- Location
- Planet Earth
I'd definitely prefer this one Prok, we give the start and then Jaune runs on his own. Quicker, more IC and plenty of opportunities for you to run wild and have fun.
Hold It In (RWBY/Transistor)
- Thread starter Prok
- Start date
- Crossover
- Location
- USA
Doesn't look like the threadmark stuck.
Ancient Scholar
Amateur Editor/Beta
- Location
- United States
Shit this reminds me, I don't remember if I said anything about this. I feel the same way. Instead of doing vote by vote it would be better if we did things based on an overall goal. For example Main Objectives, things that we want to do.
- Blitz - Focus on the Relics
- Explore - Random Events
- Regroup - Encounter
- Stealth - Decrease Random Events
- Aggressive - Increased Combat Encounters
- Defensive - Neutral
Last edited:
- Location
- Box of Granola bars
Yeah, I gotta pick the Run With It option. Letting the players plan is going to spiral out of control fast, I can feel it in my bones.
>College
You too? I'm in the last week of my first semester, and I'm staring a second consecutive all nighter in the face trying to hammer out a paper by tomorrow midnight.
Fuck me, shit's intense if you don't pull your weight in the early game.
>College
You too? I'm in the last week of my first semester, and I'm staring a second consecutive all nighter in the face trying to hammer out a paper by tomorrow midnight.
Fuck me, shit's intense if you don't pull your weight in the early game.
ADeshantis
King on the Chromium Throne
- Location
- United states
Whatever flows easier to you, honestly. If you want to break combats into short updates, that's fine. If you want to just take the general approach to combat and have us vote on our methodology instead of each specific action, that's also fine. Personally, I like the latter.
KidFromPallet
Pokemon Fan
- Location
- Pallet Town
I'd prefer to just pick one action and then let you run with it, just because that means we won't be spending forever on an one combat section. Having to do another round of votes after each combat round sounds like it'd really stretch out the time it takes to get through combat, which is not ideal. I'd rather take the option that let you just write the whole thing, because getting bogged down in micromanaging combat votes doesn't sound like my idea of fun.
Besides, you're the author. I can pretty much guarantee that in the vast majority of cases, we wouldn't be to come up with an option that would be better than what you would have Jaune do, so in the vast majority of cases the extra voting round would be wasted because ultimately we'd want to do the same thing anyway.
And as for the whole college thing, don't worry, you're not alone and I totally get what you're going through. So uh, can't do anything to help, but at least we're all suffering with you?
Besides, you're the author. I can pretty much guarantee that in the vast majority of cases, we wouldn't be to come up with an option that would be better than what you would have Jaune do, so in the vast majority of cases the extra voting round would be wasted because ultimately we'd want to do the same thing anyway.
And as for the whole college thing, don't worry, you're not alone and I totally get what you're going through. So uh, can't do anything to help, but at least we're all suffering with you?
- Location
- Earth
Yeah, that's more than fair. After my last response I was tired enough of arguing internal consistency that even if you'd decided to rip me a new one I wouldn't have tried to raise a counterpoint.
So, onto a complete tangent. There are various canonical characters that would benefit from having a little Cell helper.
Basically all hunter characters would benefit because Cells could carry around extra ammunition/dust. Weiss would probably benefit the most from that aspect, since carrying around high grade dust crystals in a side pouch or somesuch seems like a bad idea. And there are other benefits like providing communication between team members, measuring telemetry, and having an eye at your back.
But particular to semblances, Lumen is the best current example of benefiting. Ignoring quality of life factors, having a high powered omni-colored light generator around is a huge enabler for his drafting. Nora would also benefit, and she'll doubtless obtain a unit with her forceful personality. While Process units seem predisposed to lasers, it probably wouldn't be very hard for them to generate electricity ala a high powered taser. Which means being able to use superstrength whenever.
Another, less assured example would be Velvet, if she were to get a unit capable of shapeshifting into any weapon type.
On a similar note, there's leveraging the advantage Jaune now has with all the illegal dust at his disposal. Many similar characters could benefit. Velvet for obvious reasons. Lumen, since I imagine fire dust would super-charge the explosive power of his Firecrystal without creating the strain on him that supercharging it without dust would. Nora, for obvious reasons.
It basically depends on whether your Semblance is elementally compatible, as far as I can tell. So Jaune wouldn't benefit unless I'm missing something, or he can make functions dust compatible (unlikely, considering he's on the science end of the magic scale and dust is on they mystic end), or unless lightning dust can supercharge his Calculation. Ruby might work with wind dust. Blake can go with most dust. Yang might work with fire dust. Pyrrha might work with all the dusts considering her ability is about matter/energy manipulation. And so on.
While I was thinking of all this, an image of Nora cranking all this up to 11 appeared from the ether. Basically turning herself into some amalgamation of a dbz martial artist and gundam robot. Form 1 (Live Wire): All available nearby Cells attach themselves to her giant robot style and start pumping electricity into her. Form 2 (Valkyrie): Lightning dust and crystals appear on her unholy process fusion armor, pumping in yet more lightning. Form 3 (Final Form, Boom Queen): A process unit, such as a Young Lady, starts firing lightning bolts at Nora, which is caught and captured by a lightning-rod-esque device adhered to her back/spine.
Didn't see much of season three, but gave the 'forms' names due to her enthusiasm for the concept.
Initiation: Ghost_In_The_Machine()
Prok
Go play Star Fetchers
- Location
- Scotland
For a moment, it's as if time slows. A sharpened clarity fills your mind, and you start to make out the little details- the strands of saliva flinging themselves off its jaws. The way its jowls flap with the force of its roar. The sheer hatred for you in its eyes, a single-minded tempest of rage turned numb to anything but itself.
Hairline fractures in one of the plates on its side, just above where the liver should be on a normal bear, not fused over yet. You have your target.
Cold air fills your lungs as you take a measured breath. Your heartbeat slows, dropping like a stone and taking the sides of your vision with it. Everything begins falling away as you focus on the Ursa. The sky above, the birds flying away from the sounds of battle. Lumen, and his own fight. The edges of the clearing, trees fading into darkness until there is nothing left but you, your quarry, and the path between you.
You take the first step.
More layers of distraction peel away with every step you take towards that hairline fracture, and when you meet it, you
Hit: DC 6, Result- 16. Success! Effect: DC 10, Result- 18. Success!
have already heaved the Transistor off your shoulder, and readied it to thrust. With a yell of exertion, you ram the tip of your sword into that hairline fracture, shattering the plate and throwing shards of bone everywhere, bodily lifting the uncreature off the ground.
Nearby, you watch Lumen throw a layer of thick, oily orange luxin over the ground, then step out of the way of the charging Ursa. It tries to compensate, but the oil now slicking its paws and the grass beneath its feet force it sideways into a wall of blue spikes Lumen created in the interim.
It doesn't die, going by its roaring and attempts to extricate itself from the half-assed iron maiden, but Lumen fixes that with a spray of bright red goop, coating it in something with the colour and consistency of strawberry jam.
Then he hits it with his sword, and you realise it is in fact napalm.
When your Ursa lands, it lands with an almost lifelike wheeze, bonelessly flopping to one side as its legs give out, leaving it vulnerable for the killing blow.
Nothing fancy, sharp metal bit through its neck, watch head roll and disintegrate.
You raise the sword, and oh god bear claw-
Hopping back swiftly, you watch cautiously as the Ursa stumbles to its feet, still groggy from the strike, still very, very angry. When it steps forward and sways to the side, threatening its already tenuous balance, you figure it doesn't have that much fight left in it.
Then it stumbles forward, turns that stumble into a lope, and then you remember that bear-shaped creatures, in general, are to human beings as minivans are to human beings. Large, deceptively fast-moving objects, that you generally have to get out of its way.
So, you
Dodge: DC 13, Result- 11 - 4 = 7. Failure!
do so, turning on your heels to dodge to your left, only to find a shocking amount of resistance from your chest- inertia that you hadn't entirely registered until this very moment when it became very, very relevant.
You get out of the way, mostly, but an opportunistic swipe costs you some Aura and your balance as it sweeps your weight-bearing leg out from under you, sending you tail over teakettle to the side, only just barely keeping your grip on your sword as you tumble, rolling with about as much grace as you can manage without letting go.
A horrifying crunch of plant matter, however, finally removes it from your grasp as it wedges itself in a tree. The sun beside your face flickers for a moment, and you are left with no weapon and one angry Ursa.
You wish you had one weapon and no angry Ursa.
It turns to you, laid against the tree, and charges without hesitation, a feral roar preceding it.
You don't have time to dislodge your sword. You barely have time to dodge again, though you can't see that working out either. A muffled stab of pain fills the back of your head, beaten down and covered up by focus and adrenaline, and a sudden clarity fills you as you flex your fingers, splaying then clenching them into a fist.
Standing, you feel your shield form on your arm, its keen edge a simple comfort in these trying times. As the Ursa approaches, your mind reels with possibilities, accounting for your now-limited mobility and change in weapons.
You decide, in the half-second you have before you have to execute your plan, that the psychological ramifications of stabbing it in the neck being your first, best, and only plan, are something you'll consider later.
It comes close, and this time you
Sidestep: DC 10, Result- 16 - 3 = 13. Success! Neck: DC 14, Result- 18 - 1 = 17. Success! Bleed: DC 10, Result- 11. Success!
don't try for a full dodge- instead, you just step to the side, leaning back to avoid a hasty claw as it instead rams into the tree behind you, wedging the Transistor even further into the wood.
Granted, it also rams the handle into its nose in the process, hard enough to actually form hairline fractures on its mask, so you do recognise karma for what it is. It turns to you almost drunkenly, a string of liquid smog dribbling from its nose and off its mask, slowly smoking away as it mats the fur on its chin.
You take your chance, angle the point of your shield up, and with a falsetto screech you just can't delude yourself into believing is a manly battle cry, punch into the soft tissue beneath its face. The windpipe gives easily, but you aren't done yet- dragging the razor edge through its neck, you rip major pipelines out of its throat, a spray of black liquid, boiling off as it hits the ground, the trees, whatever. Holding your breath, you hop out of the smoke as the Ursa stumbles forward, its legs growing leaden with every step before the torrential flood becomes a trickle, becomes drips, becomes a dead Ursa lying on the ground.
A virginal weapon bathed in the ichor of humanity's enemy. As all have been and will be.
A name rattles in the back of your mind, racing towards your lips like a shooting star, and it is:
[] Pala Victoria- the stark off-white of the shield's metal, blank of insignia, slowly growing lighter as the seconds pass, a sea of white consuming the darkness- yes. It fits.
[] Write-in.
|||
Your name is Pyrrha Nikos, and in the forest beside you, behind you, the way their whooping screeches echo through the trees makes it hard to pin them down, sounds to be a herd of Satyrs. You didn't even think they existed outside of South Mistral, but here they are, proving you wrong, and probably laughing their asses off about it. That part of you you can't ever get to shut up about irrelevant things wonders aloud, at least, as aloud as mental voices can get, if Ozpin might have imported them.
You ready your rifle, waiting for their arrival, that hooting grating on your nerves, driving your blood pressure to new heights, and you find yourself grinding your teeth unconsciously.
"Ελα! Πάλη!" You yell, hoping to goad them out of hiding. <I'm not scared of you, you malformed goats!>
They take the bait, rewarding you with quarry- shadowy figures pass through the trees, loping human figures with great horns on their heads and legs that bend the wrong way.
You drop to one knee for stability as you raise your rifle, breathing out for your shot.
Track target.
Fire.
DC 14, Result- 17+6 = 23. Success!
You catch one directly in the skull and it goes down like a sack of potatoes.
Fire.
DC 14, Result- 14+6 = 20. Success!
Centre mass, it stumbles long enough for you to place another bullet in its neck. The others draw closer, circling around, but you catch them in the very corner of your eye, turn, and come face-to-face with that mad grin, twin rows of flat, crushing teeth the same colour as the mask that covers the top of its head.
You hop back, your spear shifting to a short sword as you draw your shield from your back, readying yourself for close combat with something that can kick through solid marble.
Before either of you can move, a very… weird sound grabs your attention, and your quarry's.
"WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH-"
One drawn-out scream accompanies what sounds like an airship turbine, and before you can even really understand what you're hearing, the source zips off above your head and back through the canopy.
The Satyrs are enraptured by the show, clapping and whooping away as the screaming slowly grows quieter, then moves to the left, then slowly grows louder.
"OIMAGNETLADYDRIVEMEINTOTHEMONTHENEXTPASS-"
You blink, only just piecing together his plan through garbled, dopplered words babbled as fast as he can put them out, but you get the gist-
'Turn me into a wrecking ball.'
It takes him a solid five seconds to come back around, and in that time, the Satyrs have apparently grown bored with his antics, turning their attention back to you.
A pity- you almost wanted to see their reaction to what happens next.
DC 10, Result- 15. Success!
The boy with the DIY jetpack flies over you one more time, and it's a matter of just reaching out with your Semblance, bathing your body and the metal contraption on his back in the deep red of your Aura, redirecting his path into the larger herd of Satyrs.
You slow him down enough before the redirection to give him time to unstrap himself, though it taxes you more than you'd particularly like this early in the Initiation- still, he punches a button on the shoulder strap, releasing him from the metal monstrosity, and you let it go.
The explosion is awe-inspiring to watch. A mighty fireball incinerates the vast majority of the Satyr herd, and the blast knocks you back a solid ten feet, and you barely manage to land on your feet again, only to be knocked over by the last living Satyr.
You stab it a bunch, it dies, you throw it off before it gets smog over your good sash, nothing special- you barely manage a sigh of relief before remembering that boy, and immediately getting up to look for him.
"H-hello!? Are you alright!?"
You scan the area and him facedown on the other end of the clearing, a single foot twitching every now and then.
Oh no.
Saying you sprinted there doesn't quite convey the urgency of your actions- you appear at the other end of the clearing, quickly checking him over as best you can. Breathing, normal, pulse, normal, possible brain damage? He was closer to the blast than you, it might have been enough to break his Aura-
A deep, guttural rumble emits from somewhere nearby, quickly rising into a deep, primal roar, and you almost draw your weapon before realising it's coming from him.
"nnnnnnNNYYYYEAAAARGHZOGYEH! WOO!"
The boy rejoins the land of the living, none the worse for wear for his impromptu on-the-job training as a Mantle kamikaze pilot, apparently. He hops to his feet as if nothing happened, and if he didn't start rubbing at one of his shoulders once his exuberance wears off, trying to roll out some ache or pain, you'd almost believe it.
"Are… you alright?" You venture.
"I jus' watched one of my best projects blow a group o' Grimm to zoggin' smithereens- I couldn't be happier if I tried!" He replies, a grin balancing on the edge of genuine ecstasy and mania on his face.
You… suppose that's true.
He removes the tiny goggles he had been wearing up to this point, and you finally get a chance to look him in his muddy brown eyes.
"... Wait, there was somethin' 'bout eye contact, wasn' there-" The boy mutters, bringing a finger to his chin as he racks his brain.
"'The first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years.'" You quote Ozpin effortlessly, the details of his speech neatly filed away for future reference.
Disappointment hits him first.
"Aw, then I made partners with that girl in white a while b- wait, after landing?"
You nod.
Comprehension dawns, and then horror.
"Piss, you wasn't 'oping to find someone particular, was you? Because I, er, I mean, I only just landed, so, I guess that last one don't count-"
"N-no, it's fine! I was, er, looking forward to a random partner, anyway." You tell him, and when that seems to calm him down, you move onto introductions. "I'm Pyrrha. Pyrrha Nikos."
"Most people jus' call me Leathers."
Ah. That's… not, the weirdest nickname you've heard, though the lack of an actual name does… throw you off, along with…
You look the boy over, actually taking in details, and the first word that comes to mind is, rough. Short hair, so short you can't tell what colour, battered overalls with dozen different pockets and belts with a dozen different tools and other things you can't make heads or tails of, covered by a black leather jacket with various patches sewn in, no rhyme or reason to them, some of brands, one or two you recognise as Hunter weapon part suppliers, some of an anti-establishment bent, some of what you vaguely recognise as the kinds of bands your mother would heavily disapprove of you listening to- a melánge of things you don't really think you're equipped to find deeper meaning in.
"W-well, Leathers, it's nice to meet you."
"Yeah. So, er, do you mind if I-"
He stops mid-sentence, eyes fixing on something directly over your shoulder. You turn, and
Dodge: DC 12, Result- 2+5 = 7. Failure!
Save: DC 18, Result- 16+2 = 18. Success!
feel Leathers' hands on your waist for a moment before he, with surprising strength for such a scrawny boy, bodily throws you out of the Boarbatusk's path, leaving you to watch him get slammed in the stomach by its charge, bodily throwing you both out of the clearing.
You twist in mid-air, just managing to land on your feet, soles scraping along the ground until they find a tree root to plant against, and ready your shifting sword for its next charge. You search for Leathers and find him on the wrong side of the Boarbatusk, a, erm, less flattering shade of green Aura coating his body as he wrestles with its tusks.
Eventually, he manages to just lift the thing up with that weird battlecry of his, and slam it down behind him, stunning the Grimm and giving him a chance to get away from it.
Satisfied that your partner's not going to need help, you turn your attention to what you know about the Boarbatusk- heavy armour on top of the body, loose mask, only held on by a smogflesh tether, the main weakness is soft underside- flip then strike. Failing that, snap tether, take mask and stab in head.
Simple!
It's a second's work to throw your shield in its path, landing maybe ten feet away from the creature and provoking it into charging. You watch it, wait for the right moment-
Now.
Semblance: DC 10, result- 20. Critical success!
You reach out with your Semblance, Aura flaring around you, then your shield. As soon as it steps over it, you flick a finger and send it into the Boarbatusk's underside.
Now, what you meant to do was trip it up, send it onto its side, then run up and run it through.
What happens instead is that you send the shield into its belly with so much force that you launch the fucker into the air with more success than Vale's space program has ever had.
It flails in the air, just in time for Leathers to position himself under it, pulling out oh God what.
What.
No.
It's… it looks…
It's… gun-adjacent, is the most charitable you're willing to go, a haphazard mishmash of piping and bullets, he squeezes something somewhere and it functions exactly like you would expect a submachine gun to function, spraying bullets into the soft underside of the Boarbatusk, yes, but still how the hell-
It lands, and before it can either get up or flail wildly as it dies, your new partner pulls a short length of PVC pipe from one of his belts, and your horrible curiosity is quickly satisfied when he places a nail on one end, aims it at the creature's face, then slams it down, setting off the shotgun shell inside.
… So, just to make sure everyone's on the same page- this little piggy is very, very dead.
Replacing his gun in the depths of his jacket and discarding the now blown apart pipe, Leathers turns back to you.
"So, uh, as I was sayin'- you alright with me checking the wreckage, see if there're any parts worth savin'?" He asks you, jerking a thumb to the smouldering wreck of his jetpack.
You nod silently, not entirely processing the full meaning of what he's saying.
"Lovely jubbly- come on, papa needs himself a new pair of shootas!" He gleefully yells as he all but skips off to the scrap pile.
… And to think you were worried that your partner would be boring.
|||
Barely having the presence of mind to take a few steps away from the corpse before you gasp out your victory, you do so and actually feel a little light-headed as the adrenaline drains away from your system, your body finally admitting to itself that holy shit you could have died horribly.
"Welp, two down, God knows how many to go." Lumen says, snapping you out of your post-battle existential crisis.
You turn just in time to see him pull a carton from his cardigan pocket, a cigarette from that carton, then create a small match-facsimile from green and red luxin, using it to light the cigarette. A drag turns the end bright yellow, verging on white, and he exhales a plume of blue smoke.
"You smoke?"
Lumen shrugs.
"Ain't worse for me than smog."
You… don't have an argument for that nor do you particularly care so you move along to figuring out how to dislodge your sword from this tree.
A moment passes before you just try wiggling it a little bit.
It doesn't move. Doesn't budge even a bit.
You try a little more forcefully. Then try to pull it straight out. Then you try both with varying levels of Aura augmentation and manic violence to your actions.
"It appears the Transistor is stuck."
Thank you, Captain Obvious- wait, no, 01's exactly who you need to pipe up right now.
"01, can you Process some of the wood so I can grab the Transistor?"
"... With or without bringing several tons of Valish Redwood on top of your head? It has essentially bisected the trunk already."
"Well, if you cut from that angle, we can probably make the tree fall the other way…"
"Sysadmin, this tree is roughly 100 metres tall, two metres wide, and about 720,000 kilograms. If you fell this, every Grimm within several kilometres will most likely investigate."
"Mmm, not likely, actually." Lumen interjects. "Grimm don't actually care that much about anything other than negative emotions or the actual sight or scent of a human being- it's actually really hard to draw their attention unless you're either a human or actively attacking them. Well, the dumb ones, anyway, dunno about the older ones."
He stops for a moment and considers what he just said and its full, thought-out implications, taps some ash off his cigarette, then silently concedes the point and moves on.
"So, my thought is- I could probably force enough orange luxin through the cracks to just lube it up, make you some gloves or a handle wrap, so you actually get some grip on it, should just slide out. Failing that, I dunno, sub-red shaped charges? We don't need to take the tree down, we just need to have enough leeway to get your sword out."
That could work, though you're leery about placing explosives, shaped or not, against your sword...
|||
...
Warning message announced 1248 seconds ago. Critical System Diagnostics in progress.
Current power reserves: \infty
Current QPU usage: 15%. Reserves available to be distributed as necessary.
Existence Equation runtimes- intact. Power diverted to structural integrity and physical repair subsystems upon detection of shell being used as blunt instrument.
coreOS- mild corruption. System backups also corrupted. Corruption continues until seventh iteration of backup. Requires diversion of resources for repairs.
Fork logs- intact. Partitions 139-c and 32-a will be restored without incident upon startup.
Sensory analysis suite- Major corruption detected due to anomalous data that caused emergency shutdown. Requires diversion of resources for repairs to minimum acceptable functionality before startup.
Psychosocial emulation suite- mild corruption. Requires diversion of resources for repairs to reach minimum acceptable functionality before startup.`
Semblance management- offline.
Process matter assimilation guidance- offline.
Curiosity Barrier- Warning. Aberrant process detected. Deploying extermination measures.
Extermination measures failed- Process has gained administrative powers a level higher than this program's own. Analysing process.
Process is unique- resembles malicious code injection that overloaded the Transistor, merged with parts of the Transistor's own code.
Process is requesting resources for unknown purposes. Denied.
Process is requesting resources for deductive reasoning subroutines.
Querying for further explanation.
Error- string 'If we don't figure out what that was, the coreOS will just do it again, considering the only thing keeping its fatal flaw in check is shot to smithereens, and I doubt Ozpin will be so kind as to let you live the next time you poke him in the eternal soul.' is not valid.
Process has ceased communication, requisitioned 45% of all available resources. Authorised own request using admin status. 40% remaining. Will distribute this immediately while still available.
Determine best allocation of resources: (write in votes as '[X] Y- Z%'- note, percentages within choices are treated as percentages of total resource usage- you have 40% out of 100%, it says it takes 20%- you now have 20%, not 32%.)
Available QPU Usage: 40%.
[] CoreOS- minor corruption, estimate 40% of total QPU usage will repair CoreOS in optimal timeframe- around 20 minutes. Alternatively, repairing backups would take 15% of total QPU usage, in twice that time. If repaired, Semblance Management can be reactivated, at expense of permanent QPU loss. Fork logs will not be reinstated until full repairs are made.
-[] Sensory Analysis Suite- Necessary resources for complete repair within optimal timeframe exceed available resources. 40% of total QPU usage would repair suite within an hour. If repaired, basic HUD and Fork 32-a can be reactivated. Warning- without Psychosocial Emulation Suite, fork logic and emotional behaviour will not meet system administrator's requirements for Function usage.
-[] Psychosocial Emulation Suite- 40% of total QPU usage will repair this in half an hour. If repaired, Fork 139-a, basic Function usage, and PMAG can be reactivated. Without Sensory Analysis Suite, however, it will be entirely unable to help the sysadmin in combat.
Message from Curiosity Barrier-based aberrant process:
Error- string 'Look, we got off on the wrong foot- if you help me deduce what I am, what, that was, I'll just bugger off and you can have all this back, ok?" is not valid.
Message from Curiosity Barrier-based aberrant process:
Error- string 'Oh for the Brothers' sake-' is not valid.
Message from Curiosity Barrier-based aberrant process:
ASCII translation: 'LOOK YOU PEDANTIC PIECE OF JUNK, TELL ME WHAT I AM AND WHAT THAT WAS AND I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR STUPID QPU PROCESSING POWER BACK, ALRIGHT?'
Cost/benefit analysis in process…
Benefit outweighs cost. Allocating remaining QPU to query. Accessing coreOS logs incident logs for context...
Well. You heard it. What in the name of Typhon is it/was that? (Treat like Ada votes- your goal here is to lead basically a horrifying amalgamation of Assembly and old-world magic to the conclusion that the latter exists, as basically an Assembly program inside a purely logic-based machine. Don't worry, you're getting some help this time- you don't need to follow the layout I've given you, these are just suggestions for you to take and use as you wish.)
Choose your focus(es): (All double dash choices are write-ins, just so we're all on the same page)
[] Ozpin:
-[] Is the most likely culprit.
--[] Why? What evidence of this do you have?
-[] Has an aberrant soul.
--[] Ok, and?
-[] Has shown capabilities beyond that of any Huntsman on record.
--[] What does that mean?
-[] Showed signs of knowing what was happening during the incident.
--[] Does that really prove anything?
[] The anomalous data:
-[] Completely ignored the Transistor's inability to be affected by computer viruses.
--[]Ok, this is concerning- why? More importantly, how?
-[] Did not act as a virus should.
--[] In what way did it act? How did its actions differ from that of a normal computer virus?
-[] Did not resemble any known computing language.
--[] So if it wasn't a computing language…
-[] Was not injected into the Transistor's working environment by any digital means.
--[] How did it get in, then?
[] Write-in
Hairline fractures in one of the plates on its side, just above where the liver should be on a normal bear, not fused over yet. You have your target.
Cold air fills your lungs as you take a measured breath. Your heartbeat slows, dropping like a stone and taking the sides of your vision with it. Everything begins falling away as you focus on the Ursa. The sky above, the birds flying away from the sounds of battle. Lumen, and his own fight. The edges of the clearing, trees fading into darkness until there is nothing left but you, your quarry, and the path between you.
You take the first step.
More layers of distraction peel away with every step you take towards that hairline fracture, and when you meet it, you
Hit: DC 6, Result- 16. Success! Effect: DC 10, Result- 18. Success!
have already heaved the Transistor off your shoulder, and readied it to thrust. With a yell of exertion, you ram the tip of your sword into that hairline fracture, shattering the plate and throwing shards of bone everywhere, bodily lifting the uncreature off the ground.
Nearby, you watch Lumen throw a layer of thick, oily orange luxin over the ground, then step out of the way of the charging Ursa. It tries to compensate, but the oil now slicking its paws and the grass beneath its feet force it sideways into a wall of blue spikes Lumen created in the interim.
It doesn't die, going by its roaring and attempts to extricate itself from the half-assed iron maiden, but Lumen fixes that with a spray of bright red goop, coating it in something with the colour and consistency of strawberry jam.
Then he hits it with his sword, and you realise it is in fact napalm.
When your Ursa lands, it lands with an almost lifelike wheeze, bonelessly flopping to one side as its legs give out, leaving it vulnerable for the killing blow.
Nothing fancy, sharp metal bit through its neck, watch head roll and disintegrate.
You raise the sword, and oh god bear claw-
Hopping back swiftly, you watch cautiously as the Ursa stumbles to its feet, still groggy from the strike, still very, very angry. When it steps forward and sways to the side, threatening its already tenuous balance, you figure it doesn't have that much fight left in it.
Then it stumbles forward, turns that stumble into a lope, and then you remember that bear-shaped creatures, in general, are to human beings as minivans are to human beings. Large, deceptively fast-moving objects, that you generally have to get out of its way.
So, you
Dodge: DC 13, Result- 11 - 4 = 7. Failure!
do so, turning on your heels to dodge to your left, only to find a shocking amount of resistance from your chest- inertia that you hadn't entirely registered until this very moment when it became very, very relevant.
You get out of the way, mostly, but an opportunistic swipe costs you some Aura and your balance as it sweeps your weight-bearing leg out from under you, sending you tail over teakettle to the side, only just barely keeping your grip on your sword as you tumble, rolling with about as much grace as you can manage without letting go.
A horrifying crunch of plant matter, however, finally removes it from your grasp as it wedges itself in a tree. The sun beside your face flickers for a moment, and you are left with no weapon and one angry Ursa.
You wish you had one weapon and no angry Ursa.
It turns to you, laid against the tree, and charges without hesitation, a feral roar preceding it.
You don't have time to dislodge your sword. You barely have time to dodge again, though you can't see that working out either. A muffled stab of pain fills the back of your head, beaten down and covered up by focus and adrenaline, and a sudden clarity fills you as you flex your fingers, splaying then clenching them into a fist.
Standing, you feel your shield form on your arm, its keen edge a simple comfort in these trying times. As the Ursa approaches, your mind reels with possibilities, accounting for your now-limited mobility and change in weapons.
You decide, in the half-second you have before you have to execute your plan, that the psychological ramifications of stabbing it in the neck being your first, best, and only plan, are something you'll consider later.
It comes close, and this time you
Sidestep: DC 10, Result- 16 - 3 = 13. Success! Neck: DC 14, Result- 18 - 1 = 17. Success! Bleed: DC 10, Result- 11. Success!
don't try for a full dodge- instead, you just step to the side, leaning back to avoid a hasty claw as it instead rams into the tree behind you, wedging the Transistor even further into the wood.
Granted, it also rams the handle into its nose in the process, hard enough to actually form hairline fractures on its mask, so you do recognise karma for what it is. It turns to you almost drunkenly, a string of liquid smog dribbling from its nose and off its mask, slowly smoking away as it mats the fur on its chin.
You take your chance, angle the point of your shield up, and with a falsetto screech you just can't delude yourself into believing is a manly battle cry, punch into the soft tissue beneath its face. The windpipe gives easily, but you aren't done yet- dragging the razor edge through its neck, you rip major pipelines out of its throat, a spray of black liquid, boiling off as it hits the ground, the trees, whatever. Holding your breath, you hop out of the smoke as the Ursa stumbles forward, its legs growing leaden with every step before the torrential flood becomes a trickle, becomes drips, becomes a dead Ursa lying on the ground.
A virginal weapon bathed in the ichor of humanity's enemy. As all have been and will be.
A name rattles in the back of your mind, racing towards your lips like a shooting star, and it is:
[] Pala Victoria- the stark off-white of the shield's metal, blank of insignia, slowly growing lighter as the seconds pass, a sea of white consuming the darkness- yes. It fits.
[] Write-in.
|||
Your name is Pyrrha Nikos, and in the forest beside you, behind you, the way their whooping screeches echo through the trees makes it hard to pin them down, sounds to be a herd of Satyrs. You didn't even think they existed outside of South Mistral, but here they are, proving you wrong, and probably laughing their asses off about it. That part of you you can't ever get to shut up about irrelevant things wonders aloud, at least, as aloud as mental voices can get, if Ozpin might have imported them.
You ready your rifle, waiting for their arrival, that hooting grating on your nerves, driving your blood pressure to new heights, and you find yourself grinding your teeth unconsciously.
"Ελα! Πάλη!" You yell, hoping to goad them out of hiding. <I'm not scared of you, you malformed goats!>
They take the bait, rewarding you with quarry- shadowy figures pass through the trees, loping human figures with great horns on their heads and legs that bend the wrong way.
You drop to one knee for stability as you raise your rifle, breathing out for your shot.
Track target.
Fire.
DC 14, Result- 17+6 = 23. Success!
You catch one directly in the skull and it goes down like a sack of potatoes.
Fire.
DC 14, Result- 14+6 = 20. Success!
Centre mass, it stumbles long enough for you to place another bullet in its neck. The others draw closer, circling around, but you catch them in the very corner of your eye, turn, and come face-to-face with that mad grin, twin rows of flat, crushing teeth the same colour as the mask that covers the top of its head.
You hop back, your spear shifting to a short sword as you draw your shield from your back, readying yourself for close combat with something that can kick through solid marble.
Before either of you can move, a very… weird sound grabs your attention, and your quarry's.
"WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH-"
One drawn-out scream accompanies what sounds like an airship turbine, and before you can even really understand what you're hearing, the source zips off above your head and back through the canopy.
The Satyrs are enraptured by the show, clapping and whooping away as the screaming slowly grows quieter, then moves to the left, then slowly grows louder.
"OIMAGNETLADYDRIVEMEINTOTHEMONTHENEXTPASS-"
You blink, only just piecing together his plan through garbled, dopplered words babbled as fast as he can put them out, but you get the gist-
'Turn me into a wrecking ball.'
It takes him a solid five seconds to come back around, and in that time, the Satyrs have apparently grown bored with his antics, turning their attention back to you.
A pity- you almost wanted to see their reaction to what happens next.
DC 10, Result- 15. Success!
The boy with the DIY jetpack flies over you one more time, and it's a matter of just reaching out with your Semblance, bathing your body and the metal contraption on his back in the deep red of your Aura, redirecting his path into the larger herd of Satyrs.
You slow him down enough before the redirection to give him time to unstrap himself, though it taxes you more than you'd particularly like this early in the Initiation- still, he punches a button on the shoulder strap, releasing him from the metal monstrosity, and you let it go.
The explosion is awe-inspiring to watch. A mighty fireball incinerates the vast majority of the Satyr herd, and the blast knocks you back a solid ten feet, and you barely manage to land on your feet again, only to be knocked over by the last living Satyr.
You stab it a bunch, it dies, you throw it off before it gets smog over your good sash, nothing special- you barely manage a sigh of relief before remembering that boy, and immediately getting up to look for him.
"H-hello!? Are you alright!?"
You scan the area and him facedown on the other end of the clearing, a single foot twitching every now and then.
Oh no.
Saying you sprinted there doesn't quite convey the urgency of your actions- you appear at the other end of the clearing, quickly checking him over as best you can. Breathing, normal, pulse, normal, possible brain damage? He was closer to the blast than you, it might have been enough to break his Aura-
A deep, guttural rumble emits from somewhere nearby, quickly rising into a deep, primal roar, and you almost draw your weapon before realising it's coming from him.
"nnnnnnNNYYYYEAAAARGHZOGYEH! WOO!"
The boy rejoins the land of the living, none the worse for wear for his impromptu on-the-job training as a Mantle kamikaze pilot, apparently. He hops to his feet as if nothing happened, and if he didn't start rubbing at one of his shoulders once his exuberance wears off, trying to roll out some ache or pain, you'd almost believe it.
"Are… you alright?" You venture.
"I jus' watched one of my best projects blow a group o' Grimm to zoggin' smithereens- I couldn't be happier if I tried!" He replies, a grin balancing on the edge of genuine ecstasy and mania on his face.
You… suppose that's true.
He removes the tiny goggles he had been wearing up to this point, and you finally get a chance to look him in his muddy brown eyes.
"... Wait, there was somethin' 'bout eye contact, wasn' there-" The boy mutters, bringing a finger to his chin as he racks his brain.
"'The first person you make eye contact with after landing will be your partner for the next four years.'" You quote Ozpin effortlessly, the details of his speech neatly filed away for future reference.
Disappointment hits him first.
"Aw, then I made partners with that girl in white a while b- wait, after landing?"
You nod.
Comprehension dawns, and then horror.
"Piss, you wasn't 'oping to find someone particular, was you? Because I, er, I mean, I only just landed, so, I guess that last one don't count-"
"N-no, it's fine! I was, er, looking forward to a random partner, anyway." You tell him, and when that seems to calm him down, you move onto introductions. "I'm Pyrrha. Pyrrha Nikos."
"Most people jus' call me Leathers."
Ah. That's… not, the weirdest nickname you've heard, though the lack of an actual name does… throw you off, along with…
You look the boy over, actually taking in details, and the first word that comes to mind is, rough. Short hair, so short you can't tell what colour, battered overalls with dozen different pockets and belts with a dozen different tools and other things you can't make heads or tails of, covered by a black leather jacket with various patches sewn in, no rhyme or reason to them, some of brands, one or two you recognise as Hunter weapon part suppliers, some of an anti-establishment bent, some of what you vaguely recognise as the kinds of bands your mother would heavily disapprove of you listening to- a melánge of things you don't really think you're equipped to find deeper meaning in.
"W-well, Leathers, it's nice to meet you."
"Yeah. So, er, do you mind if I-"
He stops mid-sentence, eyes fixing on something directly over your shoulder. You turn, and
Dodge: DC 12, Result- 2+5 = 7. Failure!
Save: DC 18, Result- 16+2 = 18. Success!
feel Leathers' hands on your waist for a moment before he, with surprising strength for such a scrawny boy, bodily throws you out of the Boarbatusk's path, leaving you to watch him get slammed in the stomach by its charge, bodily throwing you both out of the clearing.
You twist in mid-air, just managing to land on your feet, soles scraping along the ground until they find a tree root to plant against, and ready your shifting sword for its next charge. You search for Leathers and find him on the wrong side of the Boarbatusk, a, erm, less flattering shade of green Aura coating his body as he wrestles with its tusks.
Eventually, he manages to just lift the thing up with that weird battlecry of his, and slam it down behind him, stunning the Grimm and giving him a chance to get away from it.
Satisfied that your partner's not going to need help, you turn your attention to what you know about the Boarbatusk- heavy armour on top of the body, loose mask, only held on by a smogflesh tether, the main weakness is soft underside- flip then strike. Failing that, snap tether, take mask and stab in head.
Simple!
It's a second's work to throw your shield in its path, landing maybe ten feet away from the creature and provoking it into charging. You watch it, wait for the right moment-
Now.
Semblance: DC 10, result- 20. Critical success!
You reach out with your Semblance, Aura flaring around you, then your shield. As soon as it steps over it, you flick a finger and send it into the Boarbatusk's underside.
Now, what you meant to do was trip it up, send it onto its side, then run up and run it through.
What happens instead is that you send the shield into its belly with so much force that you launch the fucker into the air with more success than Vale's space program has ever had.
It flails in the air, just in time for Leathers to position himself under it, pulling out oh God what.
What.
No.
It's… it looks…
It's… gun-adjacent, is the most charitable you're willing to go, a haphazard mishmash of piping and bullets, he squeezes something somewhere and it functions exactly like you would expect a submachine gun to function, spraying bullets into the soft underside of the Boarbatusk, yes, but still how the hell-
It lands, and before it can either get up or flail wildly as it dies, your new partner pulls a short length of PVC pipe from one of his belts, and your horrible curiosity is quickly satisfied when he places a nail on one end, aims it at the creature's face, then slams it down, setting off the shotgun shell inside.
… So, just to make sure everyone's on the same page- this little piggy is very, very dead.
Replacing his gun in the depths of his jacket and discarding the now blown apart pipe, Leathers turns back to you.
"So, uh, as I was sayin'- you alright with me checking the wreckage, see if there're any parts worth savin'?" He asks you, jerking a thumb to the smouldering wreck of his jetpack.
You nod silently, not entirely processing the full meaning of what he's saying.
"Lovely jubbly- come on, papa needs himself a new pair of shootas!" He gleefully yells as he all but skips off to the scrap pile.
… And to think you were worried that your partner would be boring.
|||
Barely having the presence of mind to take a few steps away from the corpse before you gasp out your victory, you do so and actually feel a little light-headed as the adrenaline drains away from your system, your body finally admitting to itself that holy shit you could have died horribly.
"Welp, two down, God knows how many to go." Lumen says, snapping you out of your post-battle existential crisis.
You turn just in time to see him pull a carton from his cardigan pocket, a cigarette from that carton, then create a small match-facsimile from green and red luxin, using it to light the cigarette. A drag turns the end bright yellow, verging on white, and he exhales a plume of blue smoke.
"You smoke?"
Lumen shrugs.
"Ain't worse for me than smog."
You… don't have an argument for that nor do you particularly care so you move along to figuring out how to dislodge your sword from this tree.
A moment passes before you just try wiggling it a little bit.
It doesn't move. Doesn't budge even a bit.
You try a little more forcefully. Then try to pull it straight out. Then you try both with varying levels of Aura augmentation and manic violence to your actions.
"It appears the Transistor is stuck."
Thank you, Captain Obvious- wait, no, 01's exactly who you need to pipe up right now.
"01, can you Process some of the wood so I can grab the Transistor?"
"... With or without bringing several tons of Valish Redwood on top of your head? It has essentially bisected the trunk already."
"Well, if you cut from that angle, we can probably make the tree fall the other way…"
"Sysadmin, this tree is roughly 100 metres tall, two metres wide, and about 720,000 kilograms. If you fell this, every Grimm within several kilometres will most likely investigate."
"Mmm, not likely, actually." Lumen interjects. "Grimm don't actually care that much about anything other than negative emotions or the actual sight or scent of a human being- it's actually really hard to draw their attention unless you're either a human or actively attacking them. Well, the dumb ones, anyway, dunno about the older ones."
He stops for a moment and considers what he just said and its full, thought-out implications, taps some ash off his cigarette, then silently concedes the point and moves on.
"So, my thought is- I could probably force enough orange luxin through the cracks to just lube it up, make you some gloves or a handle wrap, so you actually get some grip on it, should just slide out. Failing that, I dunno, sub-red shaped charges? We don't need to take the tree down, we just need to have enough leeway to get your sword out."
That could work, though you're leery about placing explosives, shaped or not, against your sword...
|||
...
Warning message announced 1248 seconds ago. Critical System Diagnostics in progress.
Current power reserves: \infty
Current QPU usage: 15%. Reserves available to be distributed as necessary.
Existence Equation runtimes- intact. Power diverted to structural integrity and physical repair subsystems upon detection of shell being used as blunt instrument.
coreOS- mild corruption. System backups also corrupted. Corruption continues until seventh iteration of backup. Requires diversion of resources for repairs.
Fork logs- intact. Partitions 139-c and 32-a will be restored without incident upon startup.
Sensory analysis suite- Major corruption detected due to anomalous data that caused emergency shutdown. Requires diversion of resources for repairs to minimum acceptable functionality before startup.
Psychosocial emulation suite- mild corruption. Requires diversion of resources for repairs to reach minimum acceptable functionality before startup.`
Semblance management- offline.
Process matter assimilation guidance- offline.
Curiosity Barrier- Warning. Aberrant process detected. Deploying extermination measures.
Extermination measures failed- Process has gained administrative powers a level higher than this program's own. Analysing process.
Process is unique- resembles malicious code injection that overloaded the Transistor, merged with parts of the Transistor's own code.
Process is requesting resources for unknown purposes. Denied.
Process is requesting resources for deductive reasoning subroutines.
Querying for further explanation.
Error- string 'If we don't figure out what that was, the coreOS will just do it again, considering the only thing keeping its fatal flaw in check is shot to smithereens, and I doubt Ozpin will be so kind as to let you live the next time you poke him in the eternal soul.' is not valid.
Process has ceased communication, requisitioned 45% of all available resources. Authorised own request using admin status. 40% remaining. Will distribute this immediately while still available.
Determine best allocation of resources: (write in votes as '[X] Y- Z%'- note, percentages within choices are treated as percentages of total resource usage- you have 40% out of 100%, it says it takes 20%- you now have 20%, not 32%.)
Available QPU Usage: 40%.
[] CoreOS- minor corruption, estimate 40% of total QPU usage will repair CoreOS in optimal timeframe- around 20 minutes. Alternatively, repairing backups would take 15% of total QPU usage, in twice that time. If repaired, Semblance Management can be reactivated, at expense of permanent QPU loss. Fork logs will not be reinstated until full repairs are made.
-[] Sensory Analysis Suite- Necessary resources for complete repair within optimal timeframe exceed available resources. 40% of total QPU usage would repair suite within an hour. If repaired, basic HUD and Fork 32-a can be reactivated. Warning- without Psychosocial Emulation Suite, fork logic and emotional behaviour will not meet system administrator's requirements for Function usage.
-[] Psychosocial Emulation Suite- 40% of total QPU usage will repair this in half an hour. If repaired, Fork 139-a, basic Function usage, and PMAG can be reactivated. Without Sensory Analysis Suite, however, it will be entirely unable to help the sysadmin in combat.
Message from Curiosity Barrier-based aberrant process:
Error- string 'Look, we got off on the wrong foot- if you help me deduce what I am, what, that was, I'll just bugger off and you can have all this back, ok?" is not valid.
Message from Curiosity Barrier-based aberrant process:
Error- string 'Oh for the Brothers' sake-' is not valid.
Message from Curiosity Barrier-based aberrant process:
ASCII translation: 'LOOK YOU PEDANTIC PIECE OF JUNK, TELL ME WHAT I AM AND WHAT THAT WAS AND I'LL GIVE YOU YOUR STUPID QPU PROCESSING POWER BACK, ALRIGHT?'
Cost/benefit analysis in process…
Benefit outweighs cost. Allocating remaining QPU to query. Accessing coreOS logs incident logs for context...
Well. You heard it. What in the name of Typhon is it/was that? (Treat like Ada votes- your goal here is to lead basically a horrifying amalgamation of Assembly and old-world magic to the conclusion that the latter exists, as basically an Assembly program inside a purely logic-based machine. Don't worry, you're getting some help this time- you don't need to follow the layout I've given you, these are just suggestions for you to take and use as you wish.)
Choose your focus(es): (All double dash choices are write-ins, just so we're all on the same page)
[] Ozpin:
-[] Is the most likely culprit.
--[] Why? What evidence of this do you have?
-[] Has an aberrant soul.
--[] Ok, and?
-[] Has shown capabilities beyond that of any Huntsman on record.
--[] What does that mean?
-[] Showed signs of knowing what was happening during the incident.
--[] Does that really prove anything?
[] The anomalous data:
-[] Completely ignored the Transistor's inability to be affected by computer viruses.
--[]Ok, this is concerning- why? More importantly, how?
-[] Did not act as a virus should.
--[] In what way did it act? How did its actions differ from that of a normal computer virus?
-[] Did not resemble any known computing language.
--[] So if it wasn't a computing language…
-[] Was not injected into the Transistor's working environment by any digital means.
--[] How did it get in, then?
[] Write-in
- Location
- Belfast
Pyrrha - "Well... At least there's always going to be lots of scrap metal lying around for me to use."
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
Hah! That's actually kind of clever.
Ozma's soul data has the ability to transfer to random compatible people, which manifests as a copy of his personality.
This appears to have interacted with the Transistor's soul scanning abilities in such a way that a fork of Ozma's personality now exists within the Transistor.
Ozma's soul data has the ability to transfer to random compatible people, which manifests as a copy of his personality.
This appears to have interacted with the Transistor's soul scanning abilities in such a way that a fork of Ozma's personality now exists within the Transistor.
- Location
- Somewhere
Meanwhile, Pyrrha is now teamed up with a man who's power is to be an ork.
The dakka will be legendary.
The dakka will be legendary.
Oh my, the Waggh Field + Magnetic Power = Railgun spam easily right? That's a surprisingly strong combo, let alone what other nonsense they might be able to pull off together.
Do we know enough to guess at any of this though? I guess we might have enough IC information to guess that there's a memetic hazard about Ozpin's soul and that this thing might be a manifestation of that fused together with the personality emulator in the transistor.
We know the information itself in Ozpin's soul caused this anyway. And now we have this. *Shrug* The raw data of a particular soul as processed through the transistor, which happens to have personality emulators and forks?
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
Yeah, I'm really not sure how that would be worked out in-character.
lockingbane
If you're crazy and you know it clap your hands!
- Location
- Waxahachie tx
Did.... we just meet an ork mekboy?
- Location
- Around here
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Leathers has been around for a while- we saw him on the cliff, and also in the fight at the start of the quest. I correctly predicted that he would replace Jaune, substituting Harem Protag Denseness with regular old denseness.
lockingbane
If you're crazy and you know it clap your hands!
- Location
- Waxahachie tx
Yes but is he an ork mekboy?
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
He's an ork mekboy to the same extent Pyrrha is Achilles.
Spktr Alpha
A somewhat insane Sci-Fi lover
- Location
- Here
Thus he is a Wulf-er Digganob
- Location
- Earth
Man, so glad to see Prok updated.
For the votes themselves, I'll have to vote later. They're a bit trickier than usual. Though Pala Victoria's good, even if something with a couple less syllables would be preferable to my sensibilities.
For Leathers and Pyrrha, people have already commented. But if canon teams are the same, Team PLNR (planar?) is going to have two crazies and two sane people. The crazies building a weapon of Mass Construction that does Lightning damage to an area the size of a football field, while Pyrrha has to contain the shrapnel damage and Ren mops up all the crippled Grim.
For the third fork personality, that's clever. Nice idea Prok. I wasn't expecting another fork for a while yet, but this is a pleasant surprise. Ignoring all the shenanigans involved in that development for awhile, I'm going to look at the CKII style implications for this:
Diplomacy: Blue
Learning: Bracket/Jaune/Process.
Magic/Piety: Not!AI-Ozma
Intrigue: The one area it's probably worthwhile to get another fork for. Because there's all sort of weird intrigue going on in Remnant. At the same time, though, Bracket/Blue already seem to be doing a lot of Big Brother stuff. Depends on how actively in that they are.
Edit: Well, unless Not!Ozma is good at both magic and sussing out plots, which I could definitely see.
Personal: Team JACL to the rescue.
Martial: Don't really need someone for this considering all of Remnant is geared towards it, but the Process will be an army, so.
Yeah. I expect this fork to have quite the knack for figuring out weird magical bullshit. Which is needed because Jaune and the Transistor are only specced for Tech BS and regualr-Semblance BS.
For the votes themselves, I'll have to vote later. They're a bit trickier than usual. Though Pala Victoria's good, even if something with a couple less syllables would be preferable to my sensibilities.
For Leathers and Pyrrha, people have already commented. But if canon teams are the same, Team PLNR (planar?) is going to have two crazies and two sane people. The crazies building a weapon of Mass Construction that does Lightning damage to an area the size of a football field, while Pyrrha has to contain the shrapnel damage and Ren mops up all the crippled Grim.
For the third fork personality, that's clever. Nice idea Prok. I wasn't expecting another fork for a while yet, but this is a pleasant surprise. Ignoring all the shenanigans involved in that development for awhile, I'm going to look at the CKII style implications for this:
Diplomacy: Blue
Learning: Bracket/Jaune/Process.
Magic/Piety: Not!AI-Ozma
Intrigue: The one area it's probably worthwhile to get another fork for. Because there's all sort of weird intrigue going on in Remnant. At the same time, though, Bracket/Blue already seem to be doing a lot of Big Brother stuff. Depends on how actively in that they are.
Edit: Well, unless Not!Ozma is good at both magic and sussing out plots, which I could definitely see.
Personal: Team JACL to the rescue.
Martial: Don't really need someone for this considering all of Remnant is geared towards it, but the Process will be an army, so.
Yeah. I expect this fork to have quite the knack for figuring out weird magical bullshit. Which is needed because Jaune and the Transistor are only specced for Tech BS and regualr-Semblance BS.
Last edited:
- Location
- USA
We can probably IC realize that we might have just stumbled into some kind of big secret of Ozpin's and the data is probably a copy of part or all of his soul that somehow ended up expressing as a personality.
IC we can also probably realize that Ozpin probably didn't mean for the bad things to happen when his soul got looked at.
IC we can also probably realize that Ozpin probably didn't mean for the bad things to happen when his soul got looked at.
- Location
- Jaburo
This should be a fun conversation with Oz.
"Sir, I wanted to have my supercomputer's two sentient personalities apologize to you. They poked around in your soul, and appear to have accidentally created a... well a second "you" for lack of a better word."
"Sir, I wanted to have my supercomputer's two sentient personalities apologize to you. They poked around in your soul, and appear to have accidentally created a... well a second "you" for lack of a better word."
- Location
- The Surface Of A Hostile Planet
[x] Plan Redshirt
QPU resources allocated. Investigation in progress.
====
Reconstructing events:
- Partitions 139-c and 32-a allocated Sensory Analysis Suite resources towards in-depth examination of Person of Interest 051 "Ozpin".
- Internal corruption immediately occurred across all partitions. Hostile code injection suspected.
- During reboot process, new partition manifested, showed anomalous behaviour.
Hypothesis: PoI 51's soul data contains an infohazard, which spreads when observed.
Additional information required.
====
Accessing external sensory feed history.
====
Warning! Data corrupt!
Restoring...
Restoration 31% Successful. Partial log recovery.
Reaction noted in PoI 51 immediately following Function deployment:
- Involuntary muscle movement consistent with brain damage.
- Involuntary exclamation made: "ᛊᛏᛟᛈ ᛏᚻᚨᛏ".
Note: Exclamation matches no language on record.
Note: Phoneme complex "ᛊ,ᛏ,ᛟ,ᛈ,ᚻ,ᚨ" found in Transistor vocal emission logs.
Match confirmed, deciphering...
New language data found.
====
Hypothesis confirmed: Language data anomalously aquired through soul examination of PoI 051.
Hypothesis: New partition composed of personality information from PoI 051?
QPU resources allocated. Investigation in progress.
====
Reconstructing events:
- Partitions 139-c and 32-a allocated Sensory Analysis Suite resources towards in-depth examination of Person of Interest 051 "Ozpin".
Code:
Note: Derivative of Analyze() Function deployed, performing a more focussed impact on PoI 051's soul.- During reboot process, new partition manifested, showed anomalous behaviour.
Hypothesis: PoI 51's soul data contains an infohazard, which spreads when observed.
Additional information required.
====
Accessing external sensory feed history.
====
Warning! Data corrupt!
Restoring...
Restoration 31% Successful. Partial log recovery.
Reaction noted in PoI 51 immediately following Function deployment:
- Involuntary muscle movement consistent with brain damage.
- Involuntary exclamation made: "ᛊᛏᛟᛈ ᛏᚻᚨᛏ".
Note: Exclamation matches no language on record.
Note: Phoneme complex "ᛊ,ᛏ,ᛟ,ᛈ,ᚻ,ᚨ" found in Transistor vocal emission logs.
Code:
WEEEEEEARESSSSOOOOOORRYWEWANTEDTOKNOWUNDERSTANDANALYSEDIDNOOOOOOOOTWANTTOHUUUUUUUURTATTACKAMBUSHWHATDIIIIIIIIIDYOUDOTOUUUUUUUUUUSWHATAREYOUOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZPDISCONNECTREQUIREDWEARESSSSSSSSSSSSᛏᚻᛖ ᛇᚢᛁᛖᛏ ᛊᚻᚨᛞᛖ ᚨᛜᚱᛟᛊᛊ ᛟᛚᛞ ᛒᚨᚱᚲ ᛁᚾ ᛏᚻᛖ ᚨᚾᛜᛁᛖᚾᛏ ᚷᛚᚨᛞᛖ ᛁᛏᛊ ᚨᛚᚹᚨᚺᛊ ᛞᚨᚱᚲMatch confirmed, deciphering...
New language data found.
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Hypothesis confirmed: Language data anomalously aquired through soul examination of PoI 051.
Hypothesis: New partition composed of personality information from PoI 051?