Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
It lets him use the butt, and is faster?
TALOS: Fantasy Giant Robots Rampaging Across the Apocalypse
- Thread starter Bromeliad
- Start date
- Original
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
With arms like his and armor like theirs he don't need to.
Also I realized I made a crucial mistake rendering that image, which has been corrected.
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
As Anastasi's commandos rush through the plaza finding mage throats to slit, you start your rotation, left fist slick with mud and blood from pounding at infantry, eye fixed on the roofline. "Strix! Fearcurse! To the East! I want Jane firing on Mark Center!"
A piercing cackle from the roof, which slows then halts abruptly.
"My queen!" Strix calls. "It's fizzled!"
You cuss loudly and colorfully, and sweep the Rumbler's massive right arm around, bringing the shield with it.
Just in time; as cannonball hits shield you feel the punch of vibratory force work its way up the Rumbler's arm to its very core. That would have been a painful connection.
You sweep Jane's hungry maw past the still-twitchy flanker, and point it all the way to the Southwest. You brace yourself.
"Mark center."
The world snaps white for a second and everyone gets just a little bit more deaf as Jackpot Jane slams back into the Rumbler's chest from the force of its projectile.
The cover around the Southwest Automaton evaporates, as does most of its right half.
Only three targets remain:
To the Southwest (Dead center):
Middle Range:
The flanker automaton, dashing west to keep itself in the dead zone Jackpot Jane just created. Aiming as it runs.
To the East (Behind you)
Long Range
The automaton you just blocked. Reloading and helping up:
The automaton you knocked over earlier. One of its arms is completely gone; too far away to tell whether that's enough to keep it from shooting.
Strix's fizzle chance is 45%. Pacitar's is 30%.
The ground battle is starting to tilt back to an EVEN MATCH as mage blood pools in the plaza.
The auto with the nobles onboard is still nowhere to be seen. If it gets far enough away the Rumbler is much too slow to catch up.
A piercing cackle from the roof, which slows then halts abruptly.
"My queen!" Strix calls. "It's fizzled!"
You cuss loudly and colorfully, and sweep the Rumbler's massive right arm around, bringing the shield with it.
Just in time; as cannonball hits shield you feel the punch of vibratory force work its way up the Rumbler's arm to its very core. That would have been a painful connection.
You sweep Jane's hungry maw past the still-twitchy flanker, and point it all the way to the Southwest. You brace yourself.
"Mark center."
The world snaps white for a second and everyone gets just a little bit more deaf as Jackpot Jane slams back into the Rumbler's chest from the force of its projectile.
The cover around the Southwest Automaton evaporates, as does most of its right half.
Only three targets remain:
To the Southwest (Dead center):
Middle Range:
The flanker automaton, dashing west to keep itself in the dead zone Jackpot Jane just created. Aiming as it runs.
To the East (Behind you)
Long Range
The automaton you just blocked. Reloading and helping up:
The automaton you knocked over earlier. One of its arms is completely gone; too far away to tell whether that's enough to keep it from shooting.
Strix's fizzle chance is 45%. Pacitar's is 30%.
The ground battle is starting to tilt back to an EVEN MATCH as mage blood pools in the plaza.
The auto with the nobles onboard is still nowhere to be seen. If it gets far enough away the Rumbler is much too slow to catch up.
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Man, gotta find those nobles, SAers ...
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
"Right shoulder," you say. "On Mark Right prepare to fire on--"
And then with a WHOOSH of displaced air two men appear in midair directly in front of you and crash to the ground.
"Volter Volter FUCK," the one on the other's back yells, as he spills off of his comrade and onto the floor.
The bigger one, his shaytan blood evinced by his pointed ears and a distinct bronze-orange glow to his skin, lands neatly on his back then instantly kips back up into a standing position.
"Hello!" his friend on the floor smiles brightly.
Crik must have come pulling himself up to the Head as soon as he heard your order cut off, because an arrow from his bow whistles through the air directly toward the shaytan-blood man.
Without even looking at it, he holds up a hand, and the arrow blinks off as if someone had thrown a switch.
A void-mage. With an evidently passable talent for Space to boot.
"PLEASE don't mind us." The smiling guy's teeth are gritted. He's clearly frightened out of his wits. "Just, uh-- we'll sit over here until you're not busy."
Behind them the southern automaton is leveling its cannon.
1 You say:
A STRIX! PACITAR! GET THESE INTRUDERS OUT OF MY THRONE ROOM!
B Who the fuck are you?
C Take your friend and poof the hell out of here again before I have you both killed.
D Fine fine get out of the way. Right Shoulder, are you reading me?
E Oh, no no. You're going to the midsection to repel boarders. No free rides.
And then with a WHOOSH of displaced air two men appear in midair directly in front of you and crash to the ground.
"Volter Volter FUCK," the one on the other's back yells, as he spills off of his comrade and onto the floor.
The bigger one, his shaytan blood evinced by his pointed ears and a distinct bronze-orange glow to his skin, lands neatly on his back then instantly kips back up into a standing position.
"Hello!" his friend on the floor smiles brightly.
Crik must have come pulling himself up to the Head as soon as he heard your order cut off, because an arrow from his bow whistles through the air directly toward the shaytan-blood man.
Without even looking at it, he holds up a hand, and the arrow blinks off as if someone had thrown a switch.
A void-mage. With an evidently passable talent for Space to boot.
"PLEASE don't mind us." The smiling guy's teeth are gritted. He's clearly frightened out of his wits. "Just, uh-- we'll sit over here until you're not busy."
Behind them the southern automaton is leveling its cannon.
1 You say:
A STRIX! PACITAR! GET THESE INTRUDERS OUT OF MY THRONE ROOM!
B Who the fuck are you?
C Take your friend and poof the hell out of here again before I have you both killed.
D Fine fine get out of the way. Right Shoulder, are you reading me?
E Oh, no no. You're going to the midsection to repel boarders. No free rides.
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
Nah, bruh, Zaph all the way.
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
"Oh no no no. BOTH of you need to get to the midsection to repel those boarders," you say. "No free rides."
"I-- uh-- well, Madam Mantis, I'm not a warrior," stammers the guy on the floor.
"He stays here." The void mage's voice is melodiously monotone. "His name's--
"Look honestly you're super hot but I'm super busy and that wasn't a request," you say. "Grab a sword on your way down and ask someone to point you at the fight."
"Oh Inkiros." The cowardly one scrambles to his feet and looks to his Mage.
"Go, Pavo," the Mage says. "I'll watch your back."
"Oh Inkiros' left nut," Pavo elaborates, as he scuttles down the hatch.
"You too." You turn to the mage, who's backed up to the Rumbler's right eye window. "Quick."
He has a confused half-smile on his face. "You think I'm hot?"
"Later," you say. "Mama has a robot fight to win. Stop wasting my time and start wasting boarders."
"OK," the void mage says, and tips backward out the window, vanishing into a teleport as he goes.
"Ok. RIGHT SHOULDER." You refocus your will on turning the Rumbler round, and grab your communicator again. "Prepare to grapple southwest Auto on Mark Right. Right hand track it and prep to fire on Mark Hand. What else." You blink the strain from your eyes. "Left shoulder track the East cannon auto." The Rumbler breaks into a clumsy run as you take a breath, streaks of blood trailing from the crushed infantrymen on its fists. "Strix! Fearcurse on East cannon, same target! Pacitar! Forceswitch same target! Crik!"
Crik's head shoots up from watching the Void mage drop. "Yeah. That was weird. Yeah?"
"Follow those two down. If they do anything that would make you shoot them, shoot them."
"You got it." Crik leaps out the window, tether trailing behind him.
"Feng! Tell me you have your target!"
"Locked."
"Mark right!"
The winch hisses across the city and spears directly into the southwest flanker's leg.
"Reel, Feng! Ready on right hand!"
"Ready as shit, mama!" Toth, as rabid for carnage as ever.
The head
"Pacitar," Strix croons. "You make such charming grunts of concentration when you are fatigued."
"Says the witch whose spell just sundered." Pacitar hisses through clenched teeth, arms trembling as he channels his power.
Strix giggles as the witch-light flares up at her elbow and spreads toward her fingertips. "I'll wager you a warm pint of my blood this one works."
"For what purpose would I use your foul blood?"
"I guess we'll never know," Strix says, as the force of her gaining spell catches and curls the cloth of her armor.
A shimmer and a thrum in the fabric of reality indicate that Pacitar's spell has worked.
A flash of cold fire and the sudden stumbling of the East Automaton, and the lowering of its brass cannon, indicate that Strix's has as well.
"Mark left!"
The Eastern automaton has begun to turn away from you, its inarticulate head twisting and darting in a dumbshow display of fear. There's a destabilizing whoomph as the left shoulder cannon blasts it off its feet. The second you see it drop you swing the Rumbler's head around, looking to the harpooned Auto behind you. It slides helplessly across the plaza, crushing screaming men and crumbling walls alike, and kicking up a firestorm of sparks.
One-Xiaying, you count, as it courses closer, waving its cannon arm madly to try and get a shot on you. Two-Xiaying, you count, as Pacitar's forceswitch portal suddenly gashes open above it and deposits a cannonball onto its pelvis, forming a spiky impact crater but doing questionable damage. Three-Xiaying.
"Mark hand!"
Toth unloads on the grounded auto
and misses the Praetor's throne room, blasting its shoulder up in a plume of scrap and flame instead.
"SHITNUGGETS," he says, on open comms.
The impact jars it enough that its shot flies wide, but it's still operational and now you're dragging the fucking thing behind you as you try to pick up speed. No way you'll hit full speed while it's scraping across the floor.
1 So you:
A Detach the rope and keep running. It'll be at your back but it's not like it's operational anyway. The ground forces can handle it.
B Hold for a second, stride over, and stomp it to scrap. Getting in close will be hazardous but it'll save you the cannon shot.
C Use your freshly loaded left hand cannon to put it out of your misery as you go.
Strix's fizzle chance is now an intimidating 60%. Pacitar's is 45%.
The ground battle is swinging YOUR FAVOR again as Anastasi finishes her mage cleanup and the infantry assault on the Rumbler becomes an evident meat grinder.
The only thing loaded on the Rumbler right now is its left hand; everything else is reloading.
The Winch won't be able to reload until it's cut loose its target.
You'll break into full speed next round if and only if you unwinch from the grounded Automaton now.
Three targets remain:
East (Dead center)
Middle range:
Fearcursed auto, writhing to gain footing or lose its terror.
Damaged auto Pacitar blocked, rising to its feet from a crouch and turning to try to retreat from you.
West (Behind you)
Close range:
Damaged cannon auto you speared, now dragging along behind you like a big pissed golden ball-and-chain.
"I-- uh-- well, Madam Mantis, I'm not a warrior," stammers the guy on the floor.
"He stays here." The void mage's voice is melodiously monotone. "His name's--
"Look honestly you're super hot but I'm super busy and that wasn't a request," you say. "Grab a sword on your way down and ask someone to point you at the fight."
"Oh Inkiros." The cowardly one scrambles to his feet and looks to his Mage.
"Go, Pavo," the Mage says. "I'll watch your back."
"Oh Inkiros' left nut," Pavo elaborates, as he scuttles down the hatch.
"You too." You turn to the mage, who's backed up to the Rumbler's right eye window. "Quick."
He has a confused half-smile on his face. "You think I'm hot?"
"Later," you say. "Mama has a robot fight to win. Stop wasting my time and start wasting boarders."
"OK," the void mage says, and tips backward out the window, vanishing into a teleport as he goes.
"Ok. RIGHT SHOULDER." You refocus your will on turning the Rumbler round, and grab your communicator again. "Prepare to grapple southwest Auto on Mark Right. Right hand track it and prep to fire on Mark Hand. What else." You blink the strain from your eyes. "Left shoulder track the East cannon auto." The Rumbler breaks into a clumsy run as you take a breath, streaks of blood trailing from the crushed infantrymen on its fists. "Strix! Fearcurse on East cannon, same target! Pacitar! Forceswitch same target! Crik!"
Crik's head shoots up from watching the Void mage drop. "Yeah. That was weird. Yeah?"
"Follow those two down. If they do anything that would make you shoot them, shoot them."
"You got it." Crik leaps out the window, tether trailing behind him.
"Feng! Tell me you have your target!"
"Locked."
"Mark right!"
The winch hisses across the city and spears directly into the southwest flanker's leg.
"Reel, Feng! Ready on right hand!"
"Ready as shit, mama!" Toth, as rabid for carnage as ever.
The head
"Pacitar," Strix croons. "You make such charming grunts of concentration when you are fatigued."
"Says the witch whose spell just sundered." Pacitar hisses through clenched teeth, arms trembling as he channels his power.
Strix giggles as the witch-light flares up at her elbow and spreads toward her fingertips. "I'll wager you a warm pint of my blood this one works."
"For what purpose would I use your foul blood?"
"I guess we'll never know," Strix says, as the force of her gaining spell catches and curls the cloth of her armor.
A shimmer and a thrum in the fabric of reality indicate that Pacitar's spell has worked.
A flash of cold fire and the sudden stumbling of the East Automaton, and the lowering of its brass cannon, indicate that Strix's has as well.
"Mark left!"
The Eastern automaton has begun to turn away from you, its inarticulate head twisting and darting in a dumbshow display of fear. There's a destabilizing whoomph as the left shoulder cannon blasts it off its feet. The second you see it drop you swing the Rumbler's head around, looking to the harpooned Auto behind you. It slides helplessly across the plaza, crushing screaming men and crumbling walls alike, and kicking up a firestorm of sparks.
One-Xiaying, you count, as it courses closer, waving its cannon arm madly to try and get a shot on you. Two-Xiaying, you count, as Pacitar's forceswitch portal suddenly gashes open above it and deposits a cannonball onto its pelvis, forming a spiky impact crater but doing questionable damage. Three-Xiaying.
"Mark hand!"
Toth unloads on the grounded auto
and misses the Praetor's throne room, blasting its shoulder up in a plume of scrap and flame instead.
"SHITNUGGETS," he says, on open comms.
The impact jars it enough that its shot flies wide, but it's still operational and now you're dragging the fucking thing behind you as you try to pick up speed. No way you'll hit full speed while it's scraping across the floor.
1 So you:
A Detach the rope and keep running. It'll be at your back but it's not like it's operational anyway. The ground forces can handle it.
B Hold for a second, stride over, and stomp it to scrap. Getting in close will be hazardous but it'll save you the cannon shot.
C Use your freshly loaded left hand cannon to put it out of your misery as you go.
Strix's fizzle chance is now an intimidating 60%. Pacitar's is 45%.
The ground battle is swinging YOUR FAVOR again as Anastasi finishes her mage cleanup and the infantry assault on the Rumbler becomes an evident meat grinder.
The only thing loaded on the Rumbler right now is its left hand; everything else is reloading.
The Winch won't be able to reload until it's cut loose its target.
You'll break into full speed next round if and only if you unwinch from the grounded Automaton now.
Three targets remain:
East (Dead center)
Middle range:
Fearcursed auto, writhing to gain footing or lose its terror.
Damaged auto Pacitar blocked, rising to its feet from a crouch and turning to try to retreat from you.
West (Behind you)
Close range:
Damaged cannon auto you speared, now dragging along behind you like a big pissed golden ball-and-chain.
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Suddenly hot guys!
The auto being dragged represents an issue even if it's on its back. I'd probably aim to detach it, take a shot at it with the still loaded hand and close to brawling range with the automaton that is trying to get away. The SAers are actually pretty good at this, so.
The auto being dragged represents an issue even if it's on its back. I'd probably aim to detach it, take a shot at it with the still loaded hand and close to brawling range with the automaton that is trying to get away. The SAers are actually pretty good at this, so.
Ridiculously Average Guy
I'm you, but stronger
- Location
-
What do mean detach it? They've now got a new projectile weapon to launch.
Hit a robot with another robot.
Hit a robot with another robot.
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Probably in the top ten for non-dril tweets. Your twitter is a gift.
Unfortunately I can only remember the log in details for the fake account I made for the xenophobic martian nationalist in Seven Sisters so uh
I best not follow you with that
Do you have more of those character sheets?
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Another extract from Heartlock's Journeys for y'all. This time the subject is the Shaytan, the magical race including Sketter, Crik, and half of the Void-Mage.
On The Shaytan
The Shaytan!
Among the unwashed and unlearnt majority the mere utterance of their name is provocation enough for terror, suspicion, and xenophobia.
The Shaytan, with their irridescent skin and their dark glasses! With their forked tongues and their origins cloaked in arcane mystery! Such foreign creatures must by their very genesis be marked as Other, outsider, and pariah.
The eyes that dwell behind the Shaytans' customary eyepieces do their reputation little favor. Those unfortunate to see the uncovered face of a Shaytan will see there the dark inverse of the stars themselves: twin points of absolute, maddening darkness, so complete in their essential lack that they bring unto humanity nausea, fainting, and in the direst cases mind-shattering, gibbering insanity. The Shaytan in turn experienceswhat one described to me as "Pain so profound, throughout my whole being, that I believed in that moment I had been formed only to be tortured in this way by Hateful Inkiros."
Surely such a being is anathema to goodness and convention; surely their place is liminal always, found in the dust and clay of the wastes.
And yet on many far flung journeys I have encountered Shaytan as honorable as any man. Perhaps I feel a kindred kindness toward them, as questing birds are seen to fly in formation; for in my archivist zeal, all of myself I throw into one purpose; and so too with the Shaytan.
There are neither children Shaytan, nor female Shaytan who might conceivably bear them. The prevailing chorus of murmurations suggest that the Shaytan springs into existence fully formed, as soon as the threads of fate and time fray in some way as to require their services to reknit them.
Each Shaytan then is an agent of one specific Great Purpose, the accomplishment of which they devote themselves to completely. Shaytan assassins are unrelenting until they or their quarry are dead; Shaytan scholars will burn every candle in ceation to its nub as they study feverishly in pursuit of some great breakthrough; and Shaytan bodyguards are incorruptible (so long as their purpose is truly to be a Bodyguard, and their role is not merely a ruse to attain their true end).
When a Shaytan completes their task, or in more pitiable casess fails it, they enter a state of deep melancholy, which few survive. As they pine away for a new purpose, they begin to physically vanish, inch by inch and limb by limb, as inexpliably as they were born into the world. Unless, that is, a new, worthier task arrives. Then the Shaytan can be seen to regain his passion and singleminded zeal, reassigning it to whatever new cause he has discovered.
Thus great visionaries, conquerors, and prophets attract Shaytan like moths to a radiant flame; and thus Shaytan themselves, should they live long enough to commence and complete many such tasks, may become Legends in their own right.
On The Shaytan
The Shaytan!
Among the unwashed and unlearnt majority the mere utterance of their name is provocation enough for terror, suspicion, and xenophobia.
The Shaytan, with their irridescent skin and their dark glasses! With their forked tongues and their origins cloaked in arcane mystery! Such foreign creatures must by their very genesis be marked as Other, outsider, and pariah.
The eyes that dwell behind the Shaytans' customary eyepieces do their reputation little favor. Those unfortunate to see the uncovered face of a Shaytan will see there the dark inverse of the stars themselves: twin points of absolute, maddening darkness, so complete in their essential lack that they bring unto humanity nausea, fainting, and in the direst cases mind-shattering, gibbering insanity. The Shaytan in turn experienceswhat one described to me as "Pain so profound, throughout my whole being, that I believed in that moment I had been formed only to be tortured in this way by Hateful Inkiros."
Surely such a being is anathema to goodness and convention; surely their place is liminal always, found in the dust and clay of the wastes.
And yet on many far flung journeys I have encountered Shaytan as honorable as any man. Perhaps I feel a kindred kindness toward them, as questing birds are seen to fly in formation; for in my archivist zeal, all of myself I throw into one purpose; and so too with the Shaytan.
There are neither children Shaytan, nor female Shaytan who might conceivably bear them. The prevailing chorus of murmurations suggest that the Shaytan springs into existence fully formed, as soon as the threads of fate and time fray in some way as to require their services to reknit them.
Each Shaytan then is an agent of one specific Great Purpose, the accomplishment of which they devote themselves to completely. Shaytan assassins are unrelenting until they or their quarry are dead; Shaytan scholars will burn every candle in ceation to its nub as they study feverishly in pursuit of some great breakthrough; and Shaytan bodyguards are incorruptible (so long as their purpose is truly to be a Bodyguard, and their role is not merely a ruse to attain their true end).
When a Shaytan completes their task, or in more pitiable casess fails it, they enter a state of deep melancholy, which few survive. As they pine away for a new purpose, they begin to physically vanish, inch by inch and limb by limb, as inexpliably as they were born into the world. Unless, that is, a new, worthier task arrives. Then the Shaytan can be seen to regain his passion and singleminded zeal, reassigning it to whatever new cause he has discovered.
Thus great visionaries, conquerors, and prophets attract Shaytan like moths to a radiant flame; and thus Shaytan themselves, should they live long enough to commence and complete many such tasks, may become Legends in their own right.
- Location
- St. Petersburg
IIRC, 'shaitan' is an evil spirit in arabic. Some consider them related to genies.
Do Shaytans talk about their purpose freely? If so, what's Crik's? How did we acquire him, anyway?
Also, I did not see the guy above covering his eyes... and did not notice any negative effect on us. Is the archivist even correct?
Do Shaytans talk about their purpose freely? If so, what's Crik's? How did we acquire him, anyway?
So looking in a human's eyes has negative consequences for a Shaytan, just as it does for a human? Or what does it imply?
Also, I did not see the guy above covering his eyes... and did not notice any negative effect on us. Is the archivist even correct?
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Looking anywhere without glasses has negative consequences.
That guy's got Shaytan blood. He's not one himself.
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
I feel that gives a slightly different meaning to 'I wear my sunglasses at night.' Volter's mother was probably a fairly exciting woman herself, all thing considered. Sleep with a demon-elf? Yeah, sure thing.
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Yes I do! But only a few of them are good enough I'd be willing to share them. It's more for my own reference.
Here's Strix:
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
what a qt
I love the visor on her silly hat.
I love the visor on her silly hat.
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
The Rumbler detaches his winch cable. It whip-snakes back into his shoulder with a hydraulic sigh.
He puts a foot on the Cannon Auto's chest to keep it from escaping and blasts its head open.
Smoke rises in manifold black banners from the flaming inner city of Anabas.
The lacquered gold of her palaces reflects the dancing fires.
There's no more active resistance to be found among her automatons. The bulk of the battle has ended.
1 And so you:
A Stay in the plaza here to mop up and support your ground forces
B Chase down the two damaged fleeing automata and finish them off
C Head in the direction the nobles were carried, searching for the automaton that carried them away
He puts a foot on the Cannon Auto's chest to keep it from escaping and blasts its head open.
Smoke rises in manifold black banners from the flaming inner city of Anabas.
The lacquered gold of her palaces reflects the dancing fires.
There's no more active resistance to be found among her automatons. The bulk of the battle has ended.
1 And so you:
A Stay in the plaza here to mop up and support your ground forces
B Chase down the two damaged fleeing automata and finish them off
C Head in the direction the nobles were carried, searching for the automaton that carried them away
I like how casually he headshots the automaton like it doesn't even interest him. Let's look over there instead!
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
cool giant robots don't look at explosions
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Today another look at Pascuto's SURVEY OF THE TARIC EMPIRES.
This time the subject is Satraia, his own homeland. Satraians onboard the Rumbler include Ghostly Anastasi, Strix the Pain Mage, and Rook, whose letter to his mother we read a while ago.
Satraia: Questions Answered
There are a few widespread prejudices and commonly asked questions about Satraians I would like to take this moment to clear up:
Is Satraia really the assassination capital of the World?
Yes and no. True: our turnover rate for politicians is higher than most. But it is important to know that for a Satraian to assassinate a non-Satraian is the epitome of gauche; and who of us really likes politicians?
Are Satraians all sociopaths?
Of course not! Any perceived emotionlessness or rudeness on the part of a Satraian is simply the result of our common upbringing with a specific valuation of pragmatism, forthrightness, and "calling", as it were, "a spade a spade". We of Satraia emphasize the ability to "take it on the chin" with regards to criticism; if we offend it is with good will!
To publicly display intense emotion is not the Satraian way; to look at the world with unjaded, realistic, and shrewd eyes is.
Do Satraians really eat bugs?
I detect in your tone an unwarranted disgust that speaks to a lack of experience with the surprisingly zesty and piquant world of insectile cuisine! You are gently reminded to keep an open mind.
How can I spot a Satraian?
If the Satraian doesn't want you to, don't try.
Satraians commonly have dark hair, pale skin, flat or upturned noses, and large, lidded eyes.
What should I keep in mind when visiting a Satraian Burg?
Take the time to visit the Satraian Forums, and listen to the lively discourse therein! If you decide yourself to pitch in, remember to stay as objective as possible; too much passion will result in mockery.
Please do watch to ensure you don't bump into any of the Stiltwalkers that move above you through the streets. If it's decided that you are the one responsible for the collision, any personal injury or lost merchandise will be your responsibility to compensate for.
It is a wise practice to keep your purse in a safe but inconspicuous place, where you may keep a hand on it at all times. If you are accosted by a Satraian burglar, do not take the casualness of their tone as a signal that they are not to be taken seriously. The Satraian demeanor is upbeat; it is not careless.
Is it true what they say about Satraian girls?
It certainly is!
This time the subject is Satraia, his own homeland. Satraians onboard the Rumbler include Ghostly Anastasi, Strix the Pain Mage, and Rook, whose letter to his mother we read a while ago.
Satraia: Questions Answered
There are a few widespread prejudices and commonly asked questions about Satraians I would like to take this moment to clear up:
Is Satraia really the assassination capital of the World?
Yes and no. True: our turnover rate for politicians is higher than most. But it is important to know that for a Satraian to assassinate a non-Satraian is the epitome of gauche; and who of us really likes politicians?
Are Satraians all sociopaths?
Of course not! Any perceived emotionlessness or rudeness on the part of a Satraian is simply the result of our common upbringing with a specific valuation of pragmatism, forthrightness, and "calling", as it were, "a spade a spade". We of Satraia emphasize the ability to "take it on the chin" with regards to criticism; if we offend it is with good will!
To publicly display intense emotion is not the Satraian way; to look at the world with unjaded, realistic, and shrewd eyes is.
Do Satraians really eat bugs?
I detect in your tone an unwarranted disgust that speaks to a lack of experience with the surprisingly zesty and piquant world of insectile cuisine! You are gently reminded to keep an open mind.
How can I spot a Satraian?
If the Satraian doesn't want you to, don't try.
Satraians commonly have dark hair, pale skin, flat or upturned noses, and large, lidded eyes.
What should I keep in mind when visiting a Satraian Burg?
Take the time to visit the Satraian Forums, and listen to the lively discourse therein! If you decide yourself to pitch in, remember to stay as objective as possible; too much passion will result in mockery.
Please do watch to ensure you don't bump into any of the Stiltwalkers that move above you through the streets. If it's decided that you are the one responsible for the collision, any personal injury or lost merchandise will be your responsibility to compensate for.
It is a wise practice to keep your purse in a safe but inconspicuous place, where you may keep a hand on it at all times. If you are accosted by a Satraian burglar, do not take the casualness of their tone as a signal that they are not to be taken seriously. The Satraian demeanor is upbeat; it is not careless.
Is it true what they say about Satraian girls?
It certainly is!
- Location
- The Hague
- Pronouns
- He/Him
My impression so far is that 'Praetor' is the title given to anyone that can operate an Automaton, and that at least in respect of the movement of its body, that's all mentally done. But I'm wondering, is control of an Automaton specific to its Praetor? ie. if someone else were to sit on the throne could they control the Rumbler, or is Vicki the only one eligible?
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Automata are childed to a Praetor. If that praetor dies then the Automaton can't be piloted again for one fortnight, after which whoever sits on its throne becomes its new Praetor.
Praetors can also give their seat away willingly and the Auto will recognize its new master instantly.
Bromeliad
But her friend is nowhere to be seen
- Location
- NYC
Ziptar" post="457473449 said:
Uh, what?
Notwithstanding:
"Everyone hold onto your asses," you say. "We're going for those nobles."
The Rumbler dashes across Anabas, heedless of the slaughter and destruction around him.
What he can't step over he smashes through. Whole houses are powdered under his feet.
In front of him one of the damaged automata, hung low with dozens of boarding ropes, sinks to its knees and bows its head as its crew is hacked to pieces.
But the Anabasian Automaton with the nobles has outrun the crowd; and although the Rumbler's As-The-Crow-Smashes trajectory is picking up speed, it's going to be able to outrun him completely if it can escape the city maze before he catches it. It's already out of spell range for both your tired mages.
And so you:
A Redouble your efforts to get it in winch range, causing a whole shit ton more property damage.
B Nail it with Jackpot Jane. At this range you can't guarantee you won't just kill most of the nobles, but prisoners and ransoms aren't necessary. Provided you don't miss.
C Yell for one of your Mages. If you fire your winch out to medium range with them riding on it the'yll be in range to cast on the Auto.
D Yell specifically for the Void Mage. Your winch will be able to carry him into teleportation range. If you can trust him.
E Circle back and stand in front of the exit gate. Trust that the Emperor won't be willing to destroy his precious wall to escape and search for the hiding nobles and their Auto through the Night.