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Glorious Shotgun Princess, Thread 3

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Did not Joker already use his omnitool to translate so he could mock the Dragonblooded about how he thought that Jane was about to pwn them? If his omnitool can do the translations, it stands to reason that other omnitools can do the same thing..

And, let's face it, if Joker has the chance to share a bit of translation /code so that other people can join him in trolling someone.. he's going to do it.
 
There is a flicker of motion, and the wind once more becomes the young girl with golden red hair. Kamilla smiles, gap toothed and bright, and holds up the two items in her hands; a large hooded cloak with obvious stab wounds, and a scarecrow. "Here you go, Uncle Auto!"

In an open field a day's walk from where they met Luna and Luraname, Kal and Wuffles watch. The golden sphere slips into the cloak, a string dropping out of the bottom of the chassis so Kamilla can tie the scarecrow to it. Kal sits on a tree stump, hunched over. Wuffles sits on the ground in lotus position, an owl perched on one of his extended petals.

"So let me get this straight," Kal says, "You're using a cloak, a scarecrow, and a straw wig to pass yourself off as the God of Bad Disguises?"

Clad in cloak, scarecrow hanging underneath him, and with a straw wig haphazardly placed on the top of the sphere, Autochthon slides open the silver iris. "Yes! It is a disguise so obvious that my identity cannot be mistaken!"

The sphere, the mad inventor, turns. Appearing out of...nothing...a great structure of gold and wood and stone appears, both massively twisted and wondrously ornate. Carved symbols along it glow, angled and ancient. "My brilliance is unsurpassed!"

Whether in response to his disguise, or to the appearance of the gate, Kal is unsure of what Autochthon's pronouncement refers to. But nonetheless, he watches, slowly standing, as golden light flows from the borders of the Gate and becomes a portal of swirling light, sound, and...something else. Something he has no word for.

"Now," Autochthon says, "With me, Kal'Reegar, Wuffles. And Kamilla." The eye turns down. The side of the sphere opens and a long, golden and skeletal arm snakes out, extending a two fingered hand. "Would you like to see the world I once called home?"

Kamilla nods, taking the hand. And the two walk into the Gate and disappear. Taking a deep breath, Kal walks in after them.
 
Odysseus2099 said:
Knowing Exalted this may actually work initially. Until the real god of bad disguises shows up demanding to know who the impostor is.
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Who is a female god with a wax mustache. Who is then joined by another one who looks the same, who claims that she is the God of disguising yourself as the God of Bad Disguises, which is when Autobot summons his battle body.
Nicholai said:
Did not Joker already use his omnitool to translate so he could mock the Dragonblooded about how he thought that Jane was about to pwn them? If his omnitool can do the translations, it stands to reason that other omnitools can do the same thing..

And, let's face it, if Joker has the chance to share a bit of translation /code so that other people can join him in trolling someone.. he's going to do it.
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Sadly, Jane keeps forgetting to turn on the auto-update on her omnitool, thinking that the 'auto' part would mean letting Autochthon into it.
 
Joker: Okay, seriously, Shepard? It has nothing to do with Auto-cthulu. Automatic updates have been around since the twentieth century. Heck, they've been around since Microsoft.
Jane: That's what he wants you to believe. I'm on to him. :mad:
Joker: *looks at Kasumi* You stole her sanity, didn't you?
Kasumi: You stole my chance to troll the Dragonblooded. I have to get my trollolol on somehow.
Joker: *facepalm* Damn bullshit magic.
 
GreggHL said:
Sadly, Jane keeps forgetting to turn on the auto-update on her omnitool, thinking that the 'auto' part would mean letting Autochthon into it.
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Knowing Autochthon...
...
...
...
I'm so not sure she is wrong about that...
 
Vanigo said:
Don't be silly. He can get in there any time he wants. But why would he? Breaking into someone's personal computer to steal their data? That's been around forever, and is therefore boring.

Ooh, but breaking into a solar's personal computer to turn it into an artifact linked to a virtual space/Elsewhere pocket suffused with her essence, and using geomantic code-constructs to produce a demense and a manse therein, maintained by the sentient beings that were once her personal software?
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Who say anything about breaking? Autoupdate:ON is essentially permission to update somthing without any further permission from owner. Of course Autochthon would do it if owner or equipment is interesting enough. Which brings to, yes, SOLAR.
 
"...and so the war ends and they take out and kill her." A sigh, and the shadow serpent clasps its paws with a wistful smile. "Ah, Ruvelia. How I loved her. Once every week night, twice on Saturnday, three times on Sunday. From behind, no lubricant. While choking her." The smokey, ethereal black serpent rubs its palms with glee, wrapped around the man's neck and elbows on his head.

Footsteps in the sand lead back to the horizon. Muttering under his breath, cloak tight against his shoulders, Jack Harper once again wonders if everyone hates this asshole as much as he does. "How are you even here?"

The dragon shrugs, twirling a tendril. Sand whips about them, passing through its ethereal form and pelting the former Illusive Man in the face. "Oh, some soul surgery on one of my lesser aspects. If you look carefully, you can see the tentacle I'm puppeting this one with. While he is a crippled, sick retard who runs away like the simpering little bitch he is, Auto-kun does have some wonderful ideas."

The dragon smiles, a jagged maw of teeth that would be ivory in a normal being. But on him, they are gnawed and weathered marble. "Although, these puppets are oh so fragile. But I always have reserves." Jack shakes his head, continuing his trek.
 
horngeek said:
...goddammit ED that was not a mental image I needed.

I get the feeling THAT particular 3CD may have been a mercy kill on the part of the Exalted Host more than anything else.
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Actually, chances are that Ruvelia was the combat-oriented one of Theion's fetiches.

So the only way Ebby was doing anything to her was if she let him.
 
TheSandman said:
Actually, chances are that Ruvelia was the combat-oriented one of Theion's fetiches.

So the only way Ebby was doing anything to her was if she let him.
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Here's a thing:

The Ebon Dragon lies.

All the time.

Every single thing he says is a blatant lie.

It's like my answers to questions when someone asks me for spoilers in this and the Rebuild of Nobody Dies thread, only with more horrible imagery.

The dragon is also my Quagmire. On Family Guy, the writers have a system- if the line is so horrible that it makes all the staff cringe, it's given to Quagmire.

I have a similar litmus test for the Dragon.
 
GreggHL said:
The sexual preference of the dragonblooded is "NOW."
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Well, aside from my Wood Aspect who's in medical school who has made it her personal duty to be the Anti-Cynis because curing every disease in Creation isn't going to do itself, you know!

Of course her cousin who traded her sense of shame for Sorcery makes up for that.

Destrark said:
Poor Kal, welcome to Crazy town. Auto's not the mayor though, he's the architect...
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And in another world, far across the stars, somehow the Book of Architecture, written by Auto C. Thon, fell into the hands of the man who would be known as his most ardent (and feared) disciple: Bergholt Stuttley Johnson.
 
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    • "...and so the war ends and they take out and kill her." A sigh, and the shadow serpent clasps its paws with a wistful smile. "Ah, Ruvelia. How I loved her. Once every week night, twice on Saturnday, three times on Sunday. From behind, no lubricant. While choking her." The smokey, ethereal black serpent rubs its palms with glee, wrapped around the man's neck and elbows on his head.

    Footsteps in the sand lead back to the horizon. Muttering under his breath, cloak tight against his shoulders, Jack Harper once again wonders if everyone hates this asshole as much as he does. "How are you even here?"

    The dragon shrugs, twirling a tendril. Sand whips about them, passing through its ethereal form and pelting the former Illusive Man in the face. "Oh, some soul surgery on one of my lesser aspects. If you look carefully, you can see the tentacle I'm puppeting this one with. While he is a crippled, sick retard who runs away like the simpering little bitch he is, Auto-kun does have some wonderful ideas."

    The dragon smiles, a jagged maw of teeth that would be ivory in a normal being. But on him, they are gnawed and weathered marble. "Although, these puppets are oh so fragile. But I always have reserves." Jack shakes his head, continuing his trek.

    Two days of walking. He should find this harder than he does, traveling through a desert which resembles a moon more than anything. Which is better than a dessert that resembles a moon, as he never had much of a sweet tooth.

    The dragon continues rambling. On and on, on and on again. A mix of jeers, perversions, tall tales. It is like the voice he had in his head before his transformation, the slow murmur of Indoctrination. Only, instead of the slow and steady voice of the Reapers, it is a voice describing in detail how a pious monk can be turned into a suicidal hedonist.

    And then the voice stops. It goes silent, retreats. Jack glances from side to side, walking forward and finding himself still under a night sky, but now walking among wet grass and fruit trees. An Oasis, in the middle of an infinite desert. Or dessert. He wouldn't put it past this insane hellhole to reveal itself to be a gigantic cheesecake.

    "A traveller."

    He blinks, and there is a woman in front of him. He would guess that she had been formed fully from the silver sands, but that would be less ridiculous than the other options. Green eyes shine behind the silver and brown wraps that are pulled from her face, revealing a timeless, stubborn beauty framed by sandy blonde hair.

    The ash robes and white skirts sparkle in the moonless, starless night, against the light of the silver sands. The pail held in her hands shifts from side to side, water splashing over the edges. With every step of worn, once pristine and beautiful shoes, she comes more into focus. More into reality, as does the oasis around her.

    Slender hands and long fingers, hardened by the infinite sands but still smooth pull down the wrappings around her head. The long strands of ash and gold frame her face and flow around the broken and varnished remains of a tiara, a crown, that still sits stubbornly upon her brow.

    The oasis flows around him. Jack feels the pack he carried become lighter, and turns to see a young man in leathers and cloth lift it from his shoulders, carrying it towards the huts and cabin he sees at the water's edge. Which, like everything else her, was not there a moment ago.

    Children gather by the largest of the huts, a dome of wood and cloth. Some barely older than toddlers, some with gray in their hair. A mixture of young men and young women, and he sees them beyond the tent and setting a massive, long table. A quick switch of his sight to another spectrum, and he confirms that, yes, this is exactly what he thinks it is.

    "Interesting," the former Illusive Man says, "Where am I?"

    "A place of rest and respite," the woman says, her face neutral, her eyes glancing up and down, walking with a practiced gate towards him, "You have been traveling. You don't have the look of someone freshly arrived in the desert."

    He nods. Glances, looking her over. Especially as she turns, slightly, so he can get a better idea of...dimensions. The Illusive Man has figured out what this is. Who this is. Where most people would attempt to flee upon realizing the identity of the woman, he simply thinks,

    I haven't done one of those, yet.

    "My name's Jack," he says with a bow, measured and respectful, "May I ask yours?"

    She smiles. Controlled, but polite. A faint quirk in the corner of her lip tells him all he needs to know. "I've had many titles," she says, "But I've been trapped in these wastes so long that none of them matter. Please. Call me Sessi."

    She wraps her hand around his wrist. "Won't you join us for our repast?" she asks, "And perhaps, listen to our story?"

    He smiles. "Of course. Lead the way."
     
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    • So should we expect Kamilla to have some cousins a year or two from now?
     
    Note to self:
    Invent time machine.
    Go back in time.
    Kill TheSandman before he makes that suggestion to the Evil Authorlord.
     
    Fiach McCarthy said:
    Well he is an Exalted so there is a none zero chance that he could.
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    It should be noted that Jack's response, upon figuring out what Sessi is, is to think "I haven't slept with one of those, yet."
     
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