had killed more than one being well out of his weight class, in the centuries of his life. She knew that, and gestured him to stillness again.
But then blue-plumed Trillar joined the argument in the curious manner of the Ythni, complete with wing gestures. Trillar, normally the coolest head of their team, if not the oldest. Songs-through-Murk's glared back at him; even through the translator, his voice was angry and rich with betrayal. "You too, Trillar?"
Tarra shook her head. She wasn't a young woman anymore. She wanted a home, not a war. A place to live, to abide, not a place to conquer- let alone to die. "They're right, boss." she growled into her scouter. Then she spoke further, and further. She knew there would be division, she knew there would be trouble. But she was no longer able to care.
Second Thoughts
Tarra, native of the debris field that once was Lonabar and now was memory, blinked in surprise as their target rose into the air. Then watched, wary, as the taller girl wearing schoolchild clothes spooled up to a power level that matched their heaviest bruiser, and smashed the tranq-prod aside. As an utterly squishy, obvious civilian boy suddenly flared with the energies of a ten-year veteran, as though by magic from nowhere.
This was getting weird. Weird, and bad, and she knew it.
Once, she'd harbored fancies that the fleet- or some of it- could simply hide here on Garenhuld. Blend in. With the right technologies and tools it could be done. They might never suspect aliens walked among them. But that was a foolish idea. Perhaps half the fleet consisted of humans that could pass for natives of Garenhuld, or near-humans that could pass with minor cosmetic surgery. What would the other half do? Even suggesting something like that could sow chaos among the alliances holding them all together.
No, they would have to stay together. And on a planet like this, that meant conquest. The locals were blinkered xenophobes; if a starship had touched down on this planet in the last thousand years, there were no traces of it. The scouts, or the army behind them, would have to impel the natives to accept their presence with a clenched fist, not an open hand.
Which had seemed easy at first. At a glance, the natives had seemed utterly, stupidly ignorant of the nature of true power. They had no chance at all of against an army of warriors that could fly like falling meteors and shatter mountains with a wave of their hands. The planet was defenseless-
Until suddenly, it wasn't. Someone had spirited away their starship. That could have been done by locals with no powers, conceivably. Maybe. But then had come the battle last year. Someone had taken Meerak. Meerak wasn't one of their strongest, but he wasn't going to roll over and play dead for a fragile candyfloss thing like ramjet fighters or an armored division.
No, there were native champions on this planet, and they were very, very good at hiding.
...
After long months of searching, they'd finally found one- and then this. What was the plan now, to kidnap a child and take them hostage? Against an unknown number of enemies? If there were three of the secret warriors training at this school alone, how many more were there across the planet? Even if the mousy little girl with the brown hair and the improbable power level were some kind of freak by local standards, the mission was a failure, plain and simple.
The trouble was, the boss didn't seem to have read the memo. Didn't notice what was changing, as the taller girl hovered in front of him, talking like a miniature vest-pocket queen. Maybe there was a way to blend in, if native champions this good at hiding were already doing it.
But their pseudo-avian commander, for all that he was a canny warrior and a great tactician with centuries of experience, was a warrior, Tarra thought grimly. No more, no less. Military reconaissance was his strength, and diplomacy his crushing weakness. He'd spent his first days on this world expecting to conquer it, and hadn't handled the frustration well.
Songs-through-Murk crossed his arms. "Then you are naive and a waste of our time. This conversation is over. This is your last chance."
And of course her hotheaded cousin Meldax would be the one to point out to him the stupidity of all this. Meldax, who had barely finished his training before everything went to hell. Her jaw flexed as she listened to Songs-through-Murk curse him for his disrespect, watched Meldax's shoulders bunch and caught his eye with a quick motion of her hand. None of that. Hold steady. She knew the boy would be tempted to try and snap Songs-through-Murk's neck for that last sneering remark, and knew how terribly that would end, even if he had the power to do it in theory.
In theory- the old warrior had killed more than one being well out of his weight class, in the centuries of his life. She knew that, and gestured him to stillness again.
But then blue-plumed Trillar joined the argument in the curious manner of the Ythni, complete with wing gestures. Trillar, normally the coolest head of their team, if not the oldest. Songs-through-Murk's glared back at him; even through the translator, his voice was angry and rich with betrayal. "You too, Trillar?"
Tarra shook her head. She wasn't a young woman anymore. She wanted a home, not a war. A place to live, to abide, not a place to conquer- let alone to die. "They're right, boss." she growled into her scouter. Then she spoke further, and further. She knew there would be division, she knew there would be trouble. But she was no longer able to care.
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- Location
- Australia
I believe only Earthlings and those in the afterlife called it ki. Everyone else in the galaxy called it energy.
Sucal
The Devil’s Cut
- Location
- Bottom of the barrel
Ah yes, a Bonus I would do well with!
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Call it a translation convention. I removed one use of the word 'ki,' but for all the others, deleting the word or replacing it with 'energy warrior' or some such would just sound stupid to me.
Aranfan
Team Plasma Grunt
I believe the term established in previous omakes is "champions".
fictionfan
Please sir, may I have some Meows?
- Location
- Tempe, AZ
Makes sense considering that for most species ki users are rare. Or am I remembering fandom?
- Location
- Mid-Atlantic
Okay, I can work with that. Retconning.
Sucal
The Devil’s Cut
- Location
- Bottom of the barrel
I thought Champions was for the Mutants, the unique Maya style individuals that are seeming massively stronger then every other member of their race.
Aranfan
Team Plasma Grunt
Yes. It is heavily implied in the Namek arc that every one of freeza's flunkies was such a being. Saiyans are weird because all of them are natively low level champions.
Mutaito style ki training seems to be unique to earth and the Otherworld.
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- Location
- Australia
@PoptartProdigy, if we learn Doublethink, could we potentially use our Communications skill in place of our Deceit skill when attempting to deceive someone?
- Location
- Rockford, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Canon! I like this, and had little enough established anyway, so canon!Okay, this is a bit more serious than the last omake...
Second Thoughts
Tarra, native of the debris field that once was Lonabar and now was memory, blinked in surprise as their target rose into the air. Then watched, wary, as the taller girl wearing schoolchild clothes spooled up to a power level that matched their heaviest bruiser, and smashed the tranq-prod aside. As an utterly squishy, obvious civilian boy suddenly flared with the energies of a ten-year veteran, as though by magic from nowhere.
This was getting weird. Weird, and bad, and she knew it.
Once, she'd harbored fancies that the fleet- or some of it- could simply hide here on Garenhuld. Blend in. With the right technologies and tools it could be done. They might never suspect aliens walked among them. But that was a foolish idea. Perhaps half the fleet consisted of humans that could pass for natives of Garenhuld, or near-humans that could pass with minor cosmetic surgery. What would the other half do? Even suggesting something like that could sow chaos among the alliances holding them all together.
No, they would have to stay together. And on a planet like this, that meant conquest. The locals were blinkered xenophobes; if a starship had touched down on this planet in the last thousand years, there were no traces of it. The scouts, or the army behind them, would have to impel the natives to accept their presence with a clenched fist, not an open hand.
Which had seemed easy at first. At a glance, the natives had seemed utterly, stupidly ignorant of ki. They had no chance at all of against an army of warriors that could fly like falling meteors and shatter mountains with a wave of their hands. The planet was defenseless-
Until suddenly, it wasn't. Someone had spirited away their starship. That could have been done by locals with no powers, conceivably. Maybe. But then had come the battle last year. Someone had taken Meerak. Meerak wasn't one of their strongest, but he wasn't going to roll over and play dead for a fragile candyfloss thing like ramjet fighters or an armored division.
No, there were native champions on this planet, and they were very, very good at hiding.
...
After long months of searching, they'd finally found one- and then this. What was the plan now, to kidnap a child and take them hostage? Against an unknown number of enemies? If there were three of the secret warriors training at this school alone, how many more were there across the planet? Even if the mousy little girl with the brown hair and the improbable power level were some kind of freak by local standards, the mission was a failure, plain and simple.
The trouble was, the boss didn't seem to have read the memo. Didn't notice what was changing, as the taller girl hovered in front of him, talking like a miniature vest-pocket queen. Maybe there was a way to blend in, if native champions this good at hiding were already doing it.
But their pseudo-avian commander, for all that he was a canny warrior and a great tactician with centuries of experience, was a warrior, Tarra thought grimly. No more, no less. Military reconaissance was his strength, and diplomacy his crushing weakness. He'd spent his first days on this world expecting to conquer it, and hadn't handled the frustration well.
Songs-through-Murk crossed his arms. "Then you are naive and a waste of our time. This conversation is over. This is your last chance."
And of course her hotheaded cousin Meldax would be the one to point out to him the stupidity of all this. Meldax, who had barely finished his training before everything went to hell. Her jaw flexed as she listened to Songs-through-Murk curse him for his disrespect, watched Meldax's shoulders bunch and caught his eye with a quick motion of her hand. None of that. Hold steady. She knew the boy would be tempted to try and snap Songs-through-Murk's neck for that last sneering remark, and knew how terribly that would end, even if he had the power to do it in theory.
In theory- the old warrior had killed more than one being well out of his weight class, in the centuries of his life. She knew that, and gestured him to stillness again.
But then blue-plumed Trillar joined the argument in the curious manner of the Ythni, complete with wing gestures. Trillar, normally the coolest head of their team, if not the oldest. Songs-through-Murk's glared back at him; even through the translator, his voice was angry and rich with betrayal. "You too, Trillar?"
Tarra shook her head. She wasn't a young woman anymore. She wanted a home, not a war. A place to live, to abide, not a place to conquer- let alone to die. "They're right, boss." she growled into her scouter. Then she spoke further, and further. She knew there would be division, she knew there would be trouble. But she was no longer able to care.
Have a greater bonus towards swaying the others.If you don't mind how unhealthy it is, yes.
- Location
- Australia
Doublethink is just a fancy name for "pretend that what isn't real is". It's obviously unhealthy if it's a part of your lifestyle and usual way of thinking, but if spared only for those moments where you're telling a lie then nothing bad happens long-term when it comes to mental health. It's like making yourself cry by thinking of dead puppies. Yeah thinking about dead puppies all the time is unhealthy, but you don't need to think about dead puppies all the time.
- Location
- Rockford, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Ah, I see. What you're describing is an application of the Deceit skill, I'm afraid.
- Location
- Australia
Could we potentially include that as a write-in addition for when we join a drama club to improve our progress in the Deceit?
- Location
- Rockford, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Them
It's been proposed recently, yes. It'll be on the roster next year as an offered option.
Cariyaga
Handsome Gentleperson
- Location
- United States
Assuming we survive the next update.
Aranfan
Team Plasma Grunt
Assuming THEY survive the next update.
Fixed.
- Location
- Rockford, USA
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I'm optimistic.Assuming we survive the next update.
Bakkasama
There is always a greater fool
- Location
- Buenos Aires, Argentina
- Pronouns
- He/his
Assuming the school survives the next update.
Double fix.