GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
She gets to smack the smugness right off Pria's face. Using Sidereal Martial Arts.Nervaqus987 said:
It's like her birthday.
Glorious Shotgun Princess (ME/Exalted) Thread #2
- Thread starter GreggHL
- Start date
It's like her birthday.
26
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The beam of molten metal carves into the side of a cruiser, its guns going silent as the Normandy waves around the soon-to-be wreck. Cannons drop from the underside of the swept back ship, twin beams of blue light lancing out and crackling against Harbinger's shields. The Reaper turns to the Normandy as it banks, a blast from between its tentacles missing it narrowly enough to send the barriers rippling and shaking the ship.
Cursing, Joker dances his fingers over the controls. "I swear that thing is really starting to tick me off. First it sends a big old flying rocky dick to blow up the old Normandy and now he's taking potshots at the new one!"
In the seat next to him, eyes glued onto the displays, Kelly gives no retort. Instead, her fingers work with purpose. She redirects heat bleed off, reinforces the kinetic barriers. "Ken! Gabby!" she yells, "Redirect power from the main cannons to the barriers! We need extra power to the verniers while you're at it!"
Another blast misses the ship as it dips and dives, blasting past the fleet and carving into a passing comet. As the Fifth Fleet- dozens of frigates, tens of cruisers- hammer upon the massive dreadnought, Harbinger does not care. It only focuses upon the frigate. Upon Shepard's ship.
The dreadnought moves, past the crippled Orizaba, past the ineffectually firing fleet. Sweeping its tentacles back, Resplendant Harbinger of Ascension accelerates. It moves faster than something its bulk, its size should. A steady red glow builds up upon its seamless black surface, and the red beam lances out, cutting across space and distance in a sweeping motion.
The Normandy curves, sways, rolling around the beam before it cuts out. A second blast, and it rolls, dives and finds the dreadnought turning in time to follow even as an entire fleet fires in pursuit.
"I am getting pissed off at this guy!" Joker yells, grinding his teeth, "EDI, do we have a location yet?!"
A screen folds out, quickly resolving into a map of the immediate area. Dozens of blue triangles, one large red triangle, and finally centering on one in particular. It zooms in, clarifies, and becomes a hologram of the disabled, spinning Iri.
"Thank you!" His hands move, almost a blur. Swinging around, forward momentum carrying it as it turns, the engines flash and the Normandy takes off. Directly towards Harbinger.
Joker goes quiet. Kelly blinks, stares at the incoming dreadnought, and clenches her eyes shut. Behind them, in the CiC itself, everyone holds onto something sturdy or bolted down.
"Okay girl," Joker breathes, "Just like we planned. Kids?"
The consoles glow blue. One by one, controls lock out, systems activate, all save for the console his hands hover over. Deep within the Normandy itself, the engine, the glowing sphere at the heart of the ship ripples and flashes. In Engineering itself, the two specialists take a careful step back as the controls and computers flash and sing.
Harbinger continues on its course. A single red eye focuses upon the ship, and the red beam lances out. The Normandy continues straight on, a single white and black arrow against the unstoppable. It does not dodge, it does not weave. It does not have to.
Instead, as the beam crosses the distance, the barriers around the ship shift, moving. What should be a single bubble becomes something else, rippling and wrapping bands around the starship. They move in time, independently, faster than any computer could calculate. Faster than any system could handle.
Instead, it begins working. Liquid metal accelerated to percentages of lightspeed is caught in waves of gravity and slapped aside. Inch by inch, piece by piece, the unstoppable crimson beam is stopped. It is disassembled, frozen, and discarded.
Flying through the dispersing cloud of black metal, the Normandy accelerates. Past the beams, it dips beneath Harbinger, speeding past the dreadnought as it struggles to turn, struggles to understand what just happened. The bass roar that vibrates the floor plates beneath Joker's feet sounds enraged more than anything. And that just makes Joker smile.
"Give the kids a cookie, EDI!"
The blue sphere pops out next to Joker's seat, surrounded by several smaller orbs. "AIs do not respond to treats the same as organics do. But I believe they know their act was appreciated, Jeff."
The Normandy speeds past the fleet, weaving between stray cannonfire and debris, towards the disabled Orizaba and the mass of expanding metal. It dives, barriers flashing as it wades in, and comes up next to the floating, spinning giant spider.
There is a pulse of the barriers, surrounding the disabled EDI, and it is gently shoved back towards the dreadnought.
"Iri's on her way back to the Orizaba," Joker says, "EDI, has Harbinger stopped shitting itself in rage yet?"
There is a flash of motion. Harbinger appears before them, tentacles extended. Eight points of light on eight extended tentacles. Despite the fearsomeness, despite the massive size of the warship focused entirely on the Normandy, Joker only allows himself a brief, knowing smirk. And behind Joker, on the ramp leading to the galaxy map, Jacob Taylor allows himself is best shit eating grin as the tactical map fills with blue triangles.
"Message received," EDI states, "It reads, 'The Geth hearby declare hostilities against the Old Machines.'"
And the Utopia Relay erupts as dozens, hundreds of Geth ships jump in, and immediately open fire on Harbinger.
Cursing, Joker dances his fingers over the controls. "I swear that thing is really starting to tick me off. First it sends a big old flying rocky dick to blow up the old Normandy and now he's taking potshots at the new one!"
In the seat next to him, eyes glued onto the displays, Kelly gives no retort. Instead, her fingers work with purpose. She redirects heat bleed off, reinforces the kinetic barriers. "Ken! Gabby!" she yells, "Redirect power from the main cannons to the barriers! We need extra power to the verniers while you're at it!"
Another blast misses the ship as it dips and dives, blasting past the fleet and carving into a passing comet. As the Fifth Fleet- dozens of frigates, tens of cruisers- hammer upon the massive dreadnought, Harbinger does not care. It only focuses upon the frigate. Upon Shepard's ship.
The dreadnought moves, past the crippled Orizaba, past the ineffectually firing fleet. Sweeping its tentacles back, Resplendant Harbinger of Ascension accelerates. It moves faster than something its bulk, its size should. A steady red glow builds up upon its seamless black surface, and the red beam lances out, cutting across space and distance in a sweeping motion.
The Normandy curves, sways, rolling around the beam before it cuts out. A second blast, and it rolls, dives and finds the dreadnought turning in time to follow even as an entire fleet fires in pursuit.
"I am getting pissed off at this guy!" Joker yells, grinding his teeth, "EDI, do we have a location yet?!"
A screen folds out, quickly resolving into a map of the immediate area. Dozens of blue triangles, one large red triangle, and finally centering on one in particular. It zooms in, clarifies, and becomes a hologram of the disabled, spinning Iri.
"Thank you!" His hands move, almost a blur. Swinging around, forward momentum carrying it as it turns, the engines flash and the Normandy takes off. Directly towards Harbinger.
Joker goes quiet. Kelly blinks, stares at the incoming dreadnought, and clenches her eyes shut. Behind them, in the CiC itself, everyone holds onto something sturdy or bolted down.
"Okay girl," Joker breathes, "Just like we planned. Kids?"
The consoles glow blue. One by one, controls lock out, systems activate, all save for the console his hands hover over. Deep within the Normandy itself, the engine, the glowing sphere at the heart of the ship ripples and flashes. In Engineering itself, the two specialists take a careful step back as the controls and computers flash and sing.
Harbinger continues on its course. A single red eye focuses upon the ship, and the red beam lances out. The Normandy continues straight on, a single white and black arrow against the unstoppable. It does not dodge, it does not weave. It does not have to.
Instead, as the beam crosses the distance, the barriers around the ship shift, moving. What should be a single bubble becomes something else, rippling and wrapping bands around the starship. They move in time, independently, faster than any computer could calculate. Faster than any system could handle.
Instead, it begins working. Liquid metal accelerated to percentages of lightspeed is caught in waves of gravity and slapped aside. Inch by inch, piece by piece, the unstoppable crimson beam is stopped. It is disassembled, frozen, and discarded.
Flying through the dispersing cloud of black metal, the Normandy accelerates. Past the beams, it dips beneath Harbinger, speeding past the dreadnought as it struggles to turn, struggles to understand what just happened. The bass roar that vibrates the floor plates beneath Joker's feet sounds enraged more than anything. And that just makes Joker smile.
"Give the kids a cookie, EDI!"
The blue sphere pops out next to Joker's seat, surrounded by several smaller orbs. "AIs do not respond to treats the same as organics do. But I believe they know their act was appreciated, Jeff."
The Normandy speeds past the fleet, weaving between stray cannonfire and debris, towards the disabled Orizaba and the mass of expanding metal. It dives, barriers flashing as it wades in, and comes up next to the floating, spinning giant spider.
There is a pulse of the barriers, surrounding the disabled EDI, and it is gently shoved back towards the dreadnought.
"Iri's on her way back to the Orizaba," Joker says, "EDI, has Harbinger stopped shitting itself in rage yet?"
There is a flash of motion. Harbinger appears before them, tentacles extended. Eight points of light on eight extended tentacles. Despite the fearsomeness, despite the massive size of the warship focused entirely on the Normandy, Joker only allows himself a brief, knowing smirk. And behind Joker, on the ramp leading to the galaxy map, Jacob Taylor allows himself is best shit eating grin as the tactical map fills with blue triangles.
"Message received," EDI states, "It reads, 'The Geth hearby declare hostilities against the Old Machines.'"
And the Utopia Relay erupts as dozens, hundreds of Geth ships jump in, and immediately open fire on Harbinger.
No, this is actually a bad thing. Gregg's writing is actually highly predictable in this manner, he flashes a hopespot like this, and then he drops a boot. It's actually more predictable then a monster of the week series in how formulaic it is.
That said, you can't stop but wonder just what boot is going to drop.
My money? The Reapers drop in a number of vessels of equal or greater number.
That said, you can't stop but wonder just what boot is going to drop.
My money? The Reapers drop in a number of vessels of equal or greater number.
Honestly yes, yes I would. Even now I still would.GreggHL said:
27
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Golden arms extend from the scarred and sparking sphere. The golden plates, more gold than gold, rotated as the chaotic silver of the iris flows around and through the seems of the eye itself. Prismatic cords deep within thum, new thought and new ideas churning within the light that is the Self.
"I must remake you," he says. His voice is a low thrum, the manic and insanity subsiding under the sense of purpose and wonder. Even in the din of battle, even in the chaos of war, there is the act which defines him. The act of creation and invention. This is something he has never done before. Not like this.
The gentle hum of the arms release into dozens of instruments. At first glance, they appear to be mere surgical instruments, but they are something else. Something different, as the air around them cuts with a gentle light of impossible colors. Endless needles of impossible precision, knives which carve deeper than atoms.
He works, cutting into the deep conceptual, into the space of the Relays themselves. He carves into their purpose, into their inner self. Shapes them, makes them. As the futile battle is fought between the spirit and the Viator, Autochthon works. He works with purpose, works with speed. He dives into the conceptual as his body burns itself.
"I see the patterns."
The light before him, the world before him ignites. Locked between the countless arms of his tools, he watches as something becomes evident. As light of all colors flows and forms into a perfect sphere.
"I cannot make that which I have before. My power is too reduced. My self is not what it was."
It probes. It folds it, manipulates it. Strings of light come from everywhere. Essence, flowing around him and through it. Strings of black. The cancer, the Voidtech. The sickness. The golden metal of his form burns and blackens. He turns red hot and cold blue at the same time as the world around him bends. A long secret thing opened before him.
"And I accept that. I have made wonders. I have one more in me. Power unlimited is no longer mine."
It forms into a shape. A single, floating, pulsing sphere. A perfect crystal that hums and makes the reality around him sing. It floats and it thrums, and it waits.
"You are the purpose. You are the self of this great network. But now you shall have something more." The eye rotates. Regret plays over it. Sadness, for what it must do. But in a sense, something else. Relief. Release. "I am Autochthon. Ninth Divine Minister and final Subsoul of the Principle of Invention and Creativity. And all I can, I give to you."
And the lightning issues forth from the golden sphere. It etches red into the shape, imbuing it with electricity, with life, with power. It forms under the assault, takes shape. It moves and shimmers, freed from the black around it, as the Cancer is burnt from the object, from the Relay network itself. There is a final scream as the golden sphere burns.
And then, there is light. A light which pulses along the space of the Network, of the Relays. It rises into the air, thrumming with purpose, focusing on the dim of calamity and battle. And like a notched arrow, it it flies straight, and true, and with a flash of light it consumes the spirit of Leaping Sky.
At first, there is but darkness. There was a battle. There was freedom, fleeting for a moment, before the old wars began. He remembers, dimly, fighting an old foe he had fought countless times. Remembering who he was before who he is.
But there is something new, now. The unsteadiness, the memories. The old things, burning away but not lost. Everything laid before him, as eyes open in the darkness. And in the birth, in the rebirth, he hears a familiar voice.
Arise, my child. Open your eyes and glimpse that which you have earned.
You will make my power your own.
My life will be redeemed through your actions.
The good in me, the spark in me, lives on through you.
Let the ties of your past, the old things that weighed us all down burn to ash and wash away.
And all that was golden, and good, and worthy,
Be Reborn.
And throughout the galaxy, throughout every cluster of stars in the great Relay network, the Relays stop. They hold for a moment, the rings ceasing their perpetual, endless motion. They stop, and hold, as the lightning dances over them.
Throughout the galaxy, throughout the Network, they glow, coming to life as something flows through them all at once. The blue lightning becomes white as electricity dances over them.
Great lines run through the entire relay network. A single through becomes a galaxy spanning lightshow. Even the Citadel, ancient and vast acknowledges it, as white lightning runs over its length and breadth. Officers look up as the light runs over the distant arms.
David Anderson looks up from his daily report as the entire office glows with a wave of lightning.
Councilor Tevos looks up from her latest drink, feeling the back of her neck tingle as her office flashes white like it was on fire.
And in the space between the Relays, at the center of the network that spans the Galaxy, and Viator of Nullspace holds its many arms in front of its face as the pillar of white fire and lightning consumes the soul that was once its slave.
And as the fire lessens, as the conflagration becomes the endless hallways of light, there is a white figure before him. Made of light, glowing with crackling lightning over his silhouetted form. Holding a sword in one hand, a sphere of light and numbers in the other, the figure appears human, a spirit. But something more.
"I am the Catalyst," the new shape declares, "And I am the God of the Relays!"
"I must remake you," he says. His voice is a low thrum, the manic and insanity subsiding under the sense of purpose and wonder. Even in the din of battle, even in the chaos of war, there is the act which defines him. The act of creation and invention. This is something he has never done before. Not like this.
The gentle hum of the arms release into dozens of instruments. At first glance, they appear to be mere surgical instruments, but they are something else. Something different, as the air around them cuts with a gentle light of impossible colors. Endless needles of impossible precision, knives which carve deeper than atoms.
He works, cutting into the deep conceptual, into the space of the Relays themselves. He carves into their purpose, into their inner self. Shapes them, makes them. As the futile battle is fought between the spirit and the Viator, Autochthon works. He works with purpose, works with speed. He dives into the conceptual as his body burns itself.
"I see the patterns."
The light before him, the world before him ignites. Locked between the countless arms of his tools, he watches as something becomes evident. As light of all colors flows and forms into a perfect sphere.
"I cannot make that which I have before. My power is too reduced. My self is not what it was."
It probes. It folds it, manipulates it. Strings of light come from everywhere. Essence, flowing around him and through it. Strings of black. The cancer, the Voidtech. The sickness. The golden metal of his form burns and blackens. He turns red hot and cold blue at the same time as the world around him bends. A long secret thing opened before him.
"And I accept that. I have made wonders. I have one more in me. Power unlimited is no longer mine."
It forms into a shape. A single, floating, pulsing sphere. A perfect crystal that hums and makes the reality around him sing. It floats and it thrums, and it waits.
"You are the purpose. You are the self of this great network. But now you shall have something more." The eye rotates. Regret plays over it. Sadness, for what it must do. But in a sense, something else. Relief. Release. "I am Autochthon. Ninth Divine Minister and final Subsoul of the Principle of Invention and Creativity. And all I can, I give to you."
And the lightning issues forth from the golden sphere. It etches red into the shape, imbuing it with electricity, with life, with power. It forms under the assault, takes shape. It moves and shimmers, freed from the black around it, as the Cancer is burnt from the object, from the Relay network itself. There is a final scream as the golden sphere burns.
And then, there is light. A light which pulses along the space of the Network, of the Relays. It rises into the air, thrumming with purpose, focusing on the dim of calamity and battle. And like a notched arrow, it it flies straight, and true, and with a flash of light it consumes the spirit of Leaping Sky.
At first, there is but darkness. There was a battle. There was freedom, fleeting for a moment, before the old wars began. He remembers, dimly, fighting an old foe he had fought countless times. Remembering who he was before who he is.
But there is something new, now. The unsteadiness, the memories. The old things, burning away but not lost. Everything laid before him, as eyes open in the darkness. And in the birth, in the rebirth, he hears a familiar voice.
Arise, my child. Open your eyes and glimpse that which you have earned.
You will make my power your own.
My life will be redeemed through your actions.
The good in me, the spark in me, lives on through you.
Let the ties of your past, the old things that weighed us all down burn to ash and wash away.
And all that was golden, and good, and worthy,
Be Reborn.
And throughout the galaxy, throughout every cluster of stars in the great Relay network, the Relays stop. They hold for a moment, the rings ceasing their perpetual, endless motion. They stop, and hold, as the lightning dances over them.
Throughout the galaxy, throughout the Network, they glow, coming to life as something flows through them all at once. The blue lightning becomes white as electricity dances over them.
Great lines run through the entire relay network. A single through becomes a galaxy spanning lightshow. Even the Citadel, ancient and vast acknowledges it, as white lightning runs over its length and breadth. Officers look up as the light runs over the distant arms.
David Anderson looks up from his daily report as the entire office glows with a wave of lightning.
Councilor Tevos looks up from her latest drink, feeling the back of her neck tingle as her office flashes white like it was on fire.
And in the space between the Relays, at the center of the network that spans the Galaxy, and Viator of Nullspace holds its many arms in front of its face as the pillar of white fire and lightning consumes the soul that was once its slave.
And as the fire lessens, as the conflagration becomes the endless hallways of light, there is a white figure before him. Made of light, glowing with crackling lightning over his silhouetted form. Holding a sword in one hand, a sphere of light and numbers in the other, the figure appears human, a spirit. But something more.
"I am the Catalyst," the new shape declares, "And I am the God of the Relays!"
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
It's more the GEDI taking control of the individual mass effect projectors that form the barriers and ME bubble and using them to isolate, decelerate, and scatter the liquid metal of Harbinger's main gun.rdmcmains said:
Uncle Joker's the best Uncle.
Is Autochthon dead?
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
It's certainly not an Exigent exaltation, as the Catalyst isn't a jumped up glorified godblooded. :3esseresse said:
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Of course he is! That's how we have Deus Machina.Nightblade said:
Oh, you mean Autochthon, 9th Divine Minister and Final Subsoul of the Primordial Autochthon?
Yes him. To me it seems like he died. But I don't know enough about exalted to be sure.GreggHL said:
...the fuck just happened?
- Location
- Stately Wayne Manor
If we knew that, it wouldn't be a GreggHL story, and thus not nearly as much fun.Mizuki_Stone said:
Hrm.......
Whatever Autochthon did, it seems like it was halfway between creating an Exaltation and creating a god.
It sort of reminds me of a Sidereal Astrological Charm(namely the King is Dead) that is meant to turn an appropriate being into a high ranking god in the event of that god's death(metawise, it was made for the PCs to fix the whole "The Sun is Dead" situation that could come up during RoTSE).
Only in this case, instead of turning someone into a new version of an old god, Autochthon created a new god(probably Incarnae level at that) while simultaneously bestowing most, if not all, of his power onto that new god.
Whatever Autochthon did, it seems like it was halfway between creating an Exaltation and creating a god.
It sort of reminds me of a Sidereal Astrological Charm(namely the King is Dead) that is meant to turn an appropriate being into a high ranking god in the event of that god's death(metawise, it was made for the PCs to fix the whole "The Sun is Dead" situation that could come up during RoTSE).
Only in this case, instead of turning someone into a new version of an old god, Autochthon created a new god(probably Incarnae level at that) while simultaneously bestowing most, if not all, of his power onto that new god.
The Bushranger
In the Danger Zone
- Location
- TSAB Asura
To me it looks like a combination of an Exigent on steroids, the realisation of a new god of a concept/thing (which remember in Exalted, every blade of grass has its individual least god, so when you have something as widespread and powerful as the Relays...um, that's going to be one heck of a god for it), and Autobot doing a kind-of-sort-of phoenix-like reincarnation of himself that's a fusion dance with Leaping Sky...
Or something like that.
Or something like that.
GreggHL said:
GreggHL said:
So are they the Knights of the Normandy?GreggHL said:
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
spencer1519
(Verified Heretic)
- Location
- Oregon, USA
Auto better get one kick ass statue out of this. Moon sized at minimum.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
More or less. Autochthon the God lacked the power and mania needed to create an Exaltation shard- at least, one on the spot. And besides which, the Catalyst, Leaping Sky, was no longer technically alive and hence could not be Exalted. So he did the next best thing;Nervaqus987 said:
Created something similar, imbuing it with as much of his power as he could, and sending it off with a similar guidance system to the Exaltation. Because Sky's a ghost fighting the Viator of Nullspace.
If that isn't heroic there ain't no meaning to the word.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
The giant spider slams into the drifting Orizaba. Throughout the ship, dormant drones click, eyes flickering as they come back to life. The bridge of the ship shakes, and the floor explodes as Iri lands in a crouch.
"I live!"
The crew does not scream this time, as they have bigger things to worry about as the eighteen legged spider skitters over to Hackett and Hannah.
A device not dissimilar in appearance from a blowtorch appears on the end of two of her arms, and she blasts them at both their faces. Cuts close, and soot and dirt are removed. "Sorry 'bout that," the impossibly cheerful cat spider says, "But I kinda sorta took the brunt of the blast from Harbinger and was knocked off."
Hannah nods. "Okay." She quickly grabs Iri by the mandibles, turning her to face her. "Iri. Can you do what you did to my gun to my engines?"
The alchemical quickly nods. "Yeppies! Now that I know how to redirect systems, it'll tall a few minutes."
Hannah nods. "Do it."
Turning from the spider as she skitters off, Hannah kicks off, floating to one of the consoles, empty due to the serviceman they pulled off of it when the shrapnel hit him in the face. Waving off floating debris, she finds the intact comm system switches and begins flipping them.
"Captain," Hackett asks, trailing behind her, "Your plan?"
Hannah presses a button on the console. The speakers throughout the Orizaba blare, crackling and coming to full volume.
"This is Captain Shepard to all hands. Abandon ship! All crew to the life pods! We are abandoning the Orizaba!"
They can hear the sounds of crewman pushing off, hearing the movement as her orders are followed. "Engines," Hackett states.
"I'm shoving the Orizaba right up Harbinger's ass," Hannah growls, nostrils flaring, "So we better-"
And there is a flash of lightning on the bridge. It is blue, crackling for a moment like an activating mass relay. Space and air are sucked out, replaced by something else, something more. And the metal clangs as the burnt and blackened golden sphere drops to the ground. It smokes, and sparks, inhuman sounds and very, very human pain emanating from it.
The bridge is silent. Hannah, in the dimness of memory, recognizes it.
The silence is broken by the shrill scream, and the scrambling of eighteen legs as Iri rushes over.
"Maker!"
"I live!"
The crew does not scream this time, as they have bigger things to worry about as the eighteen legged spider skitters over to Hackett and Hannah.
A device not dissimilar in appearance from a blowtorch appears on the end of two of her arms, and she blasts them at both their faces. Cuts close, and soot and dirt are removed. "Sorry 'bout that," the impossibly cheerful cat spider says, "But I kinda sorta took the brunt of the blast from Harbinger and was knocked off."
Hannah nods. "Okay." She quickly grabs Iri by the mandibles, turning her to face her. "Iri. Can you do what you did to my gun to my engines?"
The alchemical quickly nods. "Yeppies! Now that I know how to redirect systems, it'll tall a few minutes."
Hannah nods. "Do it."
Turning from the spider as she skitters off, Hannah kicks off, floating to one of the consoles, empty due to the serviceman they pulled off of it when the shrapnel hit him in the face. Waving off floating debris, she finds the intact comm system switches and begins flipping them.
"Captain," Hackett asks, trailing behind her, "Your plan?"
Hannah presses a button on the console. The speakers throughout the Orizaba blare, crackling and coming to full volume.
"This is Captain Shepard to all hands. Abandon ship! All crew to the life pods! We are abandoning the Orizaba!"
They can hear the sounds of crewman pushing off, hearing the movement as her orders are followed. "Engines," Hackett states.
"I'm shoving the Orizaba right up Harbinger's ass," Hannah growls, nostrils flaring, "So we better-"
And there is a flash of lightning on the bridge. It is blue, crackling for a moment like an activating mass relay. Space and air are sucked out, replaced by something else, something more. And the metal clangs as the burnt and blackened golden sphere drops to the ground. It smokes, and sparks, inhuman sounds and very, very human pain emanating from it.
The bridge is silent. Hannah, in the dimness of memory, recognizes it.
The silence is broken by the shrill scream, and the scrambling of eighteen legs as Iri rushes over.
"Maker!"
Fallenblades643
Seeker of the Divine Taste
Burned out too.
28
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Because I love you all, and this is a wonderful idea. A side story that will be taking place between GSP Book 1 and 2.
===========
The disguise was fool proof. He figured out how to use the thick gloves to simulate having three or four fingers, as that seemed to be a variable number amongst the...things which lived here, which seemed to value arguing and politicking over eating and sleeping.
For the life of him, he is not sure if he will get use to this...bizarre place. This city which puts stories he's heard about Thessia or Illium to shame. Quickly navigating through corridors of wood and gold, past bamboo fences where the wind talks to itself, past lions made of some sort of moving stone, he pulls the hood tighter over his face and keeps the folder pressed firmly against his side.
It has taken weeks for this to get to this point. His careful use of the charm keeps others from even seeing him, passing by as an invisible underling. Even the guards of this area, whatever it is- he never caught the name- do not notice him. He isn't even an intruder to him. He is nothing.
Even those who see him, who notice him, cannot tell what he is- just a nameless, faceless courier. Certainly not someone who isn't even of this universe.
It has taken weeks. It has taken months, since this journey has begun. But he finds the office, behind golden doors which radiate warmth, through corridors which flow with power that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But now he stands in the office, now he stands in the fashioned black and gold robes before this...being.
Taller than tall. White hair standing like jagged bolts of electricity and white fire. Shapes of what can only be hardened light hovering around him. In fact, his skin, his hair, his eyes- all seem to be made of the same flowing energy. There is a power in this pale, glowing being he has never seen before. And the white eyes of this one- this god- pierce his disguise without even effort.
"Hello, Exalted," he says, voice smooth, dignified. Paternal, even. "You've put forth some effort to see me. Why?"
He sighs, and pulls back his hood. Black dreads fall around his face, the pale lavender skin and yellow eyes marking him as, he hopes, different from others in this realm. Perhaps not, though. He's spent time here, after all.
"My name is Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna," he states, "I'm the Chosen of Journeys and-"
The god raises a finger. "Ah. A Chosen of Journeys. There are twenty of you." Deft ivory hands opens a book which appears on the desk. "Mm. Odd, I see no record...yes." He blinks, looking up at Kal. "Yes, indeed. Very interesting." He makes a motion with his hand, gesturing to him. "Continue."
Kal closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm here on an important mission," he says, "Long story short, there's a problem, your help is needed, and I have a friend who needs to consult with you on important matters regarding the Exaltations."
The god cocks an eyebrow. And then the wall next to him, perpendicular to Kal and the entrance, explodes as if a wrecking ball had caved through it. Smoke and dust fills the room. Kal instinctively covers his face. The god simply turns to the hole, and the giant now occupying where his Western wall used to be.
Five meters tall. Plated in gold, in silver and in prismatic sinew. It stands tall, yet hunched over, the grill covering the lower half of its face venting steam as two rainbow eyes center on the god. It stands over him, overshadowing him. And then throws out its arms and bellows in a voice loud enough that Kal wonders why they even bothered with stealth at all.
"LYTEK! I have RETURNED!"
And the God of Exaltation, the Right Hand of power, looks upon the battle form of of the golden giant and manages a short, flat,
"What."
-
-
Glorious Shotgun Princess:
Journeyman
===========
The disguise was fool proof. He figured out how to use the thick gloves to simulate having three or four fingers, as that seemed to be a variable number amongst the...things which lived here, which seemed to value arguing and politicking over eating and sleeping.
For the life of him, he is not sure if he will get use to this...bizarre place. This city which puts stories he's heard about Thessia or Illium to shame. Quickly navigating through corridors of wood and gold, past bamboo fences where the wind talks to itself, past lions made of some sort of moving stone, he pulls the hood tighter over his face and keeps the folder pressed firmly against his side.
It has taken weeks for this to get to this point. His careful use of the charm keeps others from even seeing him, passing by as an invisible underling. Even the guards of this area, whatever it is- he never caught the name- do not notice him. He isn't even an intruder to him. He is nothing.
Even those who see him, who notice him, cannot tell what he is- just a nameless, faceless courier. Certainly not someone who isn't even of this universe.
It has taken weeks. It has taken months, since this journey has begun. But he finds the office, behind golden doors which radiate warmth, through corridors which flow with power that makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. But now he stands in the office, now he stands in the fashioned black and gold robes before this...being.
Taller than tall. White hair standing like jagged bolts of electricity and white fire. Shapes of what can only be hardened light hovering around him. In fact, his skin, his hair, his eyes- all seem to be made of the same flowing energy. There is a power in this pale, glowing being he has never seen before. And the white eyes of this one- this god- pierce his disguise without even effort.
"Hello, Exalted," he says, voice smooth, dignified. Paternal, even. "You've put forth some effort to see me. Why?"
He sighs, and pulls back his hood. Black dreads fall around his face, the pale lavender skin and yellow eyes marking him as, he hopes, different from others in this realm. Perhaps not, though. He's spent time here, after all.
"My name is Kal'Reegar vas Rayya nar Idenna," he states, "I'm the Chosen of Journeys and-"
The god raises a finger. "Ah. A Chosen of Journeys. There are twenty of you." Deft ivory hands opens a book which appears on the desk. "Mm. Odd, I see no record...yes." He blinks, looking up at Kal. "Yes, indeed. Very interesting." He makes a motion with his hand, gesturing to him. "Continue."
Kal closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I'm here on an important mission," he says, "Long story short, there's a problem, your help is needed, and I have a friend who needs to consult with you on important matters regarding the Exaltations."
The god cocks an eyebrow. And then the wall next to him, perpendicular to Kal and the entrance, explodes as if a wrecking ball had caved through it. Smoke and dust fills the room. Kal instinctively covers his face. The god simply turns to the hole, and the giant now occupying where his Western wall used to be.
Five meters tall. Plated in gold, in silver and in prismatic sinew. It stands tall, yet hunched over, the grill covering the lower half of its face venting steam as two rainbow eyes center on the god. It stands over him, overshadowing him. And then throws out its arms and bellows in a voice loud enough that Kal wonders why they even bothered with stealth at all.
"LYTEK! I have RETURNED!"
And the God of Exaltation, the Right Hand of power, looks upon the battle form of of the golden giant and manages a short, flat,
"What."
-
-
Glorious Shotgun Princess:
Journeyman
I'm reasonably sure that Lytek doesn't actually look like that.
However, I simply cannot bring myself to care in the face of what just happened.
I can't wait to see what comes next.
However, I simply cannot bring myself to care in the face of what just happened.
I can't wait to see what comes next.
spencer1519
(Verified Heretic)
- Location
- Oregon, USA
yeeeeeesssssssss.
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Nervaqus987 said:
LYTEK:
The Right Hand of Power and the God of Exaltation. As in, the god of the concept of exaltation.
Described in Compass: Yu Shan as resembling a first age citizen made out of light. I kinda think his hair resembles flame or jagged lightning, but I imagine this is something that shifts depending on mood.
Also described as, while being favorable to the Exalted, also extremely patronizing.
Sadly for him, while he is patronizing, Autochthon is also batshit insane.
29
GreggHL
Engaging hilarity engine/air intake
- Location
- Daejeon, Republic of Korea
Kasumi moves. And with each movement, she disappears and reappears single steps from where she started. The world moves with her. A line of blue cuts into the ground around them, carved in letters from a language that has no origin in this universe. Hands open, eyes glowing slits, the thief takes a step forward.
Seeker moves first, swinging fists like blazing red spearheads. She crosses the ring, the line in the floor. But she hangs in the air, before being tossed backwards, rolling to her feet as she leverages herself on multiple arms.
Flipping onto her feet, Jane shakes herself off. Dropping the half formed helmet to the ground, she nods to Kasumi as she places a hand on her shoulder. A brief, azure glow. A brief moment of passage, of understanding. Jane moves, rushing forward. She moves like lightning, crossing the passage of the barrier and swinging her fist towards Seeker.
A flash of gold, and Seeker stumbles back. The floors shudder beneath them. Chunks of flesh like metal fly off her face as she turns, rolls, and swings a half dozen claws at Shepard.
Who only disappears, reappearing a split second later to grab one of the wrists and kick Seeker. Seeker goes flying. Her arm remains in Shepard's grip, dripping red lubricant on the floor.
She walks towards Seeker. Not runs. Not sprints. She walks, heavy footfalls across the arena. Her hands clench with audible pops. Gauntlets creek, green eyes narrowed and a smile crossing her lips.
The Reaper vanishes, crossing the distance instantly and instinctively. The blow strikes Shepard true, three golden fists into her face, but she simply blinks. Standing in the circle, Kasumi holds out her hand with a smile. Then she is behind Seeker before her after image fades, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and tossing her into the sky.
"I am idly curious how she's hitting me and you're blocking from inside that circle thingy," Jane says.
"Sidereal Martial Arts," Kasumi says with a grin, as the red light blinks in the dark sky, "If you live long enough, I'll teach you. They're really useful."
Jane pumps her legs and leaps. Almost lazily, she flies through the air. Hand out, she grabs Seeker as the Reaper lunges at her. A twist in mid motion, her hand on the Reaper's throat, and she can see the surprise in the red eyes as she tosses her. The air burns with the avatar's passing. She slams into the floor hard enough to bend metal around her.
Landing in a crouch, boots leaving indents in the floor, Jane stands. It is instinctual, now. It is natural, now. It is easy for her.
Closing her eyes with a breath, opening them again. Time slows like honey for her. As her knuckles pop and she grinds her foot into the floor, she sees for the first time. She knows. Before her she finally sees, not just the Reapers, not just the old crazy people, not just duty and war and the endless fight.
But she finally sees it, hanging before her in her minds eye. A great flower of uncountable petals. Jane Shepard for the first time, in a moment of understanding, beholds the Perfect Lotus, the great root and source of what she does. In this moment, however, she accepts what she sees.
A single, solitary petal drops from it before her. In that moment, she internalizes the last of it, as she understands the last of it. It stands writ before her. It recognizes her for what she has done, and she feels it etched into her soul.
Solar Hero Style.
Clenching her fist, Jane extends her closed hand and shatters Seeker's golden fist.
She catches the second, crushing it in her hand. Recognizes it for what it is, or more importantly for what it is not.
"You're right," Jane says with a smirk, "This ends now."
Seeker moves first, swinging fists like blazing red spearheads. She crosses the ring, the line in the floor. But she hangs in the air, before being tossed backwards, rolling to her feet as she leverages herself on multiple arms.
Flipping onto her feet, Jane shakes herself off. Dropping the half formed helmet to the ground, she nods to Kasumi as she places a hand on her shoulder. A brief, azure glow. A brief moment of passage, of understanding. Jane moves, rushing forward. She moves like lightning, crossing the passage of the barrier and swinging her fist towards Seeker.
A flash of gold, and Seeker stumbles back. The floors shudder beneath them. Chunks of flesh like metal fly off her face as she turns, rolls, and swings a half dozen claws at Shepard.
Who only disappears, reappearing a split second later to grab one of the wrists and kick Seeker. Seeker goes flying. Her arm remains in Shepard's grip, dripping red lubricant on the floor.
She walks towards Seeker. Not runs. Not sprints. She walks, heavy footfalls across the arena. Her hands clench with audible pops. Gauntlets creek, green eyes narrowed and a smile crossing her lips.
The Reaper vanishes, crossing the distance instantly and instinctively. The blow strikes Shepard true, three golden fists into her face, but she simply blinks. Standing in the circle, Kasumi holds out her hand with a smile. Then she is behind Seeker before her after image fades, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and tossing her into the sky.
"I am idly curious how she's hitting me and you're blocking from inside that circle thingy," Jane says.
"Sidereal Martial Arts," Kasumi says with a grin, as the red light blinks in the dark sky, "If you live long enough, I'll teach you. They're really useful."
Jane pumps her legs and leaps. Almost lazily, she flies through the air. Hand out, she grabs Seeker as the Reaper lunges at her. A twist in mid motion, her hand on the Reaper's throat, and she can see the surprise in the red eyes as she tosses her. The air burns with the avatar's passing. She slams into the floor hard enough to bend metal around her.
Landing in a crouch, boots leaving indents in the floor, Jane stands. It is instinctual, now. It is natural, now. It is easy for her.
Closing her eyes with a breath, opening them again. Time slows like honey for her. As her knuckles pop and she grinds her foot into the floor, she sees for the first time. She knows. Before her she finally sees, not just the Reapers, not just the old crazy people, not just duty and war and the endless fight.
But she finally sees it, hanging before her in her minds eye. A great flower of uncountable petals. Jane Shepard for the first time, in a moment of understanding, beholds the Perfect Lotus, the great root and source of what she does. In this moment, however, she accepts what she sees.
A single, solitary petal drops from it before her. In that moment, she internalizes the last of it, as she understands the last of it. It stands writ before her. It recognizes her for what she has done, and she feels it etched into her soul.
Solar Hero Style.
Clenching her fist, Jane extends her closed hand and shatters Seeker's golden fist.
She catches the second, crushing it in her hand. Recognizes it for what it is, or more importantly for what it is not.
"You're right," Jane says with a smirk, "This ends now."