Remove ads

Glorious Shotgun Princess (ME/Exalted) Thread #2

Reader mode
Lazily floating along, Autochthon floats into the swamp some hundred or so miles from that ridiculously chatty court in the grasslands. Perhaps, the Great Maker muses, Perhaps here there is someone who can explain to him the details of what he was told- that his mind vast and brilliant as it is fails to truly comprehend.

On either side, trees hang with sacrifices- dead men, hands tied, sacrificed to the local gods. As Autochthon passes them, they are plucked one by one and carried off, disappearing into the distance and where ever Kamilla takes them.

Then a dead tree is uprooted, and carried off as well. Autochthon pays it no heed. He would lecture Kamilla on property, but what interaction he has had with Adorjan- from a considerable distance- tells him that any child raised by her would have a...lacking...understanding of such.

He feels the magical barrier, and where there was uninterrupted swamp land, Autochthon now finds a recessed stone amphitheater. Guarded by three sitting gods; sitting on rickety wooden chairs, three lanky individuals made out of driftwood, and gently playing elongated sanxians with leaf covered fingers.

"Hello," Auto says, voice more tired than angry at this point, "I have business with your...Terrestial Court."

"The Terrestrial Court?" the center god asks.

Plates shift. The iris narrows. "Yes. Yes, that."

The one on the left keeps playing. "Well, what's yer business, then?" the right one asks, "An who're you, anyways?"

"I wish to speak with the most ancient of your court." Thunder rumbles overhead. "And I. Am Autochthon!"

The three gods stare at him. One turns, spitting a wad into the swamp. "Who?"

The iris narrows more. Plates shift in around it. "Just let me in, damn you."
 
Dirtnap said:
Yes...but he doesn't have much patience for those he considers his lessers. I expect explosions. ^_^
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
I'd expect explosions if Autobot wanted to make a cup of coffee, much less if he was going to have to deal with the Terrestrial Court.

Hell, there may even be a King of the Woods there.

Now that would be comedy.
 
Dirtnap said:
...why do I get the feeling Auto is gonna have a bad day.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Still not as bad as the day Kal's been having, what with the repeated blunt force trauma to the face. All Auto has to deal with are hillbilly gods and a radically different political landscape than what he remembers. As things stand so far, he's coming out ahead comparatively.

Also, Kamilla continues to be adorable. I never thought I'd be saying that about a wind that carries off dead things, but I am.
 
Nervaqus987 said:
I
Hell, there may even be a King of the Woods there.

Now that would be comedy.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
*Engaging Hilarity Drive*

*Hilarity Drive/Air Intake Turbine Engaged*

*Cruising Speed at Autochthon Fucking Loses It Because of an Abusive Wood King Asshole*
 
Remove ads
71
  • Threadmarks
    • The center of the court, populated by many gods. All take forms related to their purviews. Those of trees are wooden, leaves budding off of them as they mill about. Gods of swamps, of dry areas, of plateaus. Of insects and creatures great and small.

    A quick check of his extensive vocabulary taken from many worlds and countless languages gives him an appropriate title.

    Yokels.

    The iris closes to a small hole, as the ball hovers and gently weaves between shuffling insects and scarecrows. Terrestrial Gods, Autochthon thinks to himself. Where are their overseers? Where are the Celestials who are supposed to be hearing their reports? These systems were put in place for a reason damn it.

    The air of the court is muggy and wet. Built into a swamp, of course. Flies- some actual flies, some gods in the shape of flies- buzz past him as he glances from side to side. Silver plates rotate around the pupil like a hungry buzz saw. The ball ducks underneath the legs of a massive man made out of wood, past several young women with leafy green skin with vines wrapped around their necks, and clears his throat as he floats to the center of the court.

    "Hello! Yes! Hello!" He makes a quick circle. Sees annoyed looks on...faces, maybe. Not sure if everything has a face. Turns to the large rock with arms and a pair of eyes sitting at the front of the court. "Hello, I'm sorry for interrupting but I am in need of a historical update! Could the eldest member of your court please come forward?"

    The sounds of heavy footfalls shakes the court. Autochthon turns as a small hill walks over. A hill with feet, covered in moss and saggy vines, walking on eighteen feet and with eyes in a vertical line down its front.

    The iris rotates in and out on the front of the sphere. It rises, meeting the level as the top of the hill god as it ambles over. Moss moves and tears to reveal two arms of articulated stone, reaching up and pulling off moss from the crest to reveal a sideways-opening mouth filled with boulders for teeth.

    "That would be me." The voice is grinding rocks and crushed stone. The many many eyes all focus up on the golden ball. "And you would be, little ball?"

    A deep breath comes out as a harrumph. "I am Autochthon." Thunder cracks overhead. No one looks up. "And I must ask, how old exactly are you?"

    Arms akimbo, the hill god extends its legs and stands upright a bit more. Moss and stones fall off as it rights itself. "I am the most ancient god in these lands, ball! I trace my memories all the way back to the high age of the Shogunate itself!"

    The iris narrows. Plates shift from the top of the ball. "The what?"

    Shaking back and forth, an arm extends out the side of the sphere. Long, skeletal, it ends in two fingers which are then pressed against the top of the sphere. Rubbing his head slash eye, Autochthon lets out a loud groan. "Alright. Just. How old are you? In years?"

    The hill god cocks his or its bulk skywards. A muffles hush falls over the court. "Good ball, I am at now my fifteen hundredth birthday!" Muffled gasps and some whimpers. Surprise at the exact number, they say, for few ever remember being that old.

    "Fifteen hundred? One thousand, five hundred?" Autochthon nods. "Yes, yes, very impressive, very ancient indeed I have stools older than you!"

    A rift opens with a flash of white. A three legged wooden stool jams itself into the muck in front of the golden sphere. "See! See here!" Another arm pops out, pinchers pulling the furniture up. "Master craftsmanship. Iron wood. Wonderfully comfortable. Seventeen hundred years old!"

    He tosses it up and away. Behind him, several scarecrow gods dive onto it, fighting over it and pulling at the legs. One larger scarecrow grabs two legs and swings it, bludgeoning his contemporaries and running. "And you are the oldest god here? Is there no one older than you in this entire Terrestrial Direction?"
     
  • Threadmarks
    • 72
  • Threadmarks
    • Green eyes narrow to glowing red coals. Still cupping Wuffles' chin, Mnemon drops the image of immaculate grace and posh, dignified nobility. Instead, there is only fire in front of the Geth, now. Only the single minded raw avarice and drive. "Tell me," she says, "The last thing she said to you."

    The petals extend. If the Geth feel threatened, they do not show such weakness. "The exact words were for Autochthon to instruct his kin that 'The Tiger is now hunting Dragons.'"

    Nostrils flare. Her hands release Wuffles' head, turning as the petals flatten against the elongated head. Gold embroidered hands clench into fists as she walks, slowly but dignified. Shoulders rolled back and red lips a tight line. "I was right," she says. Her voice is a quiet whisper, slow and precise. "I. Was right."

    She stops at the table, eyes closed. Hands clenching and unclenching. Slow and steady breaths, shoulders rising and falling with each one. And then her leg snaps out and sends the table flipping end over end, crashing on the other side of the room with a roar of "I WAS RIGHT!"

    The petals rise and extend fully. The only sound in the room is Mnemon's heavy breathing and the sounds of knuckles cracking under marble. That, and Kal sitting up, raising his hand, and making the first syllable.

    "Do not say a word." Mnemon pins him with a glare, and a white rock that has formed in her hand and aimed at his crotch. "You! You say nothing! At all!" Her eyes become glowing coals. The stone cracks to powder, and another takes its place. "You have no idea how cross I am with you! I had to work so hard to find out about the Sidereals! And remember them! And you tell anyone who asks!"

    Kal wordlessly collapses onto his back, resting both hands on his bright red face. "Query." Mnemon whirls on the Geth, crushing the second stone in her bare hand and absently creating a third. "Is our hypothesis correct?"

    She takes several deep breathes. More powder collects at her feet as she grinds every summoned rock with her bare fingers. Righting herself, standing up tall, she steps out of the ankle high pile of pebbles and powder and nods. "Yes. Yes you are. The woman you encountered in Cecelyne is, in fact, my mother."

    She turns, rotating on one heel to the door. "Guards!" The doors burst open. A half dozen men in red samurai armor enter. Eyes glance, but they do not move otherwise, idly surveying the broken table, the semi-conscious Reegar, but keep centered firmly on the Dominae. "Bring us refreshments. And a new table."

    She folds her hands at her waist as they exit, dragging the broken table out without a word. Turning to Kal and to Wuffles, she pulls her lips into a faint, cold smile. "Gentlemen. You have successfully graduated from beings I wish to vivisect to beings I wish to interview. Congratulations."

    Kal weakly pumps a half-formed fist into the air. "And you," Mnemon half says, have growls, "Get dressed." A gesture, and Wuffles' manacles release. The Geth stumbles forward, and extends their petals as her hand once more cups their chin.

    "We have a new hypothesis," they chimes in, "Your usage of the term interview, combined with your so far observed actions, indicates that you intend to interrogate us."

    Her smiles goes just a bit wider.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Progress! Sort of!

    Well, at least the probability that Kal and Wuffles get gutted like fish has dropped from "Quite likely" to merely "A decent chance."

    On another note, I chuckled a little at Mnemon getting annoyed with Kal being so open about being a Sidereal.

    Random important person: Who are you?

    Kal: Kal'Reegar. Migrant Fleet Marines and Chosen of Journeys. *Is beaned in the head with another rock*
     
    Shinzero02 said:
    So the real question... are the Shepards actually related to them somehow or is the ME-verse some sort of twisted reflection (shadow?) of creation that formed in response? Or is it all one huge incredibly odd coincidence that TED may have set up and forgot about?
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    It's a coincidence with some similarities. For example, both Jane and Mnemon were real moeblobs when they were children. It's just that Jane, rather than going through a magical transformation which is a magical wuxia allegory for adolescence, went through adolescence.
     
    73
  • Threadmarks
    • The chestnut bounces off the golden plate. The plate shifts, and the iris rotates open. Turning, Autochthon stares at the source of the faint annoyance; a man- twice as tall as a man, in fact- make completely out of wood. Wearing leaves for clothing, a vine for a belt, with a jagged, oversides nose and foliage for hair.

    Brown lips are clamped down on a branch like a cigar, and he yanks on the vines to make the half dozen nymphs at his side yelp and whimper. Autochthon meets his eyes, and closes the iris to deflect another thrown nut.

    "Yes." Autochthon opens his iris. "Can I help you?"

    The tree man snorts. "Yeah, you can get ya shiny golden ass outside. Some of us got business here." As if for effect, he yanks the vines again. The nymphs- themselves no taller than a human, grab at their collars.

    A plate moves upwards on the iris. "Oh, yes. I see the problem." A widget folds out. A flash of gold and the vines are severed, all six girls dropping to their knees. "There, they should be much happier now. Glad to help." Autochthon turns, then stops and turns back. "And since you threw those nuts at me, don't expect a tip."

    Half turning, Autochthon sees it out of the corner of his vision. Turns slightly as one of the nymphs tries to move away, followed by the wood man backhanding her. A long exhaled breath from the golden sphere and he turns back.

    "Hn. Seriously. This is an act, right?" The iris narrows. A plate on the right side rises. "Because honestly, you can't be this over-the-top obnoxious, right?" He floats over. Plates along the top shift and move in imitation of a furrowing brow. "I mean, I appreciate performance art, but, honestly?"

    Plates on the side shift. "Well...no, no, I honestly don't. I hate performance art." The iris narrows. "Honestly, seriously. Hate it. With a passion. But, of course all my kin loved it and then used that as yet another reason to-"

    And then the wood man slaps another nymph, grabbing her by the hair. Holding the six girls in one hand, either by the hair or by the throats, the massive wood creature ignores Autochthon's ramblings. Which then cease. "Okay. Seriously." The iris narrows almost completely. "Stop that."

    The six nymphs struggle in the Wood King's hand as it leans its oversized nose right into the eye and whacks him with the branch cigar. "You. Shut up." And for extra effect, he then slaps the ball with his free hand.

    The plates shift. The iris narrows. "You. You just slapped me."

    The large wooden hand again whacks against the golden sphere, followed by a low chuckle from the giant. "Seriously." The golden ball tilts up. Around them, the local gods start backing away. Murmuring of 'not being a good idea' and 'the king's pissed'. "Stop that. Or you'll make me angry."

    The fingers curl, and the Wood King smirks as he flicks a long, leaf covered finger directly into the eye. "And why's that?"

    And then, rather than staring at the ball, he finds himself staring at a wall made of solid gold. Looking up, he realizes soon enough that it is actually the gut- slightly distended, slightly off balance- of a golden giant man. He looks up, further up. At twice his height, the two facet cut eyes stare down at him, and the grill covering the lower half of his face discharge steam.

    The left arm comes up. The hand opens, and the right fist grinds into it. Steam blasts out of the joints of the giant battle body. When Autochthon speaks, it is with a slow, level tone. And an answer.

    "That's why."
     
  • Threadmarks
    • I love Kings of the Woods.

    They are like the most perfectly acceptable targets in Exalted. Not to mention the way they almost always seem to go out of their way to piss off people and things that are able to squash them like bugs.
     
    Thirty Minutes of Stress Relief Later.

    Grunting, the giant lifts his foot out of the splinters. "Oh...damn it. I got sap all over this." A digital click of the tongue and the facet eyes roll. "Well, well. Back to Elsewhere with you." A cough. He looks down to see the head of the Wood King still moving. "Oh right."

    Autochthon extends his arm. A spear thrusts out, into and through the mouth, and pulls the head back in. "Right. You're fuel, now."

    The battlesuit begins dissolving. It flows into white, turning liquid and fading away, releasing the eye as it drops down from the chest and hovers off the ground. "Yes, yes yes yes. No need wasting all that good Essence. Doesn't grow on trees no wait it does." The eye glances around. Sees the empty amphitheater. "Balls. They all ran away."

    He turns with a sigh, muttering about how now he has to find some other damn court of idiots and yokels, and sees the six nymphs huddled together. "Oh. Oh, yes. Sorry about that." He coughs. "Tend to get carried away. Can I help you?"

    The six girls rush him, all six sloppily kissing him on the top of the head and running out of the enclosure, laughing and cheering the entire way. A plate rises on the side of his head. The iris narrows. "Well."

    The plates relax. Autochthon turns, releasing a long held in sigh and then comes face to face with a human girl standing in front of him. The iris opens and he emits a high pitched, warbling cry of alarm.

    The girl smiles with bright white teeth and stands on her tip toes. "Hi!" And then lunges forward to hug the ball.
    The iris shifts. The eye glances from side to side, then at the girl. She has short, messy red hair, a gap toothed smile, black eyes and dressed in white. Also, young. No older than eleven or twelve he guesses. The smile itself keys him in. The lack of knives, also.

    "Kamilla?"

    The girl nods. "Yep!" She releases the ball, and promptly climbs on top, sitting on him as two plates shrug and he begins lazily floating out of the court. "Sorry for surprising you, Uncle Auto, but you were ranting and stuff and you were really lonely!"
     
    GreggHL said:
    Thirty Minutes of Stress Relief Later.
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    My only regret is that we didn't get to see more.
    The six girls rush him, all six sloppily kissing him on the top of the head and running out of the enclosure, laughing and cheering the entire way. A plate rises on the side of his head. The iris narrows. "Well."
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    I'm more than somewhat sure that Auto now considers the side trip to be totally worth it.
    The plates relax. Autochthon turns, releasing a long held in sigh and then comes face to face with a human girl standing in front of him. The iris opens and he emits a high pitched, warbling cry of alarm.

    The girl smiles with bright white teeth and stands on her tip toes. "Hi!" And then lunges forward to hug the ball.
    The iris shifts. The eye glances from side to side, then at the girl. She has short, messy red hair, a gap toothed smile, black eyes and dressed in white. Also, young. No older than eleven or twelve he guesses. The smile itself keys him in. The lack of knives, also.

    "Kamilla?"

    The girl nods. "Yep!" She releases the ball, and promptly climbs on top, sitting on him as two plates shrug and he begins lazily floating out of the court. "Sorry for surprising you, Uncle Auto, but you were ranting and stuff and you were really lonely!"
    Click to expand...
    Click to shrink...
    My god, she is freaking adorable.
     
    My favorite part was how Auto had set himself to weary resignation at having to deal with more Terrestrial gods, and then freaks out a little at seeing Kamilla's human form. And the reaction's probably not all that unjustified, considering Auto knows Adorjan and her daughters better than most.

    Good thing Kamilla doesn't appear to have developed any new stabbing tendencies with her change in shape. Also a good thing, she's still adorable! :D
     
    Reader mode
    You must login or register to reply here.
    Remove ads
    Back
    Top