An array of bits of things I work on now and again. Stupid plot bunnies. Free to a good home...
Plot Bunnies to a good home, please
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An array of bits of things I work on now and again. Stupid plot bunnies. Free to a good home that isn't my brain. Including, but not limited to, Young justice, Oc ideas I threw away because lack of imagination, little bits of nonsense that run through my brain, dumb ideas that never branched out, short stories for my up and coming novel, and random bits of fluff.
... I'm just going to shove all of these here.
1. Warcraft
Eris rubbed her back against the rough bark of the fel-touched tree, the glowing green abomination cracking and splintering with the force of the pressure. A slick, wet tearing sound echoed across the empty plains of the planet, a dark purple reptilian-looking piece of thick, armor-like skin dropped onto the ground next to it, the insides of it still wet with fluids.
Eris sighed in relief, basking in the release of pressure, before carefully collecting the freed dragon-scale plate and turning away towards where she sensed was the nearest camp. Despite what she, and most of her brothers and sisters-in-arms wished, the Burning Legion stopped for nobody.
Not even a Black Dragon.
(Not that they knew that.)
Rubbing the now freed area where the scale plate used to be, Eris mourned that she couldn't just do that, but all over her body, all at once. There were reasons not to, of course. Mostly that the new area usually took a bit of time to harden and become armor and demons were a thing and also mindlessly hostile, but also mostly because doing so so suddenly would leave her with an excess of dragon scales and scale-plates. Which her fellows would then question. Again.
Shaking that train of thought off as she entered the camp, demon-hide satchel glistening in the fel light, a wave of green glowing eyes following her steps as she came to what she privately referred to as her spot. A pair of fel-enchanted blades rested at her sides, her own, self-crafted weapons against the burning legion. They were cracked and chipped almost to the point the silverish gleam of the metal was overrun by the dark and light green of dried and fresh fel-corrupted blood, but they were hers, her partners until the ends of time.
(Or, She thought, side-eyeing a particularly large crack, until they break into pieces.)
Resting them against her sides in an easy to reach place, she laid on her stomach, her wings stretching away from her as she basked in the newest victory against the demon lord and soaked up sunlight. Wrapping her arms under her breasts as support, and to not crush them under her weight, she dozed. Halfway into the hazy corridors of sleep, but still aware of her surroundings.
The sun slowly peeled away from her wings, her brethren, at least, those who were not staying up on watch for tonight, curling up against her beastly form in substitution for their lord's. And finally, she fell.
"-Your cause DIES WITH HIM!" A clanking of chains, the glow of green that signaled the accursed fel, and a Demon Lord, the first they'd ever defeated together.
"NO!" She shouted, but it wasn't her speaking. It was more as though she was a spectator in her own skin.
A leap that threw her over her lord to land in front of him, and using the weight of her movement to bury her weapon in the stone, horrible chains bouncing off her weapons and then a sharp smack that threw her into the broken pillar Illidan had just vacated.
The force of the sudden stop rang throughout her body with pain, and she relaxed slightly in agony, before the face of the Demon Lord they were sent to destroy was suddenly in front of her, his tusks to her either side, trapping her in place.
Her teeth bared in warning, even as she tensed for death, the foul creature drew in a breath through his nose and stared at her in fascination.
"You smell more of Dragon than Hunter." The accursed lord cackled with a smirk. "You would serve us well."
"Never." She promised, staring above to watch as the shadow of Illidan drew his glaives through the Demon Lord's chest, vanquishing him in a burst of fel energy and foul-smelling smoke.
Illidan uncurled his wings from where they surrounded him, studying the empty pillared tower, cured of its previous fel energies.
Lightning flashed down on the destroyed tower, sending a crackle of thunder to flash against Lord Illidan's wings. He spread them, turning his body to face his alive demon hunters.
"The Legion will know of this victory." He promised in a low growl. "And they will fear you, my Illidari."
"Now, You Are Prepared!"
She startled, tensing in preparation for an attack that would never come as her dream threw her violently back into reality. The malcontent whinings of her brothers and sisters reminded her of where she was, and she relaxed into the puppy-pile that, over time, had become what every demon hunter slept to.
Except she was almost always the bottom of the pile, but she was awake now, not going to sleep soon, and the underneath of her back was itchy, again, and she needed to scratch it off, now.
Slowly, gently, like a bit of live prey trying to get away from a sleeping predator, she extracted herself from the pile of sleeping predators, the scratching under her backplate forcing her forwards even as her brothers whined with her absence.
She found the perfect spot- a hook on the edge of the destroyed tower that probably once housed tortured prisoners now would be used to lift her aching plate away from her body. Far enough away that those watching would not see her, and close enough that she could still see the camp. She frowned a bit, because that sounded like the perfect ambush spot, and she resolved to destroy the still intact ward that shielded her bretheren's eyes from this spot after she got rid of the maddening plate.
Carefully, she maneuvered her back so that the edge of the sharp hook dug under the plate but did not pierce the skin underneath, and launched herself down and away, with another wet tear. Boneless in relief from the absence of that damnable plate, she turned her head from where she laid in the sand to regard the dark purple plate hanging from the hook. Twisting comfortably onto the sandy ground, she purred silently at the feeling of the newer plate hardening where the old one fell, and the final, happy lack of that damnedable ich.
"So." A growled voice was suddenly above her, and she spun her body to land on her feet, claws drawn and teeth bared, wings flared in a threat as the unknown assailant watched from above her.
But it was only Lord Illidan, and a bit of her relaxed at the sight of him, even as the rest of her tensed in uncertainty. She backed away at the tensing of his muscles, making room as he burst upwards with one mighty flap of his wings and landed in front of her, large goat-like legs dipped as they supported his weight, his wings relaxing at his sides.
"This is what you are." He continued as if the pause between his words never existed, carefully neutral. "A Black Dragon." He indicated the dark purple of the scale now clutched between his fingers with a dip of his horns, and Eris shuffled internally in embarrassment.
Outwardly, she was calm. "Indeed, my Lord." She intoned calmly in confirmation, a slight dip of her own horns in agreement, even if she did not yet back down.
(Internally, she was screaming.)
He raised an eyebrow at her 'My Lord', still stalking around her like a predator teasing his prey. And she felt like prey, under the heavy gaze of his green-glowing eyes.
"Why have you come, Black Dragon?" Her Lord enquired, only allowing the faintest bit of emotion to reach his voice, as though this question was unimportant and obvious as whether or not they would fight the Burning Legion. Of which the answer was obvious.
"To fight the Burning Legion." She answered his question honestly. If he felt any surprise, he did not show it, but he did stop and turn to her, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in question.
"When Azshara made her deal with the Burning Legion, the flights were torn into parts. I doubt most of us will ever recover. And then, The earth- the very planet below us, screamed out in agony as the Well of Eternity sank below the waves. I- my whole flight felt that. It tore at us like the demon does now, dragging some of us to dive to the deep to try to heal a wound that wouldn't stop crying." She shivered at an echo of the feeling of the planet- practically her own mother, screaming and crying at a wound that wouldn't heal, no matter how she tried.
"And then- and then-" She was startled to realize she was crying, fat globs of green-tinted liquid dragging a burn down her cheeks. "The Old Gods- the ones that dwelt beneath the waves, the earth, the planet, began sinking their damned whispers into everyone." She finished in a whisper, clutching her hands to her chest in an effort to block out the pain of an emotional wound that, to her surprise, never actually healed. She waited for the tears to stop, staring at the sandy ground, before she continued.
"Our father was the first turned, dragging most of the flight with him." She said, bitterly. "The ones not already being turned into slaves for the Demons, or those escaping North to never be seen again in the misty frozen waves, anyways." She turned her eyes- now free from her bindings due to the corrosive nature of her tears- to meet his, glowing through his makeshift cover.
"I wanted to fight that. I wanted to fight those who dared make a mark on our planet, I wanted to fight, and I needed to, before-" Her voice broke and she didn't finish. Before I was turned, too.
"No one would fight." She said, as though her interrupted words never existed. "None would stand. They were all happy to stay in their dens and wait to be turned." She snarled, fists clenching where they now rested at her sides. "None but you."
"And so, I followed." She finished, wary.
A tense silence stretched between them, two of those twisted by demonic energies, one an elf of high stature and another a dragon playing at being a warrior. Eris did not falter, staring into his eyes even as the seconds ticked on and her muscles started to protest.
"Why do you hide your form, Black Dragon?" Illidan finally asked, indicating the dark purple scale.
"Because, Lord Illidan," Eris explained, tense. "I wished to fight equally amongst my brothers, without being known of by the Burning Legion." She dragged her gaze back to the ground and stared at the sandy ground, unseeing. "After all, a Fel-corrupted Dragon? There would be no greater prize." Her wings fell limp behind her in mourning.
"Fel-corrupted?" Lord Illidan prompted, his eyebrow again raised.
"Those of the Black Flight take power from the earth- from the ground beneath them. However, this ground-" She stomped a clawed foot in example, the earth shattering under her feet to show glowing, blistering fel. "Is corrupted by the unholy energies of the fel."
She turned back to look at him. "I'm made of as much fel as you are, by now." Which is why she looks about as beast like, too. And why the others keep piling up on her during naptime.
"What of your True Form?" Lord Illidan asked, relaxing imperceptibly at a familiar topic; forbidden, unknown knowledge.
"This form is a bit… uncomfortable." She admitted, which was an understatement. "I still long to change, stretch out my wings and take to the sky." If there was anything for which she envied Illidan for, (of which there were many) it would be that he could fly with his wings, while she was chained to the ground.
"But again." She wrenched her thoughts away from that saddening path. "If word got out, I would be hunted to the rest of my days, even by my brothers."
A hand came down on her shoulder, making her flinch before she realized it was non hostile. She looked up into green glowing eyes and idly wondered what their true color once was.
"Peace, Black Dragon. You are still welcome here as one of my Illidari." He rumbled, rubbing small, soothing circles into her back with his thumb. She relaxed at that, almost boneless with relief. A slight, broken with misuse rumble echoed from her chest at being so close to Illidan, and he raised an eyebrow, visibly storing that away for later.
"However, later I would like information on these 'Old Gods'." He rumbled curiously, turning away towards camp, his hooves purposely smudging the rune that kept that spot hidden from prying eyes. "And, maybe later, to see your true form."
===================================================================
(Eris waited until he was out of sight, before bonelessly crashing onto the ground with a fwump, pushing up dust around her, and groaning into the sand.
"Holy fuck." Eris whispered in English in anguish, physically pained by the burn in her muscles as she hadn't been since she was a whelp, and/or when she first joined the Illidari.
A huff, and she stood, flaring her wings for balance as she turned to peek over the side of the tower's ruins, spying Lord Illidan taking her spot in the puppy-pile with a fond smile. Bouncing towards the group playfully, she decided she wished to join them.
'Tis a good day for a nap. She decided as she joined Illidan at the bottom of the pile, throwing an arm around his large bicep and closing her eyes for a doze.)
... I'm just going to shove all of these here.
1. Warcraft
Eris rubbed her back against the rough bark of the fel-touched tree, the glowing green abomination cracking and splintering with the force of the pressure. A slick, wet tearing sound echoed across the empty plains of the planet, a dark purple reptilian-looking piece of thick, armor-like skin dropped onto the ground next to it, the insides of it still wet with fluids.
Eris sighed in relief, basking in the release of pressure, before carefully collecting the freed dragon-scale plate and turning away towards where she sensed was the nearest camp. Despite what she, and most of her brothers and sisters-in-arms wished, the Burning Legion stopped for nobody.
Not even a Black Dragon.
(Not that they knew that.)
Rubbing the now freed area where the scale plate used to be, Eris mourned that she couldn't just do that, but all over her body, all at once. There were reasons not to, of course. Mostly that the new area usually took a bit of time to harden and become armor and demons were a thing and also mindlessly hostile, but also mostly because doing so so suddenly would leave her with an excess of dragon scales and scale-plates. Which her fellows would then question. Again.
Shaking that train of thought off as she entered the camp, demon-hide satchel glistening in the fel light, a wave of green glowing eyes following her steps as she came to what she privately referred to as her spot. A pair of fel-enchanted blades rested at her sides, her own, self-crafted weapons against the burning legion. They were cracked and chipped almost to the point the silverish gleam of the metal was overrun by the dark and light green of dried and fresh fel-corrupted blood, but they were hers, her partners until the ends of time.
(Or, She thought, side-eyeing a particularly large crack, until they break into pieces.)
Resting them against her sides in an easy to reach place, she laid on her stomach, her wings stretching away from her as she basked in the newest victory against the demon lord and soaked up sunlight. Wrapping her arms under her breasts as support, and to not crush them under her weight, she dozed. Halfway into the hazy corridors of sleep, but still aware of her surroundings.
The sun slowly peeled away from her wings, her brethren, at least, those who were not staying up on watch for tonight, curling up against her beastly form in substitution for their lord's. And finally, she fell.
"-Your cause DIES WITH HIM!" A clanking of chains, the glow of green that signaled the accursed fel, and a Demon Lord, the first they'd ever defeated together.
"NO!" She shouted, but it wasn't her speaking. It was more as though she was a spectator in her own skin.
A leap that threw her over her lord to land in front of him, and using the weight of her movement to bury her weapon in the stone, horrible chains bouncing off her weapons and then a sharp smack that threw her into the broken pillar Illidan had just vacated.
The force of the sudden stop rang throughout her body with pain, and she relaxed slightly in agony, before the face of the Demon Lord they were sent to destroy was suddenly in front of her, his tusks to her either side, trapping her in place.
Her teeth bared in warning, even as she tensed for death, the foul creature drew in a breath through his nose and stared at her in fascination.
"You smell more of Dragon than Hunter." The accursed lord cackled with a smirk. "You would serve us well."
"Never." She promised, staring above to watch as the shadow of Illidan drew his glaives through the Demon Lord's chest, vanquishing him in a burst of fel energy and foul-smelling smoke.
Illidan uncurled his wings from where they surrounded him, studying the empty pillared tower, cured of its previous fel energies.
Lightning flashed down on the destroyed tower, sending a crackle of thunder to flash against Lord Illidan's wings. He spread them, turning his body to face his alive demon hunters.
"The Legion will know of this victory." He promised in a low growl. "And they will fear you, my Illidari."
"Now, You Are Prepared!"
She startled, tensing in preparation for an attack that would never come as her dream threw her violently back into reality. The malcontent whinings of her brothers and sisters reminded her of where she was, and she relaxed into the puppy-pile that, over time, had become what every demon hunter slept to.
Except she was almost always the bottom of the pile, but she was awake now, not going to sleep soon, and the underneath of her back was itchy, again, and she needed to scratch it off, now.
Slowly, gently, like a bit of live prey trying to get away from a sleeping predator, she extracted herself from the pile of sleeping predators, the scratching under her backplate forcing her forwards even as her brothers whined with her absence.
She found the perfect spot- a hook on the edge of the destroyed tower that probably once housed tortured prisoners now would be used to lift her aching plate away from her body. Far enough away that those watching would not see her, and close enough that she could still see the camp. She frowned a bit, because that sounded like the perfect ambush spot, and she resolved to destroy the still intact ward that shielded her bretheren's eyes from this spot after she got rid of the maddening plate.
Carefully, she maneuvered her back so that the edge of the sharp hook dug under the plate but did not pierce the skin underneath, and launched herself down and away, with another wet tear. Boneless in relief from the absence of that damnable plate, she turned her head from where she laid in the sand to regard the dark purple plate hanging from the hook. Twisting comfortably onto the sandy ground, she purred silently at the feeling of the newer plate hardening where the old one fell, and the final, happy lack of that damnedable ich.
"So." A growled voice was suddenly above her, and she spun her body to land on her feet, claws drawn and teeth bared, wings flared in a threat as the unknown assailant watched from above her.
But it was only Lord Illidan, and a bit of her relaxed at the sight of him, even as the rest of her tensed in uncertainty. She backed away at the tensing of his muscles, making room as he burst upwards with one mighty flap of his wings and landed in front of her, large goat-like legs dipped as they supported his weight, his wings relaxing at his sides.
"This is what you are." He continued as if the pause between his words never existed, carefully neutral. "A Black Dragon." He indicated the dark purple of the scale now clutched between his fingers with a dip of his horns, and Eris shuffled internally in embarrassment.
Outwardly, she was calm. "Indeed, my Lord." She intoned calmly in confirmation, a slight dip of her own horns in agreement, even if she did not yet back down.
(Internally, she was screaming.)
He raised an eyebrow at her 'My Lord', still stalking around her like a predator teasing his prey. And she felt like prey, under the heavy gaze of his green-glowing eyes.
"Why have you come, Black Dragon?" Her Lord enquired, only allowing the faintest bit of emotion to reach his voice, as though this question was unimportant and obvious as whether or not they would fight the Burning Legion. Of which the answer was obvious.
"To fight the Burning Legion." She answered his question honestly. If he felt any surprise, he did not show it, but he did stop and turn to her, arms crossed and eyebrow raised in question.
"When Azshara made her deal with the Burning Legion, the flights were torn into parts. I doubt most of us will ever recover. And then, The earth- the very planet below us, screamed out in agony as the Well of Eternity sank below the waves. I- my whole flight felt that. It tore at us like the demon does now, dragging some of us to dive to the deep to try to heal a wound that wouldn't stop crying." She shivered at an echo of the feeling of the planet- practically her own mother, screaming and crying at a wound that wouldn't heal, no matter how she tried.
"And then- and then-" She was startled to realize she was crying, fat globs of green-tinted liquid dragging a burn down her cheeks. "The Old Gods- the ones that dwelt beneath the waves, the earth, the planet, began sinking their damned whispers into everyone." She finished in a whisper, clutching her hands to her chest in an effort to block out the pain of an emotional wound that, to her surprise, never actually healed. She waited for the tears to stop, staring at the sandy ground, before she continued.
"Our father was the first turned, dragging most of the flight with him." She said, bitterly. "The ones not already being turned into slaves for the Demons, or those escaping North to never be seen again in the misty frozen waves, anyways." She turned her eyes- now free from her bindings due to the corrosive nature of her tears- to meet his, glowing through his makeshift cover.
"I wanted to fight that. I wanted to fight those who dared make a mark on our planet, I wanted to fight, and I needed to, before-" Her voice broke and she didn't finish. Before I was turned, too.
"No one would fight." She said, as though her interrupted words never existed. "None would stand. They were all happy to stay in their dens and wait to be turned." She snarled, fists clenching where they now rested at her sides. "None but you."
"And so, I followed." She finished, wary.
A tense silence stretched between them, two of those twisted by demonic energies, one an elf of high stature and another a dragon playing at being a warrior. Eris did not falter, staring into his eyes even as the seconds ticked on and her muscles started to protest.
"Why do you hide your form, Black Dragon?" Illidan finally asked, indicating the dark purple scale.
"Because, Lord Illidan," Eris explained, tense. "I wished to fight equally amongst my brothers, without being known of by the Burning Legion." She dragged her gaze back to the ground and stared at the sandy ground, unseeing. "After all, a Fel-corrupted Dragon? There would be no greater prize." Her wings fell limp behind her in mourning.
"Fel-corrupted?" Lord Illidan prompted, his eyebrow again raised.
"Those of the Black Flight take power from the earth- from the ground beneath them. However, this ground-" She stomped a clawed foot in example, the earth shattering under her feet to show glowing, blistering fel. "Is corrupted by the unholy energies of the fel."
She turned back to look at him. "I'm made of as much fel as you are, by now." Which is why she looks about as beast like, too. And why the others keep piling up on her during naptime.
"What of your True Form?" Lord Illidan asked, relaxing imperceptibly at a familiar topic; forbidden, unknown knowledge.
"This form is a bit… uncomfortable." She admitted, which was an understatement. "I still long to change, stretch out my wings and take to the sky." If there was anything for which she envied Illidan for, (of which there were many) it would be that he could fly with his wings, while she was chained to the ground.
"But again." She wrenched her thoughts away from that saddening path. "If word got out, I would be hunted to the rest of my days, even by my brothers."
A hand came down on her shoulder, making her flinch before she realized it was non hostile. She looked up into green glowing eyes and idly wondered what their true color once was.
"Peace, Black Dragon. You are still welcome here as one of my Illidari." He rumbled, rubbing small, soothing circles into her back with his thumb. She relaxed at that, almost boneless with relief. A slight, broken with misuse rumble echoed from her chest at being so close to Illidan, and he raised an eyebrow, visibly storing that away for later.
"However, later I would like information on these 'Old Gods'." He rumbled curiously, turning away towards camp, his hooves purposely smudging the rune that kept that spot hidden from prying eyes. "And, maybe later, to see your true form."
===================================================================
(Eris waited until he was out of sight, before bonelessly crashing onto the ground with a fwump, pushing up dust around her, and groaning into the sand.
"Holy fuck." Eris whispered in English in anguish, physically pained by the burn in her muscles as she hadn't been since she was a whelp, and/or when she first joined the Illidari.
A huff, and she stood, flaring her wings for balance as she turned to peek over the side of the tower's ruins, spying Lord Illidan taking her spot in the puppy-pile with a fond smile. Bouncing towards the group playfully, she decided she wished to join them.
'Tis a good day for a nap. She decided as she joined Illidan at the bottom of the pile, throwing an arm around his large bicep and closing her eyes for a doze.)
Second bit
- Location
- In the Depths of Space
Taylor starts of with the powers (and memories) of a small god, this time. And a full hand of champions to choose from, instead of only an array of insects.
Sophia knew something was wrong long before the reptilian cape appeared in front of Taylor's full locker.
It was in the sideways glances, the slips through the cracks of a mask that something in her squinted at, confused. It was in the pitying sideways glances in the halls, of how pitiful you are, juvenile. It was how she stared at Emma, sometimes, like how interesting, the rock at the bottom of my shoe did a trick.
It was how little their abject barely-legal just-about-torture bothered her, as time went on. It was how the bruises and harsh words barely bothered her as time went on.
It was how being in a locker filled with rotted, infected tampons didn't even make her whimper, now.
They waited, the pack of hyenas, for the screams to start. For the schadenfreude they knew had to come.
After a minute of waiting, all they felt was disgusted. Either by the smell, or the introspection of their own twisted morals, no one could say.
For a small, almost nonexistent instant, everything was silent.
And then the bell rang, and the majority of the crowd scattered, unwilling to be caught at the scene of a crime.
Sophia snarled in disgust, the creation of another predator like her thwarted again. Emma smiled, but internally screamed, her doubts and morals coming to battle against what she knew was right and losing, hard. Madison walked off without a care. It's not like she cared, after all.
The hallways cleared, and internally the locker flowed with an unholy light.
Away from the eyes of everyone else, and Under the watch of a small god, Taylor bloomed.
(You'll still be here, of course. The countless infinities spiral long underneath her fingertips whispered in the closest approximation of her language. But you-
{Soul-Memories-Heart-Approximate Parts of a Whole}
-will heal.
{Soul-Memories-Heart-Parts Made Whole}
{Sleep-Slumber-Quiet Rest-Calming-Healing}
The rest will only last a little while. About a month, at most.
Taylor- or, at least, the mental avatar that represented Taylor- slouched in obvious exhaustion. While a mortal body did wonders for hiding spiritual pain, on the Spiritual Plane, you hide nothing.
The swirling mass of infinities chuckled, a flash of gold eyes crinkling into a smile. It will be only a month on my side, dear. The infinities reached, brushing a string of memories against Taylor's tiny infinity, of the calming sleep of a child within a womb, the cuteness and soft, innocent love of being a puppy, and the simple, empty serenity of being a flower.
Take as much time as you need.
Taylor cried with relief, the shards of what used to be a person drawing closer together in comfort.)
The entity possessing- Okay no, that shit don't fly.
The entity possessing The entity given voluntary, full control of Taylor's body hummed a few lines of a song she thought fitted the situation perfectly, before slipping through the locker door, at almost the exact time the Janitor was supposed to get there in the original universe.
Sadly for Taylor, the Janitor was home at this time of night, and unable to get her out of the locker in time for school to start the next day and the cycle to start again. That choice- a single hesitation, an act of rebellious greed, was what slipped this timeline out of the original, after all.
Thankfully for the nonlinear interdimensional entity, that she would be spared that agony. At least in this timeline. Already, the timeline in which she hadn't had what basically amounted to a god in her brain for the last month was branching off of the timeline, off to self-implode less than half a year down the line. That was, after all, why the so-called "god" decided to interfere.
Dead timelines were pretty bad for business, really. It wasn't as though they kicked up paperwork- As if a multidimensional entity so overpowered the only word that can describe what amounts to a fingernail as "god" has paperwork. No. It was simply that they were a waste.
But that explanation can wait until later. Now, this multidimensional nonlinear entity needs a disguise for her mortal form. Because no, "gods" created naturally rather than from human belief don't have genders, or structured form. But "Taylor" was a female body, and so, for the sake of not ripping apart the english language trying to make nonlinear binary systems and also not pissing off a god enough that they smite the writer, "she", "her", ect, were the pronouns that the writer decided to use.
...Also, "she" needed a name. Typing out the species of said god is tiring. And dumb.
In her language, she would be called something along the lines of "Storyteller". Or "Knowledgekeeper". The closest she could get to that name was "Ahriman". Add a feminine tilt… and, Ahri.
...Well, it'll do.
A disguise was easy. Subtle, insignificant, impactful, important. She fashioned a Daft Punk helmet, not the overgrown robot but the one with the glass face, made the screen always show some beautiful picture of space relevant from where she was facing, add some headphones and quirky little emotion-showing antennae, and done.
She wanted to look as SHE did. Something non threatening but impactful. Simple but easy to remember. Something original.
Which is why a massive black sweatshirt and short shorts were part of the disguise.
"You want the satisfaction~" She rumbled in a smooth, feminine voice. "That's why it's not gonna happen~" She sang the lines of the song aloud, adjusting the voice she would use. She ended in a vibrating warble, a sideways smiley face on the glass part of the mask showing her joy.
Finally, the last part of the ruse. With a sharp tug, she summoned her Champion… The closest to her she could get, at least. Luck beyond luck, Eris stood in front of her on shaky feet.
--Basically, Ahri goes to the lake near the protectorate base, gives Eris a sapling of Yggdrasil (the mother tree mixed with the tree cyoa somewhere in this mess) And starts summoning her champions to save the world.
Sophia knew something was wrong long before the reptilian cape appeared in front of Taylor's full locker.
It was in the sideways glances, the slips through the cracks of a mask that something in her squinted at, confused. It was in the pitying sideways glances in the halls, of how pitiful you are, juvenile. It was how she stared at Emma, sometimes, like how interesting, the rock at the bottom of my shoe did a trick.
It was how little their abject barely-legal just-about-torture bothered her, as time went on. It was how the bruises and harsh words barely bothered her as time went on.
It was how being in a locker filled with rotted, infected tampons didn't even make her whimper, now.
They waited, the pack of hyenas, for the screams to start. For the schadenfreude they knew had to come.
After a minute of waiting, all they felt was disgusted. Either by the smell, or the introspection of their own twisted morals, no one could say.
For a small, almost nonexistent instant, everything was silent.
And then the bell rang, and the majority of the crowd scattered, unwilling to be caught at the scene of a crime.
Sophia snarled in disgust, the creation of another predator like her thwarted again. Emma smiled, but internally screamed, her doubts and morals coming to battle against what she knew was right and losing, hard. Madison walked off without a care. It's not like she cared, after all.
The hallways cleared, and internally the locker flowed with an unholy light.
Away from the eyes of everyone else, and Under the watch of a small god, Taylor bloomed.
(You'll still be here, of course. The countless infinities spiral long underneath her fingertips whispered in the closest approximation of her language. But you-
{Soul-Memories-Heart-Approximate Parts of a Whole}
-will heal.
{Soul-Memories-Heart-Parts Made Whole}
{Sleep-Slumber-Quiet Rest-Calming-Healing}
The rest will only last a little while. About a month, at most.
Taylor- or, at least, the mental avatar that represented Taylor- slouched in obvious exhaustion. While a mortal body did wonders for hiding spiritual pain, on the Spiritual Plane, you hide nothing.
The swirling mass of infinities chuckled, a flash of gold eyes crinkling into a smile. It will be only a month on my side, dear. The infinities reached, brushing a string of memories against Taylor's tiny infinity, of the calming sleep of a child within a womb, the cuteness and soft, innocent love of being a puppy, and the simple, empty serenity of being a flower.
Take as much time as you need.
Taylor cried with relief, the shards of what used to be a person drawing closer together in comfort.)
The entity possessing- Okay no, that shit don't fly.
The entity possessing The entity given voluntary, full control of Taylor's body hummed a few lines of a song she thought fitted the situation perfectly, before slipping through the locker door, at almost the exact time the Janitor was supposed to get there in the original universe.
Sadly for Taylor, the Janitor was home at this time of night, and unable to get her out of the locker in time for school to start the next day and the cycle to start again. That choice- a single hesitation, an act of rebellious greed, was what slipped this timeline out of the original, after all.
Thankfully for the nonlinear interdimensional entity, that she would be spared that agony. At least in this timeline. Already, the timeline in which she hadn't had what basically amounted to a god in her brain for the last month was branching off of the timeline, off to self-implode less than half a year down the line. That was, after all, why the so-called "god" decided to interfere.
Dead timelines were pretty bad for business, really. It wasn't as though they kicked up paperwork- As if a multidimensional entity so overpowered the only word that can describe what amounts to a fingernail as "god" has paperwork. No. It was simply that they were a waste.
But that explanation can wait until later. Now, this multidimensional nonlinear entity needs a disguise for her mortal form. Because no, "gods" created naturally rather than from human belief don't have genders, or structured form. But "Taylor" was a female body, and so, for the sake of not ripping apart the english language trying to make nonlinear binary systems and also not pissing off a god enough that they smite the writer, "she", "her", ect, were the pronouns that the writer decided to use.
...Also, "she" needed a name. Typing out the species of said god is tiring. And dumb.
In her language, she would be called something along the lines of "Storyteller". Or "Knowledgekeeper". The closest she could get to that name was "Ahriman". Add a feminine tilt… and, Ahri.
...Well, it'll do.
A disguise was easy. Subtle, insignificant, impactful, important. She fashioned a Daft Punk helmet, not the overgrown robot but the one with the glass face, made the screen always show some beautiful picture of space relevant from where she was facing, add some headphones and quirky little emotion-showing antennae, and done.
She wanted to look as SHE did. Something non threatening but impactful. Simple but easy to remember. Something original.
Which is why a massive black sweatshirt and short shorts were part of the disguise.
"You want the satisfaction~" She rumbled in a smooth, feminine voice. "That's why it's not gonna happen~" She sang the lines of the song aloud, adjusting the voice she would use. She ended in a vibrating warble, a sideways smiley face on the glass part of the mask showing her joy.
Finally, the last part of the ruse. With a sharp tug, she summoned her Champion… The closest to her she could get, at least. Luck beyond luck, Eris stood in front of her on shaky feet.
--Basically, Ahri goes to the lake near the protectorate base, gives Eris a sapling of Yggdrasil (the mother tree mixed with the tree cyoa somewhere in this mess) And starts summoning her champions to save the world.
Star Wars OC
- Location
- In the Depths of Space
Anakin didn't know why he did it. A moment of weakness, maybe. A second of misused judgement. Maybe, in the dark corners of his heart, he would even admit a bit of nostalgia.
He stared at his slowly onlining creation- a new bot made all of his own, much like C3PO,- in… something. Feeling an emotion he couldn't identify, the Force singing through his veins in joy.
Snarling internally, he rest control of himself, and turned to the nearest Stormtrooper to have the bot sent off-ship, maybe traded off. Without seeing the bot's onlining optics stare at him in shock. Without feeling the force singing within the new individual.
She was vented from the ship before even saying hello to her new father. Without even saying goodbye.
Ahsoka sighed through her vents in frustration.
Life as a bounty hunter was, well bountiful.
Using both her connection to the force (Thanks, Dad!) and her superior robotic abilities, tracking targets almost became too easy. The Force almost seemed to sing in her, happy to do anything she wished in the way one could compare to somewhat between a particularly loyal puppy and a loyal best friend. And she loved it in turn, because it gave her freedom in exchange for going after a few specific people.
She had honestly thought of giving up bounty hunting, because it had become too easy, but one last request had broken through her thousands and woke up her curiosity.
It was from her Father.
Well, not specifically- it was actually from some random politician in the Empire.
But the Force Print- that is, the imprint of the force from where those force-sensitive had touched it, was a perfect match for her father's. Well, that and the Force had told her so.
It was for someone called Luke Skywalker.
Her Brother.
It had coincided with Jabba's bounty for Han, and to be quite honest she was curious to meet her Brother.
That is, until she ended up on a fucking desert planet. She hated sand. It got in all of her joints, creaking and scraping against her paint job until she couldn't take it anymore. She was so thankful for the cloths that covered her up, otherwise she would have never set foot on this fucking planet.
Training, as a robotic organism, was pretty shitty.
You just had to find the right movements, find the code for those movements, and code it down. Except there would be no change, no difference between attacks. Even learning hundreds of martial arts wouldn't change that. And without any differences between attacks, someone only had to find one single opening before boom- she was done for.
Which is why Ahsoka was specifically thankful that she had switched out her techno-work with techno-organic work. Both of the benefits, and less of the downsides.
"There is no Dark side. Or Light side.
There is only the Force.
Balance is to be kept, but not at the sacrifice of The Rules.
The Balance is what keeps us together.
There is no good without evil, but evil should not be allowed to flourish.
There is passion, yet emotion.
Serenity, yet peace.
Chaos, yet Order.
I am the wielder of the flame, the protector of the Balance.
I am the holder of the torch, lighting the way.
I am the keeper of the flame, soldier of balance
I do what I have to do."
Gunmetal Magi use emotions- and feed the fires- to move the Force. Like something between a Light Force User and a Dark Force User.
Flames of Unbalance
Ira, the Red Flame of Anger.
It wraps around you and justifies tragedy in pursuit of revenge.
Odia, the Black Flame of Hatred.
All Consuming, until a blackened husk is left.
Acedia, the Uncaring flame.
Slowly deadening until an uncaring void is left.
Avarice, The Empty flame.
Greed and Lust, growing as a Dragon, but empty as a Husk.
Control your inner flame, know where they feed.
Control your inner flame, know where they sleep.
Control your inner flame, and Power you will keep.
"Do you know how much the Magi celebrated with your prophecy?!"
"A Man to keep, to Wield the balance, to bring balance to the force?"
"They thought you'd be a Magi. I'm not honestly surprised you're a sith."
"Then again, it was the Jedi who enforced the insulting overturning of the balance. Did you know that the Gray were just about ready to wipe out the Jedi in retaliation for what they did to the Sith?"
"Killing them, enforcing that retarded rule of two- it weakens both. By restricting the powers of the Jedi, and removing the numbers of the Sith."
"So many Gray died when the balance overturned. You forget- Force wielders become their element after enough time has passed. The Gray had become balance. When it was toppled, they died in droves."
"I would almost dislike you for that- but you're not the Dark. Or the light. I'd be an asshole and call you a mistake- but you're quite honestly not."
"I don't hate the Dark. Or the Light. They're just two extremes. And they don't understand that humans can't survive healthily in extremes."
"Think about it- Jedi, squashing their emotions? Other species doing it- well. It could be healthy for them, but humans need emotions. Without them they wouldn't be human."
"And Sith? That much anger and hatred twists and consumes a person until it becomes self-fulfilling. Which is unhealthy."
"I'm not a child. I don't need to be told Light isn't good, and Dark isn't bad. I've seen it with these optics myself."
"Oh, he was a friend of mine. Quite firmly against the Dark, despite using the dark himself. A Light Lord- not a jedi, but something more- offered him the chance to change sides. Like that, a being of Dark as Light."
"He respectfully declined. His previous master had blinded him, you see, quite literally. And the offer to heal all his scars- well. He was one of the immortal species, and 50,000 years locked away for some perceived slight had given him enough time to accept himself, to accept his own mistakes. He had become his scars."
"The Light Lord didn't give him a choice, tying him up and forcing the light through his body even as it burned against the tide of light. Finally, he broke from the hold and unleashed his full power against the Light Lord, destroying it. I have never been so happy in my entire life to be Gray. And on his side. He was scary."
"Oh, this little ol' thing? I made it." She patted the lightsabre fondly.
"Oh, where I got the crystals? Well, long story short, I more or less sort of made them. In a forge."
"In my time as a bounty hunter, any fond memories of a place, or any angry memories, or lessons learned would result in me finding some kind of material. Crystals, sometimes. Pearls, ores, metals of all shapes and sizes, jewels."
"I kept a collection- until I decided it was time to make my own Lightsaber. But by that time, my Force Imprint of all of those memories was so deep they had become something like a part of me. I couldn't just use one or two."
"So I decided to take all of them and meld them into two crystals. That's how I made my crystals. And why my sabre looks the way it does- my crystals were… well. One of the light, one for the dark. Balance. And it shows."
"Anger, hatred, frustration- these emotions were poured painstakingly into the Dark crystal as it was formed. Made of materials from bad memories, of pain and the darkest of emotion." She sunk into the Dark Side in example, the usually peaceful white opal blade darkened by red-yellow opal-fire. Then, with a flick, the whip faded, her hold on the Dark side fading with it.
"Love, Hope, and compassion went into the formation of this one." Her whip cooled, a shade of fiery green blue not seen outside dying stars lighting up the whip until it was on the edge of burning eyes.
"Let's see- I think there's one of those Force-sensitive sapphires in there, the healing one? Got it off a girl living on the far side of a Hive world. Girl was drunk as feth, and I got her home safe. 'Parently, it was the anniversary of her parents' deaths, and she'd wanted to drown her sorrows. Little girl, 'bout half the size of my damn leg, gave me one of her earrings in thanks. Mom was supposed to be home earlier, and I think dad was in the army or something. But that little girl's smile at seeing her mom home was worth the loss of her bounty."
"Another one- a little brown rock a boy entrusted to me. Imperials were attacking the planet, and it was a gift from his father. He wanted it safe, off-planet, and away from Imperials. Didn't realize until it lit up while I was meditatin' it was a damned Bnar's Sacrifice."
"Bane's Heart, but damn that crystal is possessive. Found it in the gutter in the back alley of a Pleasure Planet. Some asshole threw it away. Thought it was just a dumb rock. Wasn't so stupid when I stabbed him through the neck with it. That bounty I was glad to cash in."
"Found a Sunrider's Destiny when I was off parolin- some kid found it in his backyard or something, I can't remember. But him and his friends wanted to impress the bounty hunter, and damn but that magic rock impressed me. So did his small group of force-sensitives."
"Barab Ingot I got as payment for one of the more easy bounties. Asshole didn't even realize what it was- thought it was an opal! Was fun using it, though. Fire is fun." She grinned internally.
"Got a Bondar Crystal from my own training lightsabre." She stroked the handle of her whip fondly. "Useful for bringing in bounties alive."
"One of my first bounties was for one of those hardened crystals- you know, the red ones that glow? Hard as hell to put it in a lightsabre, but worth it. So. Damned. Worth it."
"Damid- only reason I can remember its name cuz it sounds like "dammit," Ha! Such an innocent little thing with such power. Got it from an imperial suck-up who didn't even know what he was mining. He had a bounty on him, was mistreating his slaves, and really was a sucky guy. His head costed a lot, though. And so did the excess crystals. Slaves? What slaves?"
"Dantari was what one of my employers tried to tempt me with. I tempted my next employer with his head."
"Eralam was one of the force crystals one of those Sith bastards tried to kill me with. Still, someone paid for his head. It was a good day."
"Why yes, by chance, luck, or some kind of Force bullshit, I got most of the best Force Crystals into the best Crystal Base this universe has ever seen. I'm thinking of calling it Force Opal- or Skywalker Stone. Why? Got a problem with it? I'm sure someone would pay for your head."
"You…" Dare? Dare to take my friends, my only connections to a world which has abandoned me?
You will pay.
Red-yellow flowed down her whip, centering her in the Dark Side as deep as she could go as she drew on her anger, on her fear, but didn't let it overwhelm her.
She was bad at force lightning. She couldn't heal using the force directly, at least not without using her lightsabre as a middle amplifier. Any kind of beam attack was weak, a waste of energy, and harmless.
No, what this Magi specialized in was.. Well, miscellaneous combat. Little tricks that together made combat easier.
She could shapeshift into any creature she knew extensively, as long as it was not a person or sentient. She could absorb energy beams through the force, and redirect force attacks using a push. She could tell truth and lies using the force. She could read body language using a mix of her knowledge and the force. She was immune to poisons, having them already in her blood. She was essentially the ideal spy, really. Or assassin.
"If anyone," She wrapped her whip around a neck and activated the lightsabre. Two parts of a charred husk hit the ground behind her. "Tells me to 'give in to my anger' or 'use my hatred' again, It won't be their head I'm taking off." The people around her almost relaxed. "It will be their over inflated balls." The male populace surrounding her gave a short look to the blackened husk that used to be a head and crossed their legs. Ahsoka cackled.
"A sword doesn't have enough reach. A chain will never hit hard enough. A hard dilemma, but also a simple one." She lost her strict exterior, drawing her whip fondly. And lighting it. The white whip lightsabre hummed in her hands, and she smirked.
(FREE TO USE! seriously.)
He stared at his slowly onlining creation- a new bot made all of his own, much like C3PO,- in… something. Feeling an emotion he couldn't identify, the Force singing through his veins in joy.
Snarling internally, he rest control of himself, and turned to the nearest Stormtrooper to have the bot sent off-ship, maybe traded off. Without seeing the bot's onlining optics stare at him in shock. Without feeling the force singing within the new individual.
She was vented from the ship before even saying hello to her new father. Without even saying goodbye.
Ahsoka sighed through her vents in frustration.
Life as a bounty hunter was, well bountiful.
Using both her connection to the force (Thanks, Dad!) and her superior robotic abilities, tracking targets almost became too easy. The Force almost seemed to sing in her, happy to do anything she wished in the way one could compare to somewhat between a particularly loyal puppy and a loyal best friend. And she loved it in turn, because it gave her freedom in exchange for going after a few specific people.
She had honestly thought of giving up bounty hunting, because it had become too easy, but one last request had broken through her thousands and woke up her curiosity.
It was from her Father.
Well, not specifically- it was actually from some random politician in the Empire.
But the Force Print- that is, the imprint of the force from where those force-sensitive had touched it, was a perfect match for her father's. Well, that and the Force had told her so.
It was for someone called Luke Skywalker.
Her Brother.
It had coincided with Jabba's bounty for Han, and to be quite honest she was curious to meet her Brother.
That is, until she ended up on a fucking desert planet. She hated sand. It got in all of her joints, creaking and scraping against her paint job until she couldn't take it anymore. She was so thankful for the cloths that covered her up, otherwise she would have never set foot on this fucking planet.
Training, as a robotic organism, was pretty shitty.
You just had to find the right movements, find the code for those movements, and code it down. Except there would be no change, no difference between attacks. Even learning hundreds of martial arts wouldn't change that. And without any differences between attacks, someone only had to find one single opening before boom- she was done for.
Which is why Ahsoka was specifically thankful that she had switched out her techno-work with techno-organic work. Both of the benefits, and less of the downsides.
"There is no Dark side. Or Light side.
There is only the Force.
Balance is to be kept, but not at the sacrifice of The Rules.
The Balance is what keeps us together.
There is no good without evil, but evil should not be allowed to flourish.
There is passion, yet emotion.
Serenity, yet peace.
Chaos, yet Order.
I am the wielder of the flame, the protector of the Balance.
I am the holder of the torch, lighting the way.
I am the keeper of the flame, soldier of balance
I do what I have to do."
Gunmetal Magi use emotions- and feed the fires- to move the Force. Like something between a Light Force User and a Dark Force User.
Flames of Unbalance
Ira, the Red Flame of Anger.
It wraps around you and justifies tragedy in pursuit of revenge.
Odia, the Black Flame of Hatred.
All Consuming, until a blackened husk is left.
Acedia, the Uncaring flame.
Slowly deadening until an uncaring void is left.
Avarice, The Empty flame.
Greed and Lust, growing as a Dragon, but empty as a Husk.
Control your inner flame, know where they feed.
Control your inner flame, know where they sleep.
Control your inner flame, and Power you will keep.
"Do you know how much the Magi celebrated with your prophecy?!"
"A Man to keep, to Wield the balance, to bring balance to the force?"
"They thought you'd be a Magi. I'm not honestly surprised you're a sith."
"Then again, it was the Jedi who enforced the insulting overturning of the balance. Did you know that the Gray were just about ready to wipe out the Jedi in retaliation for what they did to the Sith?"
"Killing them, enforcing that retarded rule of two- it weakens both. By restricting the powers of the Jedi, and removing the numbers of the Sith."
"So many Gray died when the balance overturned. You forget- Force wielders become their element after enough time has passed. The Gray had become balance. When it was toppled, they died in droves."
"I would almost dislike you for that- but you're not the Dark. Or the light. I'd be an asshole and call you a mistake- but you're quite honestly not."
"I don't hate the Dark. Or the Light. They're just two extremes. And they don't understand that humans can't survive healthily in extremes."
"Think about it- Jedi, squashing their emotions? Other species doing it- well. It could be healthy for them, but humans need emotions. Without them they wouldn't be human."
"And Sith? That much anger and hatred twists and consumes a person until it becomes self-fulfilling. Which is unhealthy."
"I'm not a child. I don't need to be told Light isn't good, and Dark isn't bad. I've seen it with these optics myself."
"Oh, he was a friend of mine. Quite firmly against the Dark, despite using the dark himself. A Light Lord- not a jedi, but something more- offered him the chance to change sides. Like that, a being of Dark as Light."
"He respectfully declined. His previous master had blinded him, you see, quite literally. And the offer to heal all his scars- well. He was one of the immortal species, and 50,000 years locked away for some perceived slight had given him enough time to accept himself, to accept his own mistakes. He had become his scars."
"The Light Lord didn't give him a choice, tying him up and forcing the light through his body even as it burned against the tide of light. Finally, he broke from the hold and unleashed his full power against the Light Lord, destroying it. I have never been so happy in my entire life to be Gray. And on his side. He was scary."
"Oh, this little ol' thing? I made it." She patted the lightsabre fondly.
"Oh, where I got the crystals? Well, long story short, I more or less sort of made them. In a forge."
"In my time as a bounty hunter, any fond memories of a place, or any angry memories, or lessons learned would result in me finding some kind of material. Crystals, sometimes. Pearls, ores, metals of all shapes and sizes, jewels."
"I kept a collection- until I decided it was time to make my own Lightsaber. But by that time, my Force Imprint of all of those memories was so deep they had become something like a part of me. I couldn't just use one or two."
"So I decided to take all of them and meld them into two crystals. That's how I made my crystals. And why my sabre looks the way it does- my crystals were… well. One of the light, one for the dark. Balance. And it shows."
"Anger, hatred, frustration- these emotions were poured painstakingly into the Dark crystal as it was formed. Made of materials from bad memories, of pain and the darkest of emotion." She sunk into the Dark Side in example, the usually peaceful white opal blade darkened by red-yellow opal-fire. Then, with a flick, the whip faded, her hold on the Dark side fading with it.
"Love, Hope, and compassion went into the formation of this one." Her whip cooled, a shade of fiery green blue not seen outside dying stars lighting up the whip until it was on the edge of burning eyes.
"Let's see- I think there's one of those Force-sensitive sapphires in there, the healing one? Got it off a girl living on the far side of a Hive world. Girl was drunk as feth, and I got her home safe. 'Parently, it was the anniversary of her parents' deaths, and she'd wanted to drown her sorrows. Little girl, 'bout half the size of my damn leg, gave me one of her earrings in thanks. Mom was supposed to be home earlier, and I think dad was in the army or something. But that little girl's smile at seeing her mom home was worth the loss of her bounty."
"Another one- a little brown rock a boy entrusted to me. Imperials were attacking the planet, and it was a gift from his father. He wanted it safe, off-planet, and away from Imperials. Didn't realize until it lit up while I was meditatin' it was a damned Bnar's Sacrifice."
"Bane's Heart, but damn that crystal is possessive. Found it in the gutter in the back alley of a Pleasure Planet. Some asshole threw it away. Thought it was just a dumb rock. Wasn't so stupid when I stabbed him through the neck with it. That bounty I was glad to cash in."
"Found a Sunrider's Destiny when I was off parolin- some kid found it in his backyard or something, I can't remember. But him and his friends wanted to impress the bounty hunter, and damn but that magic rock impressed me. So did his small group of force-sensitives."
"Barab Ingot I got as payment for one of the more easy bounties. Asshole didn't even realize what it was- thought it was an opal! Was fun using it, though. Fire is fun." She grinned internally.
"Got a Bondar Crystal from my own training lightsabre." She stroked the handle of her whip fondly. "Useful for bringing in bounties alive."
"One of my first bounties was for one of those hardened crystals- you know, the red ones that glow? Hard as hell to put it in a lightsabre, but worth it. So. Damned. Worth it."
"Damid- only reason I can remember its name cuz it sounds like "dammit," Ha! Such an innocent little thing with such power. Got it from an imperial suck-up who didn't even know what he was mining. He had a bounty on him, was mistreating his slaves, and really was a sucky guy. His head costed a lot, though. And so did the excess crystals. Slaves? What slaves?"
"Dantari was what one of my employers tried to tempt me with. I tempted my next employer with his head."
"Eralam was one of the force crystals one of those Sith bastards tried to kill me with. Still, someone paid for his head. It was a good day."
"Why yes, by chance, luck, or some kind of Force bullshit, I got most of the best Force Crystals into the best Crystal Base this universe has ever seen. I'm thinking of calling it Force Opal- or Skywalker Stone. Why? Got a problem with it? I'm sure someone would pay for your head."
"You…" Dare? Dare to take my friends, my only connections to a world which has abandoned me?
You will pay.
Red-yellow flowed down her whip, centering her in the Dark Side as deep as she could go as she drew on her anger, on her fear, but didn't let it overwhelm her.
She was bad at force lightning. She couldn't heal using the force directly, at least not without using her lightsabre as a middle amplifier. Any kind of beam attack was weak, a waste of energy, and harmless.
No, what this Magi specialized in was.. Well, miscellaneous combat. Little tricks that together made combat easier.
She could shapeshift into any creature she knew extensively, as long as it was not a person or sentient. She could absorb energy beams through the force, and redirect force attacks using a push. She could tell truth and lies using the force. She could read body language using a mix of her knowledge and the force. She was immune to poisons, having them already in her blood. She was essentially the ideal spy, really. Or assassin.
"If anyone," She wrapped her whip around a neck and activated the lightsabre. Two parts of a charred husk hit the ground behind her. "Tells me to 'give in to my anger' or 'use my hatred' again, It won't be their head I'm taking off." The people around her almost relaxed. "It will be their over inflated balls." The male populace surrounding her gave a short look to the blackened husk that used to be a head and crossed their legs. Ahsoka cackled.
"A sword doesn't have enough reach. A chain will never hit hard enough. A hard dilemma, but also a simple one." She lost her strict exterior, drawing her whip fondly. And lighting it. The white whip lightsabre hummed in her hands, and she smirked.
(FREE TO USE! seriously.)
WARHAMMER OC
- Location
- In the Depths of Space
The latin chorus lyrics were taken from the 'Dies Irae' prayer. They translate as follows:
Rex tremendae majestatis
Qui salvandos salvas gratis
Salve me, Fons Pietatis
Salve me, Fons Pietatis (King of Majesty tremendous, Who dost free salvation send us, Fount of pity, then befriend us Fount of pity, then befriend us)
Quantus tremor est futurus Quando Judex est venturus Quantus tremor est futurus Quando Judex est venturus: (Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth).
The last latin lyrics were put together by Eurielle herself; they translate as follows:
Damnata, invisus, ubique
Ab omnibus, ad infinitum: (Damned, hated, everywhere, by everyone, forever!)
"This journey is the longest and most dreadful one I have ever been on, The ones that I trusted the most have betrayed me or have died, I stand alone at the end with nothing left, This journey will be the last of my life, I will disappear from the world like a wind and be forgotten."
The story of a self-insert/oc reincarnating into the body of a cryptek in control of a small, abandoned colony of necrons. One problem among many is that she is strictly female- and twists the rest of the necrons, as well as herself, to fit this bill. Another is that she used to be human, which gives her the distinct displeasure of being the first and only of her species to aly with the newly forming Imperium of Man, due to her increased empathy towards humans as a whole. Yet another problem is that The Emperor knows her- has seen her before. He knows she used to be human.
"Eurielle." She decided, and the name fit, felt right in a way her past life's never did.
"Rex tremendae majestatis"
"Qui salvandos salvas gratis "
"Salve me, Fons Pietatis"
"Salve me, Fons Pietatis"
"Damnata, invisus, ubique "
"Ab omnibus, ad infinitum"
Eurielle was lonely. Sure she had her creations- the little necron that padded along her hallways like robots- but they weren't… enough. They had almost no personalities of their own, being little more than semi-sentient robots built for war. They had no souls of their own, no real feel of being to them. They weren't people, they were less her children and more her creations, and she felt barely any attachment to them except as a fond, slightly pitying, God.
She sunk into her incredibly comfortable throne, cradling her head in her arms as she also sunk into the incredible depth of loneliness that grew within her. She wanted children.
In her first life almost her entire life was lived with the hope of one day of having children. She wanted to be a maternal nurse, was a babysitter for most of her life, and found comfort in the tiny, squabbling forms of babies of all species. Disgusting tasks such as changing diapers became menial and inconsequential to her, simply things she had to do. She delighted in reading to the children, and singing to them, teaching them her favorite songs that they would humm and 'la' to wherever they went. That is, until a very sad doctor told her she could never have children. She didn't let that get her down, her father, too, was not supposed to have children, and what did that give him? So she tried anyway. And Tried. And tried and tried and tried.
Finally, after almost ten years of constant failure, she took to drinking. Depression had closed its hold over her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and dragging her deeper and deeper into its black claws, where she had no strength to escape. The only things that repelled the heavy depression before were the thoughts of children. And now that she couldn't have children, what was her point in life?
She couldn't remember how she died, but she heavily expected it was drug overdose or liver failure. She had been getting deep into that liquor. It was honestly kind of impressive, in a holy-shit wide eyed sort of way.
When she woke up, it was in outrage. It was heavily implied in the back of her mind that she wanted to die, to commit suicide, and she woke up in a puddle of self-loathing thick enough to drown a man in its mists. When she realized she had been born into the body of a C'tan-Cryptek sort of looking hybrid, she felt only joy. This was her chance to finally have children and make decisions on her own. She could finally have children. Sure, they wouldn't exactly be children of her womb, but children of the mind are just as valuable! Look at Athena!
What she didn't think would happen is that her children would just be.. So empty. The new ones had no souls, and neither did the older ones, their personalities more just a string of data-capable minds linked with her own, and she felt disappointment. They were so empty, these weren't children. They were puppets, without a single thought to their own.
She had felt so empty, so dead inside.
Except there was another way to give her children- real, flesh and blood human children. But it was immoral and she felt her metal skin ripple with unease.
She had read science fiction almost religiously before she had died, interested in alien biology and evolution. Cloning, and creating children from samples of human biology was one of the subjects she had studied. It had interested her, really. And she knew that, in her current time period, it was possible. While doing what the Emperor did would be a stretch, because he is the Emperor, she thought she could accomplish this with cryptek help.
Morals, the few she could keep in this hell, warred with sheer want and aching loneliness until she couldn't take it anymore. She contacted some fellow crypteks and gave them a challenge.
She wanted her children to be as well protected, as well protected as she could manage in this hellish realm. So, she sent some necron ships to the stars, with the thin hope that some of them would return with what she sent them to fetch; Primarch DNA.
The reason for this being that even if she died, her tomb planet becoming her actual tomb while all of her creations died around her, no one would kill a Primarch. Her hope was that they would be delivered to Terra on her death to be with their blood-fathers. It was a dim hope, sure, but it was a hope she kept nonetheless.
Of the twenty ships she sent out, only a few returned with samples. Only one ship had two samples.
So she sent this challenge; take the essence of these 'Primarchs' and study them, before creating a living, humanoid being with them. The crypteks took to this challenge in what would be called fervor, the crypteks being one of the most expressive and thinking of her creations.
Finally, after several years of study and testing, her crypteks finally returned after having successfully cloned a single baby from one of the DNA samples.
It was a little girl, with bright blonde hair, expressive blue eyes, and pink, stubby wings growing out of her back.
Eurielle loved her before she was even in her arms.
"Faith." Her soft, melodic voice named the child cradled in her arms. Her wings, more pink and squishy chicken wings than the majestic wings of her progenitor, flapped happily as she giggled.
And Eurielle was happy.
There were other children of course; a black haired blue eyed Howl look-alike that she called Nemesis Nevermore, the result of the two mixed DNA samples, a set of twins that she named Magnus and Fenrir, and finally a little mini-Vulkan that she named Vulcus.
She taught Faith her songs- of her old and new life, of worlds beyond- and the ability to tap into the Light. She became a Paladin/Priest and took to her studies quickly, enjoying her company and their constant talks.
Nemesis was taught her stories, using his inherited ability to view the future to see the many different futures as she did, to use the dark, empty Void to fuel their mental journeys between dimensions. He became a much beloved Rogue/Shadowcaster, slipping into shadows and always with the halo of calm the comforting darkness of the Void granted it's wielders.
Magnus was taught her magical skill, becoming a formidable Mage/Warlock that drew on all available sources of power to fuel his spells, but being warned beforehand, heavily, to never draw upon the Warp. He and his friend Zigpit, summoned from the depths of the ever-growing Twisting Nether, began to build a library containing hand-written tomes of his sister and brothers' experiences with their various powers, and how to tap into the multitude of dimensions that housed the said power.
Fenrir was taught to become a berserker, how to use his surroundings to his advantage, and how to wield weapons formidably, as well as how to draw upon the powers of the elements around him to fuel destructive spells of nature, wielding nature itself against their foes. A formidable close combat Warrior/Shaman, he was a beast on the battlefield, his grey hair and bright blue eyes seeking battle like a drowning man seeks air.
Vulkus was taught to work metal like no human ever could- how to shape the flimsy mercury-like liquid of living metal into weapons of great power, into armor unheard and unseen, but beautiful in it's simplicity. He forged his brothers' and sister's armor and weapons with the metal gifted by his Mother, and the fiery power within him, mixed with the blessed flames of the forge.
Rex tremendae majestatis
Qui salvandos salvas gratis
Salve me, Fons Pietatis
Salve me, Fons Pietatis (King of Majesty tremendous, Who dost free salvation send us, Fount of pity, then befriend us Fount of pity, then befriend us)
Quantus tremor est futurus Quando Judex est venturus Quantus tremor est futurus Quando Judex est venturus: (Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth Oh, what fear man's bosom rendeth, When from heaven the Judge descendeth).
The last latin lyrics were put together by Eurielle herself; they translate as follows:
Damnata, invisus, ubique
Ab omnibus, ad infinitum: (Damned, hated, everywhere, by everyone, forever!)
"This journey is the longest and most dreadful one I have ever been on, The ones that I trusted the most have betrayed me or have died, I stand alone at the end with nothing left, This journey will be the last of my life, I will disappear from the world like a wind and be forgotten."
The story of a self-insert/oc reincarnating into the body of a cryptek in control of a small, abandoned colony of necrons. One problem among many is that she is strictly female- and twists the rest of the necrons, as well as herself, to fit this bill. Another is that she used to be human, which gives her the distinct displeasure of being the first and only of her species to aly with the newly forming Imperium of Man, due to her increased empathy towards humans as a whole. Yet another problem is that The Emperor knows her- has seen her before. He knows she used to be human.
"Eurielle." She decided, and the name fit, felt right in a way her past life's never did.
"Rex tremendae majestatis"
"Qui salvandos salvas gratis "
"Salve me, Fons Pietatis"
"Salve me, Fons Pietatis"
"Damnata, invisus, ubique "
"Ab omnibus, ad infinitum"
Eurielle was lonely. Sure she had her creations- the little necron that padded along her hallways like robots- but they weren't… enough. They had almost no personalities of their own, being little more than semi-sentient robots built for war. They had no souls of their own, no real feel of being to them. They weren't people, they were less her children and more her creations, and she felt barely any attachment to them except as a fond, slightly pitying, God.
She sunk into her incredibly comfortable throne, cradling her head in her arms as she also sunk into the incredible depth of loneliness that grew within her. She wanted children.
In her first life almost her entire life was lived with the hope of one day of having children. She wanted to be a maternal nurse, was a babysitter for most of her life, and found comfort in the tiny, squabbling forms of babies of all species. Disgusting tasks such as changing diapers became menial and inconsequential to her, simply things she had to do. She delighted in reading to the children, and singing to them, teaching them her favorite songs that they would humm and 'la' to wherever they went. That is, until a very sad doctor told her she could never have children. She didn't let that get her down, her father, too, was not supposed to have children, and what did that give him? So she tried anyway. And Tried. And tried and tried and tried.
Finally, after almost ten years of constant failure, she took to drinking. Depression had closed its hold over her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear, and dragging her deeper and deeper into its black claws, where she had no strength to escape. The only things that repelled the heavy depression before were the thoughts of children. And now that she couldn't have children, what was her point in life?
She couldn't remember how she died, but she heavily expected it was drug overdose or liver failure. She had been getting deep into that liquor. It was honestly kind of impressive, in a holy-shit wide eyed sort of way.
When she woke up, it was in outrage. It was heavily implied in the back of her mind that she wanted to die, to commit suicide, and she woke up in a puddle of self-loathing thick enough to drown a man in its mists. When she realized she had been born into the body of a C'tan-Cryptek sort of looking hybrid, she felt only joy. This was her chance to finally have children and make decisions on her own. She could finally have children. Sure, they wouldn't exactly be children of her womb, but children of the mind are just as valuable! Look at Athena!
What she didn't think would happen is that her children would just be.. So empty. The new ones had no souls, and neither did the older ones, their personalities more just a string of data-capable minds linked with her own, and she felt disappointment. They were so empty, these weren't children. They were puppets, without a single thought to their own.
She had felt so empty, so dead inside.
Except there was another way to give her children- real, flesh and blood human children. But it was immoral and she felt her metal skin ripple with unease.
She had read science fiction almost religiously before she had died, interested in alien biology and evolution. Cloning, and creating children from samples of human biology was one of the subjects she had studied. It had interested her, really. And she knew that, in her current time period, it was possible. While doing what the Emperor did would be a stretch, because he is the Emperor, she thought she could accomplish this with cryptek help.
Morals, the few she could keep in this hell, warred with sheer want and aching loneliness until she couldn't take it anymore. She contacted some fellow crypteks and gave them a challenge.
She wanted her children to be as well protected, as well protected as she could manage in this hellish realm. So, she sent some necron ships to the stars, with the thin hope that some of them would return with what she sent them to fetch; Primarch DNA.
The reason for this being that even if she died, her tomb planet becoming her actual tomb while all of her creations died around her, no one would kill a Primarch. Her hope was that they would be delivered to Terra on her death to be with their blood-fathers. It was a dim hope, sure, but it was a hope she kept nonetheless.
Of the twenty ships she sent out, only a few returned with samples. Only one ship had two samples.
So she sent this challenge; take the essence of these 'Primarchs' and study them, before creating a living, humanoid being with them. The crypteks took to this challenge in what would be called fervor, the crypteks being one of the most expressive and thinking of her creations.
Finally, after several years of study and testing, her crypteks finally returned after having successfully cloned a single baby from one of the DNA samples.
It was a little girl, with bright blonde hair, expressive blue eyes, and pink, stubby wings growing out of her back.
Eurielle loved her before she was even in her arms.
"Faith." Her soft, melodic voice named the child cradled in her arms. Her wings, more pink and squishy chicken wings than the majestic wings of her progenitor, flapped happily as she giggled.
And Eurielle was happy.
There were other children of course; a black haired blue eyed Howl look-alike that she called Nemesis Nevermore, the result of the two mixed DNA samples, a set of twins that she named Magnus and Fenrir, and finally a little mini-Vulkan that she named Vulcus.
She taught Faith her songs- of her old and new life, of worlds beyond- and the ability to tap into the Light. She became a Paladin/Priest and took to her studies quickly, enjoying her company and their constant talks.
Nemesis was taught her stories, using his inherited ability to view the future to see the many different futures as she did, to use the dark, empty Void to fuel their mental journeys between dimensions. He became a much beloved Rogue/Shadowcaster, slipping into shadows and always with the halo of calm the comforting darkness of the Void granted it's wielders.
Magnus was taught her magical skill, becoming a formidable Mage/Warlock that drew on all available sources of power to fuel his spells, but being warned beforehand, heavily, to never draw upon the Warp. He and his friend Zigpit, summoned from the depths of the ever-growing Twisting Nether, began to build a library containing hand-written tomes of his sister and brothers' experiences with their various powers, and how to tap into the multitude of dimensions that housed the said power.
Fenrir was taught to become a berserker, how to use his surroundings to his advantage, and how to wield weapons formidably, as well as how to draw upon the powers of the elements around him to fuel destructive spells of nature, wielding nature itself against their foes. A formidable close combat Warrior/Shaman, he was a beast on the battlefield, his grey hair and bright blue eyes seeking battle like a drowning man seeks air.
Vulkus was taught to work metal like no human ever could- how to shape the flimsy mercury-like liquid of living metal into weapons of great power, into armor unheard and unseen, but beautiful in it's simplicity. He forged his brothers' and sister's armor and weapons with the metal gifted by his Mother, and the fiery power within him, mixed with the blessed flames of the forge.
Maximum Ride / PjO Crossover
- Location
- In the Depths of Space
Deep in the recesses of a man-made project chocked full of the depths of humanity with the examples of child experimentation, tortures that were so illegal that the one performing such atrocities would probably be shot on the spot, and horrible, disgusting deprivation of basic human needs, a reincarnated writer turned daughter of Apollo flexed her new, torture-given wings.
Small, black, leathery bat-wings adorned the back of the daughter of the sun god, and in the depths of her mind, she could almost appreciate the irony.
They were sort of small in comparison to her back, and wrinkly, and unbelievably ugly, with feathers covering them in a bizarre mash of species that made her look like some sort of disgusting abomination. Despite the so-called "coolness" of the image of leathery wings adorned with feathers, in reality it looked much, much more disturbing.
They were the result of an experiment wishing to see if bat DNA and owl DNA could be meshed together to create some coherent subject in a member of the human species. "Lucky" for this reincarnated writer, half of her genetic code was blank, allowing for these sorts of unwanted additions. However, if implanted into a regular, non half-god being, said being would probably die in some horrific fashion involving tumors, blood, and copious amounts of brain-liquefaction. (Un?)Thankfully for the little demigod, she had just enough space in her genetic codes to fit those two species in. Two night-loving species that were almost strictly nocturnal mixed with the blood of a half-immortal that gained, grew, and took the most power from the sun.
The Norns were probably giggling in their overgrown wheelchairs, she could feel it.
Stopping her current form of torture (because flexing unused muscles hurt, and her wings were definitely an unused muscle, considering, y'know, they didn't exist yesterday) the reincarnated daughter of Apollo leaned against the bars of her fairly spacey cage and closed her eyes.
She wasn't sleeping, or even trying to sleep, really, (bat/owl instincts clashing with demigod/human instincts forcing her up, and when she did sleep she got horrifying nightmares anyways) but instead remembering all of the songs she heard in her previously mortal life.
You see, children of Apollo usually get the Apollo package; increased powers of the sun, healing, good at archery, the basic package. Lucky ones will get maybe a boost in their singing voice, and maybe a little bit of foresight, but that's it. Even rarer demigods only get one thing that they can do, such as just healing or just archery, but these demigods are unnaturally good at it, too. Those types of healers could cure cancer with a touch, and those archers would hit the wings of a fly at 500 feet. Our little unnamed daughter of Apollo was part of an even rarer sect; har powers had everything to do with song, and only song. She still drew power from the sun, but she drew way more power from song. A scientist humming while walking down the hallway outside of her little cage was enough to give her the power to live another day, and not, y'know, collapse into a suicidal puddle of impending death due to the constant experimentations she was forced to go through in a day to day basis.
The power she got from song had one good aspect, and it was that she could remember every song she had ever heard in her previous life. And her previous life loved music, she had a copious amount of memories dedicated to song, even making her own songs.
So, while unbelievable tortures happened to those outside of her mind, and to herself, she at least had one comfort that the whitecoats couldn't take from her - her music.
(She had a tiny amount of power in prophecy, too- but not enough for foresight. She couldn't look forwards, but just a little bit sideways was within her reach.)
The only bad thing about being reincarnated into this word, she assumes, besides the, y'know, disgusting and horrible mutations and massively excessive amount of death fucking everywhere, she guesses, is that the DNA the lab coats injected her with fucked up her eyes. No, she wasn't blind as a bat, because contrary to common knowledge bats are not blind, but she was extremely sensitive to light. Sensitive enough she might as well have been blind. And, in response to that, the coats "graciously" (as if they could be anything except murdering fucks) gifted her a pair of sunglasses/goggles to wear on her face. They worked magnificently, even if she now looked like some sort of Orochimaru-turned Aburame.
Theia rushed forwards, grinning wildly as her silky black hair spun around her in the winds. A steady, uplifting drum beat through her limbs, urging her forwards and giving her the strength to move faster. The sun was aiding her in this endeavour, allowing her to outpace the fiendish Erasers with almost ease. She burst through the treeline, almost tripping over her own bare feet at the change in environment, and stared down to find herself leaning off of the edge of a cliff.
"Oh." She blinked, almost dumbfounded, before grinning in delight and curling her wings closer to her body. This was her chance! She could be free! Freedom… A stray burst of wind blew the hair out of her face, allowing her a clearer view of the long way down, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes against the sensation before she made her decision. And, without taking the time to question herself, Theia coiled her legs and leaped off of the chasm, almost certainly to her doom. The drum within her soul beat faster, coiling onto a crescendo that only fueled the fire keeping her smile wide.
Tilting her body downwards and making a sweet, controlled dive as though she was back in her old life and going through swim class, the little misplaced demigod opened her wings, flapping them quickly and swiftly gaining altitude, speeding herself away from the ERasers, the School, and onwards to freedom.
Theia laughed in pure, unfiltered joy, spreading her arms and flexing her wings as she sang, a clear, beautiful note exiting her mouth that only seemed to make the sun shine brighter, warmer against her skin than before. She flipped, twisting around in a circular motion that tied her stomach into knots and made it flip-flop, but only sought to bring her joy.
She was free.
Her newfound joy lasted only until an untended pack of harpies tried to smack her out of the sky, and she realized that oh shit, I don't have a weapon. But punching them in the face seemed to do the trick, and Theia quickly turned the small, weak flock of Harpies into golden dust and assorted loots, having to dive to catch the singular golden knife only one of the Harpies carried. Yes, these monsters were easily dispatched, and they did drop a weapon, except she had come to her real problem- She had no viable weapons. Sure, the knife was celestial bronze, but knives were up close and personal fighting weapons, and to get up close and personal with two huge weaknesses splayed across her back was an excuse to become yet another demigod splattered on the sidewalk, or in the monster's belly. Sure, arial monsters were few and far between in greek myth, and pretty weak, besides, except Theia was mortal, and thus required food and a minimum of an hour's rest before she could get up into the sky again, and she was sort of a noob at flying, which meant her wing muscles were underdeveloped, which means she'd need plenty of rest to get through any sort of flight to anywhere.
Which brought up another problem- where was she to go? Sure, there was Camp Half-Blood, but honestly the idea in and of itself set a snake through her stomach. Chiron, in her eyes, was too coddling, like a favored grandfather or uncle. After Luke failed in his quest, he just quit for some reason, becoming too cowardly to let people fight their own battles and almost entirely forbidding quests entirely afterwards. It was probably noble in his mind, but sitting around on your ass and practicing with dummies will never prepare you for real battle, leading to way too much unnecessary death.
Going to Camp Roman, or whatever it was called, was a seemingly better idea, but they were too strict. She would be forced to abandon her newfound freedom and to contort to their rules, and that made her chafe, inwardly.
Honestly, if there was a choice between either of the demigod camps for a place to go, Theia would much rather flip everyone off, jump off the nearest cliff, and make her own damned camp.
The Greek Camp was stupid, only having twelve cabins and not accommodating minor gods was a decision made probably very far from Athena, or anyone with a brain, because any sort of mistreating of gods, even peripherally, always ended up in pain for whoever was doing it, and honestly the war against the Olympians was a long time coming for that. The Greek camp was also sort of weak, had too many rules, and almost no one actually survived to adulthood in there, so obviously something is wrong with the curriculum.
New Rome was out. It was too chafing on her newfound sense of freedom, had too many rules, and even though Romans were expected to life past 30, it was too militaristic and forced and unhappy for her to go to. Also, she had almost no information on the roman camp except for the fact roman demigods were expected to win a trial by fire by Lupa herself, and 80% didn't survive it. I'm sorry, but no. Killing your own children was not going to solve any gods diddily damned problems, only make them. And killing innocents rankled against Theias small remaining amount of morals.
Killing children was something the was forced to do in the school to survive, battling against handfuls of deadly mutants and even more misguided children in order to get out of that place. She couldn't say she hated it- any sort of anger usually fell short on her, leaving a sobbing, brooding female alone, but she was tired of it. She was tired of children dying while their parents are a hands reach away.
She knew it was possible to create her own camp- in a world she liked to call Serpents and Celestial Bronze some sort of monster managed to make his own demigod haven, except Theia had no idea how to do what he did, had none of the resources or money he did, and had no idea what to do to complete her goal.
If her goal was even possible in the first place.
Small, black, leathery bat-wings adorned the back of the daughter of the sun god, and in the depths of her mind, she could almost appreciate the irony.
They were sort of small in comparison to her back, and wrinkly, and unbelievably ugly, with feathers covering them in a bizarre mash of species that made her look like some sort of disgusting abomination. Despite the so-called "coolness" of the image of leathery wings adorned with feathers, in reality it looked much, much more disturbing.
They were the result of an experiment wishing to see if bat DNA and owl DNA could be meshed together to create some coherent subject in a member of the human species. "Lucky" for this reincarnated writer, half of her genetic code was blank, allowing for these sorts of unwanted additions. However, if implanted into a regular, non half-god being, said being would probably die in some horrific fashion involving tumors, blood, and copious amounts of brain-liquefaction. (Un?)Thankfully for the little demigod, she had just enough space in her genetic codes to fit those two species in. Two night-loving species that were almost strictly nocturnal mixed with the blood of a half-immortal that gained, grew, and took the most power from the sun.
The Norns were probably giggling in their overgrown wheelchairs, she could feel it.
Stopping her current form of torture (because flexing unused muscles hurt, and her wings were definitely an unused muscle, considering, y'know, they didn't exist yesterday) the reincarnated daughter of Apollo leaned against the bars of her fairly spacey cage and closed her eyes.
She wasn't sleeping, or even trying to sleep, really, (bat/owl instincts clashing with demigod/human instincts forcing her up, and when she did sleep she got horrifying nightmares anyways) but instead remembering all of the songs she heard in her previously mortal life.
You see, children of Apollo usually get the Apollo package; increased powers of the sun, healing, good at archery, the basic package. Lucky ones will get maybe a boost in their singing voice, and maybe a little bit of foresight, but that's it. Even rarer demigods only get one thing that they can do, such as just healing or just archery, but these demigods are unnaturally good at it, too. Those types of healers could cure cancer with a touch, and those archers would hit the wings of a fly at 500 feet. Our little unnamed daughter of Apollo was part of an even rarer sect; har powers had everything to do with song, and only song. She still drew power from the sun, but she drew way more power from song. A scientist humming while walking down the hallway outside of her little cage was enough to give her the power to live another day, and not, y'know, collapse into a suicidal puddle of impending death due to the constant experimentations she was forced to go through in a day to day basis.
The power she got from song had one good aspect, and it was that she could remember every song she had ever heard in her previous life. And her previous life loved music, she had a copious amount of memories dedicated to song, even making her own songs.
So, while unbelievable tortures happened to those outside of her mind, and to herself, she at least had one comfort that the whitecoats couldn't take from her - her music.
(She had a tiny amount of power in prophecy, too- but not enough for foresight. She couldn't look forwards, but just a little bit sideways was within her reach.)
The only bad thing about being reincarnated into this word, she assumes, besides the, y'know, disgusting and horrible mutations and massively excessive amount of death fucking everywhere, she guesses, is that the DNA the lab coats injected her with fucked up her eyes. No, she wasn't blind as a bat, because contrary to common knowledge bats are not blind, but she was extremely sensitive to light. Sensitive enough she might as well have been blind. And, in response to that, the coats "graciously" (as if they could be anything except murdering fucks) gifted her a pair of sunglasses/goggles to wear on her face. They worked magnificently, even if she now looked like some sort of Orochimaru-turned Aburame.
Theia rushed forwards, grinning wildly as her silky black hair spun around her in the winds. A steady, uplifting drum beat through her limbs, urging her forwards and giving her the strength to move faster. The sun was aiding her in this endeavour, allowing her to outpace the fiendish Erasers with almost ease. She burst through the treeline, almost tripping over her own bare feet at the change in environment, and stared down to find herself leaning off of the edge of a cliff.
"Oh." She blinked, almost dumbfounded, before grinning in delight and curling her wings closer to her body. This was her chance! She could be free! Freedom… A stray burst of wind blew the hair out of her face, allowing her a clearer view of the long way down, and she leaned into it, closing her eyes against the sensation before she made her decision. And, without taking the time to question herself, Theia coiled her legs and leaped off of the chasm, almost certainly to her doom. The drum within her soul beat faster, coiling onto a crescendo that only fueled the fire keeping her smile wide.
Tilting her body downwards and making a sweet, controlled dive as though she was back in her old life and going through swim class, the little misplaced demigod opened her wings, flapping them quickly and swiftly gaining altitude, speeding herself away from the ERasers, the School, and onwards to freedom.
Theia laughed in pure, unfiltered joy, spreading her arms and flexing her wings as she sang, a clear, beautiful note exiting her mouth that only seemed to make the sun shine brighter, warmer against her skin than before. She flipped, twisting around in a circular motion that tied her stomach into knots and made it flip-flop, but only sought to bring her joy.
She was free.
Her newfound joy lasted only until an untended pack of harpies tried to smack her out of the sky, and she realized that oh shit, I don't have a weapon. But punching them in the face seemed to do the trick, and Theia quickly turned the small, weak flock of Harpies into golden dust and assorted loots, having to dive to catch the singular golden knife only one of the Harpies carried. Yes, these monsters were easily dispatched, and they did drop a weapon, except she had come to her real problem- She had no viable weapons. Sure, the knife was celestial bronze, but knives were up close and personal fighting weapons, and to get up close and personal with two huge weaknesses splayed across her back was an excuse to become yet another demigod splattered on the sidewalk, or in the monster's belly. Sure, arial monsters were few and far between in greek myth, and pretty weak, besides, except Theia was mortal, and thus required food and a minimum of an hour's rest before she could get up into the sky again, and she was sort of a noob at flying, which meant her wing muscles were underdeveloped, which means she'd need plenty of rest to get through any sort of flight to anywhere.
Which brought up another problem- where was she to go? Sure, there was Camp Half-Blood, but honestly the idea in and of itself set a snake through her stomach. Chiron, in her eyes, was too coddling, like a favored grandfather or uncle. After Luke failed in his quest, he just quit for some reason, becoming too cowardly to let people fight their own battles and almost entirely forbidding quests entirely afterwards. It was probably noble in his mind, but sitting around on your ass and practicing with dummies will never prepare you for real battle, leading to way too much unnecessary death.
Going to Camp Roman, or whatever it was called, was a seemingly better idea, but they were too strict. She would be forced to abandon her newfound freedom and to contort to their rules, and that made her chafe, inwardly.
Honestly, if there was a choice between either of the demigod camps for a place to go, Theia would much rather flip everyone off, jump off the nearest cliff, and make her own damned camp.
The Greek Camp was stupid, only having twelve cabins and not accommodating minor gods was a decision made probably very far from Athena, or anyone with a brain, because any sort of mistreating of gods, even peripherally, always ended up in pain for whoever was doing it, and honestly the war against the Olympians was a long time coming for that. The Greek camp was also sort of weak, had too many rules, and almost no one actually survived to adulthood in there, so obviously something is wrong with the curriculum.
New Rome was out. It was too chafing on her newfound sense of freedom, had too many rules, and even though Romans were expected to life past 30, it was too militaristic and forced and unhappy for her to go to. Also, she had almost no information on the roman camp except for the fact roman demigods were expected to win a trial by fire by Lupa herself, and 80% didn't survive it. I'm sorry, but no. Killing your own children was not going to solve any gods diddily damned problems, only make them. And killing innocents rankled against Theias small remaining amount of morals.
Killing children was something the was forced to do in the school to survive, battling against handfuls of deadly mutants and even more misguided children in order to get out of that place. She couldn't say she hated it- any sort of anger usually fell short on her, leaving a sobbing, brooding female alone, but she was tired of it. She was tired of children dying while their parents are a hands reach away.
She knew it was possible to create her own camp- in a world she liked to call Serpents and Celestial Bronze some sort of monster managed to make his own demigod haven, except Theia had no idea how to do what he did, had none of the resources or money he did, and had no idea what to do to complete her goal.
If her goal was even possible in the first place.
WORM ENDBRINGER
- Location
- In the Depths of Space
Her birth was nothing special. She coalesced, shards of her newly fallen mother clinging together in some awkward parody of form and falling to the dead planet below.
In another dimension, a black shard of what looked like polished snowflake obsidian with brightly colored stars instead of "snowflakes" fell to an uninhabited shallow in the direct middle of Africa and set off all the Endbringer alarms.
She unfurled, like some twisted parody of a flower, stretching her new, Alien senses, and twisting into a form that was unbelievably strange to her, but felt like home.
She was a figure clutched within the hold of a massive tree, larger than any ever grown, larger than any of the oldest redwoods. A woman with skin of lightest bark and coverings of the strongest oak. A woman whose stomach was swollen with what looked like pregnancy.
She looked ethereal, untouchable, and unbelievably beautiful. Like old stories of the Fae. Her eyes were of the deepest green, without iris or pupil. Her "Hair" was woven strings of green organic looking matter in a pale imitation of leaves. Her arms were held behind her back with bindings of bark, her legs spread in a sitting position out of the way of her swollen stomach. Not that anything this "tree" was actually had bark of any organic sort. No, all of it was flesh of an endbringer twisted into something that only those without any measure of intelligence could call an actual tree.
Something pinged rather violently against her senses. A group- a horde of father's shards, here to do battle and {SEEKING CONFLICT}.
She ceased inspection of herself, instead turning away from the sun and towards the ground, where her seedlings were already growing, mutating the vegetation with her power.
-Fuck it i can't write right now. An endbringer made of the strongest shit decides to stay right the fuck where she is and spawns a ton of "Champions" to do battle for her. Or something. Whatever.
{Endbringer}
{Shaper}
{Blank}
{Invictus}
{Inspiration}
{Additional Core} x2
{Unbound Form}
{Geas- Cannot use power on meat based life forms, only plant.}
In another dimension, a black shard of what looked like polished snowflake obsidian with brightly colored stars instead of "snowflakes" fell to an uninhabited shallow in the direct middle of Africa and set off all the Endbringer alarms.
She unfurled, like some twisted parody of a flower, stretching her new, Alien senses, and twisting into a form that was unbelievably strange to her, but felt like home.
She was a figure clutched within the hold of a massive tree, larger than any ever grown, larger than any of the oldest redwoods. A woman with skin of lightest bark and coverings of the strongest oak. A woman whose stomach was swollen with what looked like pregnancy.
She looked ethereal, untouchable, and unbelievably beautiful. Like old stories of the Fae. Her eyes were of the deepest green, without iris or pupil. Her "Hair" was woven strings of green organic looking matter in a pale imitation of leaves. Her arms were held behind her back with bindings of bark, her legs spread in a sitting position out of the way of her swollen stomach. Not that anything this "tree" was actually had bark of any organic sort. No, all of it was flesh of an endbringer twisted into something that only those without any measure of intelligence could call an actual tree.
Something pinged rather violently against her senses. A group- a horde of father's shards, here to do battle and {SEEKING CONFLICT}.
She ceased inspection of herself, instead turning away from the sun and towards the ground, where her seedlings were already growing, mutating the vegetation with her power.
-Fuck it i can't write right now. An endbringer made of the strongest shit decides to stay right the fuck where she is and spawns a ton of "Champions" to do battle for her. Or something. Whatever.
{Endbringer}
{Shaper}
{Blank}
{Invictus}
{Inspiration}
{Additional Core} x2
{Unbound Form}
{Geas- Cannot use power on meat based life forms, only plant.}
mark 2
- Location
- In the Depths of Space
I wake up.
Wait, that's wrong. I… come into existence? Fade into being? Something happens and I am now fully aware and sapient and sentient and all that fun stuff.
I am also a tree.
I do not know how I am supposed to react to this. I- My emotions are… muted? They're still there, just… spread through my whole body?
I don't know, and don't want to think about it. Ignore ignore ignore.
I… have an op~ "Okay fuck this over with a screwdriver."
The author decides fuck it and stares at the audience.
"A Si/Oc (Not sure about the difference between them, honestly) Who turns into a tree and takes over a Green Oriented World with the power of either a Lantern Ring, or Zerg-Level evolution for plants. The planet is about the size of a moon, and by the time "you" (This will be a quest) are grown enough to cover it, Events will be in motion where you encounter a universe chosen by the readers. You become Friendly Tree Mogo- but with a specification. You're big enough to support rooms, and one of the first options is what first to grow. Library route gives you Magic Resistance, knowledge of every magic type in the galaxy, a Green Power Ring, and possibly the ability to Summon agents of the Green to help you defeat enemies. Also? You become the friendly Justice League Library, or even Young Justice headquarters. (I honestly would pick this one, but I love books. And Young Justice.)
Wizard Tower gives you magic specifically, but Green Magic. You become friendly tree Swamp Thing. Except like, five of them. No Power Rings, you're powerful enough pls nerf.
Arena/Weapons Storage/ Basically anything that can be used for war opens the Zerg route, you get either a Red ring or a Yellow ring, minor Green magics, and you're probably going to be a villain. And die, honestly. But if you survive you get dumped into an empty world as a Pocket God, and freedom to do whatever you wish.
Residency gives your planet actual sapient beings, and some minor Green/Red magics, mostly for healing. You're essentially Friendly Alien Hotspot #2, right after earth. You have the most knowledge of Alien Biology than anyone anywhere. As thus, Blue Ring/Violet Ring, and you can heal people. Friendly Alien Hospital.
(Note- none of these are set in stone. You could become Floating Tree Guardian with the Battle route, or a Mass-Killer with the Residency route. You could get Red Construct Zerg in the Green Route. The only things that are limited are by your choices- but remember, choosing one thing makes the rest weaker, because despite the fact that you are a god-tree, you can only have so much room.)
(Shit that gives me an idea. Zerg Humanoid Lantern in Young Justice. Noice.)
Wait, that's wrong. I… come into existence? Fade into being? Something happens and I am now fully aware and sapient and sentient and all that fun stuff.
I am also a tree.
I do not know how I am supposed to react to this. I- My emotions are… muted? They're still there, just… spread through my whole body?
I don't know, and don't want to think about it. Ignore ignore ignore.
I… have an op~ "Okay fuck this over with a screwdriver."
The author decides fuck it and stares at the audience.
"A Si/Oc (Not sure about the difference between them, honestly) Who turns into a tree and takes over a Green Oriented World with the power of either a Lantern Ring, or Zerg-Level evolution for plants. The planet is about the size of a moon, and by the time "you" (This will be a quest) are grown enough to cover it, Events will be in motion where you encounter a universe chosen by the readers. You become Friendly Tree Mogo- but with a specification. You're big enough to support rooms, and one of the first options is what first to grow. Library route gives you Magic Resistance, knowledge of every magic type in the galaxy, a Green Power Ring, and possibly the ability to Summon agents of the Green to help you defeat enemies. Also? You become the friendly Justice League Library, or even Young Justice headquarters. (I honestly would pick this one, but I love books. And Young Justice.)
Wizard Tower gives you magic specifically, but Green Magic. You become friendly tree Swamp Thing. Except like, five of them. No Power Rings, you're powerful enough pls nerf.
Arena/Weapons Storage/ Basically anything that can be used for war opens the Zerg route, you get either a Red ring or a Yellow ring, minor Green magics, and you're probably going to be a villain. And die, honestly. But if you survive you get dumped into an empty world as a Pocket God, and freedom to do whatever you wish.
Residency gives your planet actual sapient beings, and some minor Green/Red magics, mostly for healing. You're essentially Friendly Alien Hotspot #2, right after earth. You have the most knowledge of Alien Biology than anyone anywhere. As thus, Blue Ring/Violet Ring, and you can heal people. Friendly Alien Hospital.
(Note- none of these are set in stone. You could become Floating Tree Guardian with the Battle route, or a Mass-Killer with the Residency route. You could get Red Construct Zerg in the Green Route. The only things that are limited are by your choices- but remember, choosing one thing makes the rest weaker, because despite the fact that you are a god-tree, you can only have so much room.)
(Shit that gives me an idea. Zerg Humanoid Lantern in Young Justice. Noice.)
Westerns
Rajvik_wolfboy
Wolf amongst the stars.
- Location
- Florida
i had two bunnies hop through my mind today, i'll post one now, and maybe after some development post the other.
westerns
"Collin Wallis, you get your hide down here this instant!" the voice called from the doorway into the barn. No matter where he hid, Missus Armstrong always knew where he was hiding.
"Yes'm," he called down and moved his twelve year old body over to the ladder where he descended to face the wrath of the head of the Orphanage.
"Collin, the train man mister Tagg stopped me on my way to the general store today, do you know why?" Collin knew the question was actually rhetorical, but decided to answer anyway.
"Because i went into their workshop and tinkered with one of their pistons." he said.
"That's right," she answered, "and how many times have i told you to stay out of their workshop, and that of the blacksmith?"
"To many ma'am," Collin said hanging his head, hoping that she wouldn't take the strap to him to bad, or send someone else with Theresa's dinner.
"That is also right," she replied. "Now, imagine my surprise when Mister Tagg comes to me in front of the store and hands me five dollars cash money, and tells me that if you want to apprentice in the workshop until your old enough and can be an engineer or mechanic, that the position is yours."
Collin's head snapped up to look at Mrs Armstrong, the widow woman who ran the orphanage that he lived at. She was smiling at him, proud of what he had accomplished. "He said that?" Collin asked in a small voice.
"He sure did," she said, "said he pay you two dollars a day as a starting wage also."
Her smile must have been infectious, because Collin could feel his own smile growing to match the older woman's. "I say yes ma'am, i'll do it."
"Good," Mrs Armstrong said, "then you can go there bright and early in the morning to work. Now, help me pack a basket so you can go share the news with Theresa and have dinner with her."
Premise- This is a steam tech "dime store novel" type story that mostly follows Armsy and Dragon in the time frame between 1870 and 1920
Dragon is an automaton that everyone thinks is a agoraphobic girl who's father died and left her in their house. What only Collin knows is that she is powered by the spring in the basement of Richter house, and that the power cables are what limit the movements of Theresa's body.
westerns
"Collin Wallis, you get your hide down here this instant!" the voice called from the doorway into the barn. No matter where he hid, Missus Armstrong always knew where he was hiding.
"Yes'm," he called down and moved his twelve year old body over to the ladder where he descended to face the wrath of the head of the Orphanage.
"Collin, the train man mister Tagg stopped me on my way to the general store today, do you know why?" Collin knew the question was actually rhetorical, but decided to answer anyway.
"Because i went into their workshop and tinkered with one of their pistons." he said.
"That's right," she answered, "and how many times have i told you to stay out of their workshop, and that of the blacksmith?"
"To many ma'am," Collin said hanging his head, hoping that she wouldn't take the strap to him to bad, or send someone else with Theresa's dinner.
"That is also right," she replied. "Now, imagine my surprise when Mister Tagg comes to me in front of the store and hands me five dollars cash money, and tells me that if you want to apprentice in the workshop until your old enough and can be an engineer or mechanic, that the position is yours."
Collin's head snapped up to look at Mrs Armstrong, the widow woman who ran the orphanage that he lived at. She was smiling at him, proud of what he had accomplished. "He said that?" Collin asked in a small voice.
"He sure did," she said, "said he pay you two dollars a day as a starting wage also."
Her smile must have been infectious, because Collin could feel his own smile growing to match the older woman's. "I say yes ma'am, i'll do it."
"Good," Mrs Armstrong said, "then you can go there bright and early in the morning to work. Now, help me pack a basket so you can go share the news with Theresa and have dinner with her."
Premise- This is a steam tech "dime store novel" type story that mostly follows Armsy and Dragon in the time frame between 1870 and 1920
Dragon is an automaton that everyone thinks is a agoraphobic girl who's father died and left her in their house. What only Collin knows is that she is powered by the spring in the basement of Richter house, and that the power cables are what limit the movements of Theresa's body.