Remove ads

TALOS: Fantasy Giant Robots Rampaging Across the Apocalypse

You resolve to rebuild a defensive force here in Anabas.
Tomorrow you'll leave a few soldiers to get that off the ground while the rest of you ride the Rumbler over to visit Uchuam. The best position to be in when dealing with future threats is directly in front of it with a huge fuckoff cannon pointed directly at its face.



WOW! That sure is a lot of words that doesn't have to do with blowing things up in a giant robot.
You are definitely better at conquering cities than running them. That's what you have Sketter for. Normally it kind of begins and ends with that but you'll be sure to tell him all of this really boring sounding shit. He'll probably jizz his jerkin over it.

For tonight at least you have more important things to do like



"PICKING AN OUTFIIIIT," Zaphidor sings, as the wheels on the clothing rack raise a disharmonious screech under his armored bulk. "Girl child do you have anything that isn't black or red."
"Uh maybe some underwear," you say. "And PJs."

The Tyrant Argus XVI's harem chambers were cleared of slave girls after his death. In their place is row upon row of armoires, racks, and clotheslines containing the second best thing about being a warlord besides the crushing-enemies-lamentation-of-the-women stuff.
Which is, of course, villainous outfits. Most of which are admittedly, in your case. black and red.

"Look I know what I like," you say.
"You have to come correct for this dinner engagement tonight." Zaphidor starts plucking things from their hangers and tossing them into Anastasi's arms. "You been on a dry spell, Vic."
"There was the Zestal Diplomat," Anastasi says. "Two months ago."
"I'm saying dry spell," Zaphidor says. "THAT guy was maybe a glass of water. THIS guy is a mothafuckin' oasis."
"It's not just about bagging a cute boy, Zaph," you say. "He's a Void-Mage. If we can pry Pi Xui off him and get him as a full-time crewman there's all sorts of fun shit we could use him for."
"We? You gonna share?"
"You're a eunuch, Zaphidor."
"Eunuchs can still appreciate art, Boo," Zaphidor says. "And he got earrings. Maybe I'm in the game. SO what kind of look you thinking for with this little dinner tete a tete?"

1 You say:
A I want to be serving some Badass Spiky-Shoulder Conquerer Realness. Like make sure he knows he's dining with the Iron Fucking Mantis.
B Something cutey casual. Like letting my hair down kind of thing.
C Formal and diplomatic. This is not a candlelit romance, this is a business-slash-recruitment dinner.
D Full-on femme fatale Maneater chic. Let's wow him.
E The nicest, fanciest, most bedazzled thing I own. I'm the Queen and the Rumbler's my castle kinda deal.
E Y'know what I'm just going in what I was already wearing. Why make a big deal out of it?
 
FUN FACT about this quest's cast:
I actually modeled Victoire's advisors / retinue after different poster types I've encountered GMing quests.

Zaphidor is the uncomplicated Id poster who wants to have a good time, kill things, and get naked.
Crik is the kind of poster who writes big, wild, out-there write-in plans.
Anastasi is the murderhobo sociopath who just suggests murdering people all the time.
Sketter is the micromanaging, bureaucratic Citybuilder type.
 
Bromeliad said:
FUN FACT about this quest's cast:
I actually modeled Victoire's advisors / retinue after different poster types I've encountered GMing quests.

Zaphidor is the uncomplicated Id poster who wants to have a good time, kill things, and get naked.
Crik is the kind of poster who writes big, wild, out-there write-in plans.
Anastasi is the murderhobo sociopath who just suggests murdering people all the time.
Sketter is the micromanaging, bureaucratic Citybuilder type.
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...
Please oh please let there not be a character based on QuestionableQuesting's playerbase.
 
"The Void-Mage, milady." Ire stands at rod-straight attention.
His ganger roughly pushes Volter forward into the dining room.
"Oof." Volter rubs his arm. "Hi."



"Thank you, Ire," You say. "And.... Jocasta's under there, right?"
Jocasta nods.
"At ease, guys. I think I can handle him from here."

"Ma'am." Ire taps his foot once and his underling immediately and noisily vacates. "We will be directly outside," he says. "Speak and we will return."
"I hope you don't listen too close," you call after him.

"Never been strip searched on my way to dinner," Volter says.
"Well you've never had dinner with the Iron Mantis," you say.



You turn back to the lowlit table with a swish of silk and hair (giving him just a sliver of a panoramic) and sit in an overstuffed, wine-red chair. "Won't you have a seat, Mr. Kepral."

"Volter's fine." Volter does so. "If I'd known you'd be looking this good I'da borrowed a shirt."
"If you had I might have had you thrown out," you say.
"So," Volter says. "Will the Iron Mantis do or can I call you Victoire?"

1 You say:
A The Iron Mantis will indeed do.
B Victoire's fine.
C My friends call me Vic.

2 And then you (picking all that apply)
A start pouring a steady but bottomless amount of wine out for him to lubricate the evening
B Conduct yourself professionally and formally.
C Conduct yourself so as to maximize your chances of breaking that dry spell Zaphidor mentioned.
D Conduct yourself personably and casually. To make a new friend (just a friend, thank you)
E Find out more about him. What's being a Void-Mage like, anyway?
F Find out more about him. What's being a half-Shaytan like, anyway?
G Find out more about him. What's being a hot guy like, anyway?
H Ask him about his buddy Pi Xui.
I Set about trying to find a way to recruit Volter out from under Pi Xui.
 
update soon gang just at work
I promise those who think boys are icky that there will be robots again in like 2 or 3 updates tops

FUN FACT about Uchuam:
its named after the Attack order response of an Age of Empires 2 unit. I can't remember which....... Mamelukes, I think?
 
"Victoire is fine," you say. "Though my friends call me Vic."
"So which one do I use?"
"You decide." You reach for the wine. "So..... Volter." The silver pitcher is heavy in your hand as you pour. "Wine?"



He extends his glass. "Thanks. What, uh-- what are these?"
"Dates," you say, filling his glass. "Stuffed with candied orange peels."
"Huh." Volter plucks one off the plate. "I've heard of them but I've never actually seen one."
"I thought Pi Xui was a-- what did he call himself? Gourmand."
"Well that's Pi Xui," Volter says. "Pi Xui is a thousand things. Ask him and he's even more."
"Any of them particularly consequential?"

"Uh." Volter shrugs. "Wealthy."
"That's no biggy," you say. "Anyone can be wealthy. I'm wealthy." You take a bite of a grape leaf. "You travel in ritzy circles, Volter. Anabas?"
"Tourists," Volter says. "Guess we picked a bad time."
"Hey now. Give me some credit. You're alive and eating my dates."
"Interesting time, then. Not exactly representative of the brochure."
"I try to jazz things up."

Volter sniffs his wine. "This vintage?"
"Pre-Tide," you say, proudly. "Zestal mountains."
"Damn." He drinks. "Where'd you get this?"
"Last guy who owned the place had piles of it. I think just to make us dust them. He preferred liquor."
"He leave any of that behind?"
"Plenty," you say. "Can I get you something?"
"What, as an apéritif?"
You raise an eyebrow.
"Pi rubs off," Volter says.
"We're both grownups, Volter," you say. "Nobody tells the Mantis what order to get sloshed in. I'll have Ire bring something out."



"Elemental, I think," you say. "No no. Pain actually."
"Mmm. I wav gonna fay." Volter swallows his chicken wing. "I was gonna say. Elementalists are boring."
"Fireballs aren't boring!"
"Y'seen one fireball y'seen them all," Volter says. "Besides you have that big cannon thing."
"Jackpot Jane."
"Jackpot Jane. Hell of a name. Where'd you get that?"
"I don't know. We've always called it Jackpot Jane."
"You should have seen the square when you did that. I think I got a gray hair. Why pain?"
"I don't know. It seems like it would be fun. Strix always has a blast with it. Though that may be more about Strix than Pain Magic. Why'd you pick Void?"

"Didn't," Volter says. "Void picked me. I was gonna be a monk."
"Eww, what?"
He nods. "Monk of the seeing library. Back in my Inkiros-Freak days."
You do a curley-cue gesture. "Is that why the hair?"
"Old habits die hard," Volter says. "Monks. Habits."
You huff-laugh into your wine. "That was bad."



"So what happened is," Volter says. "There was this thing, uhh exercise. Where you meditated and focused on this medallion. Crappy little like yarn thing you make yourself in His image. And you'd just sit in the dark and stare at this thing for hours. And I guess one night I stared too hard, and zip. Gone."
"That's how you found out?"
"The monks were furious. I kind of half dropped out half flunked."
"Well fuck them, right? What's being a Void-Mage like?"
"Lot of pondering the Infinite," Volter says. "Sort of like being a monk, honestly, just on your own time. Relaxed. Not thinking about the Gods."
"What's it thinking about?"
"Nothing," he says. "Kind of a knack. Kind of hard to think specifically about nothing versus not thinking about anything."

"It isn't even easy to think about thinking about it," you say. "Is it worth it?"
"That arrow thing wasn't bad, right?"
"Not bad at all."
"Anyway I'm not a REAL Void-Mage some'd say because I've studied more Space than Void," Volter says. "Not that you can really study Void so much as feel it. But I'm not so good with the range on Erase."
"Is there a way to get better?" You pour yourself another glass.
"Make a lot of shit disappear. Don't quite have the patience to just blink things out all day like some folks do. That's why I do Space too." Volter teleports his carrot from one hand to another.


"See how I do it," he says, "is get in to hand-to-hand range with Space then hit them with Erase. Other voiders ain't too into that. Violates the Purity of the Negative."
"I thought that it took a lot of practice to not accidentally stick yourself into a solid wall," you say. "Or into another person."
"Yeah well if you can make things disappear when you touch it that's no problem," Volter says. "Turns out half-assing two things results in one full ass."
"So you... like, telefrag people?"
"Bout the size of it."
"Sick."



"No irises." Volter pulls his lower eyelid down. "See? All pupil."
"Oh dude." You lean in and look at his eyeball. "Not like it's a black hole though, or anything, huh?"



"Yep. Just as well." Volter releases his eye.
"Is your tongue forked?"
"No. Just like Shaytan length."
"What's Shaytan Length?"
"Really long."
Your finger is rested on your lower lip. "Like, how long?"
He raises an eyebrow.

Both of you break into a laugh and the mood dissipates.

"I'm seriously just curious! Seriously!"
"Sure."
"So you don't ever like, start to disappear or anything, do you?"
"Not as far as I know. And I was a baby first and all." Volter downs the dregs of his wine. "Holler if y'ever see me flicker or anything."
"Is being hot part of the Shaytan side or the human side?"
"You don't have any Shaytan blood," Volter says. "So I guess human."
It's a corny line but you're both kind of drunk now and you like him so it makes you smile.
"I like the ears."
"Ears are pretty good." Volter wiggles them. "Anyway that's what being a half-Shaytan's like. What's being the Iron Mantis like?"
"I'm not, like, half mantis," you say.
"How's it feel to be the biggest badass in the Wasteland, though?"

1 Well
A not all it's cracked up to be all the time, actually. I lost 6 guys today.
B it's all in the image. I'm secretly not actually that huge an asshole. It's just to put the fear in them.
C I'll tell ya what it's pretty fucking cool.
D you tell me, Volter Kepral.
E I'm not the badass. The Rumbler's the badass. I just tell him what to do.
F flattery will get you nowhere, Kepral.
G you've been studiously avoiding saying my name, Volter. You know it's a test, right?
 
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Volter Kepral."
"Nowhere is my specialty, ma'am."

"Well truthfully sometimes it's not all it's cracked up to be."
You look up at yourself through your wine.



"When I get a casualty report it feels like a responsibility. Everyone in this thing is counting on me. And I let 6 of them down today.



"But yeah 99% of the time it's fuckin cooooool"



"Anastasi's probably the deadliest overall," you say. "But for pure body count I think it might be Crik. He's usually my frontliner."
"That's the archer."
"Yeah. Anastasi's always on my priority targets, Zaphidor's usually guarding my ass, and Crik's the crowd-clearer."
"Anastasi scoped me while I was on the ground," Volter says. "I tell you that? We made eye contact and I think she was trying to figure out if I was an enemy mage. First Rumbler ganger I saw."
"How were your first impressions?"
"She was flicking someone's tonsils off her dagger."
"So you got a pretty accurate picture, all told. You should meet everyone. The mages'll be happy to have another onboard."
"That's uhh Pacitar, right? And... Strix?"
You giggle. "Don't look so freaked out. She's actually a really lovely person if you're on the right side of history."
"Really?"
"Well you need to keep in mind that after a while on the Rumbler your definition of 'lovely person' shifts in some extremely key ways."



"He disappeared," Volter says. "Right after I was born he did the Shaytan thing and vanished, my mom says. Really messed her up."
"Wow."
"Talk about deadbeat dads, right?"
"So he was born literally just to knock your mom up and make you," you say. "Does that mean you're, like, the chosen one? Am I having dinner with The Chosen One?"
"I don't think so," Volter says. "I think Shaytan are just weird and inscrutable."
"Those are two words I would definitely use to describe Sketter," you say.
"Heck you got two Shaytans going for you," Volter says. "I only got one and a half. Maybe you're the Chosen One."
"Babydoll I know I'm the Chosen One," you say.



"Fishing accident."
"Really?"
"No."



"No! No! Listen!" You pound a fist on the table. Your fork jumps and lands on your lamb ragoût. "It doesn't matter that it has two eyes that's not the point the point is it only has eyes on one side. It's a question of perception."
Volter is cracking up. "But halibut have depth perception! I think."
"Not that perception the the perception of like how you are perceived. UGH. Two eyed people don't get it." You eat a brussels sprout. "Halibut is my spirit fish. End of story. Now what's yours."
"Guppy."



"Honestly you can really call me anything you want. Vic, Victoire, I don't care."
"I thought you were testing me."
"MMmmm I was," you say. "But to hell with it. I'm pretty pretty inebriated right now and I like you and I like when people I like call me Vic. I won't bite."
"I thought you were a Mantis."
"Not for free I ain't." You hiccup. "Oh my god. I'm probably blushing like a motherfucker right now."
"It's cute."
"It's my fuckin Xiaying blood. It all goes right to my face."
"Vic."
"Yahs, doll."
"What about 'Toire? Anyone ever call you 'Toire?"
"Nobody," you say, "has dared to call me 'Toire."
"Then I guess I'm the first, Toire."
"IRE!" you yell, drumlining on the table. "IRE COME THROW THIS SCOUNDREL OUT THE WINDOW."

The door slams open. Ire's drawn scimitar glints in the candlelight.

"Inkiros Ire I was kidding," you say.
"Hi," Volter says.



"Well before I show--" Volter sloshes his shot at you. "How many shotglasses do you have?"
"Many. Lots." You're dimly aware that you're leaning way forward in an outfit not at all designed for leaning forward but you've stopped caring.
"OK. Good. Check this out."
Volter holds the shotglass above his head between his forefinger and thumb.



In an eyeblink it's vanished completely. Its contents holds the form of their former container for a split second, then drop into his open mouth.

You applaud. He swallows.

"KILLS at parties," he says.
"I bet fireballs would kill even more."
"Pff." Volter waves you off. "Less is- what's the phrase."
"More."
"LESS is MORE, Vic. This knocks the dudes dead and lines the ladies UP. And they go even crazier when you do it to the bra clasp." He licks an errant drop of bourbon off his chin. From the glimpse you get of his tongue it looks very, very long. "That's kidding I don't. I'd never do that to a girl. Rule 1 of the Void-Mage code says no vanishing people's bras."

1 You say (picking all that apply)
A There's a code? What's in the code?
B Not even by request?
C Yknow if you were in MY crew you could Erase big chunks of robot. Instead of whatever Pee Wee or whoever tells you to.
D Yknow if you were in MY crew you could Erase all the bras you wanted. Cause we're fucking villains.
E I'm actually not wearing a bra, soooo. Is there anything else you were thinking of vanishing tonight?
F I want to lick your stomach.
G WELL this was fun but I need to say goodnight before you Erase all my tableware.
 


"Not even by request?" you ask.

"Wh," Volter says.



You can see his brain doing the perilous gymnastics of trying to figure out whether the most dangerous woman in the Jutter Wastes has just propositioned him.

"I want to lick your stomach," you say.



"Ohhh," Volter says.




KRAK-BOOM

"WHAAat the fuck"
Volter jolts awake.

Year 19 Post-Flood, day 311
8 AM



"What the fuck?" he repeats.
You stretch, shift, and sit up. "Morning firing drill," you say. "That's what we call a Rumbler Alarm Clock."



"Oh. Inky." He puts a hand on his chest. "Hell of a fucking wakeup."
"I was gonna warn you last night," you say. "I guess I forgot. Morning, stud."
"G'morning, Vic."

1 Now that you're up:
A Time to meet with Sketter and the Anabas Elders to finalize the interim governing system before you head out to Uchuam.
B Time to take Volter to meet the other magi and discuss experimental ammunition crafting.
C Time for morning sparring with Zaphidor.
D Time for morning archery practice with Crik.
E Time for morning meditations with Anastasi.
F Time to head down and supervise the loading drills.
G Time to bang the Void-Mage again.
H Time to get this show on the road and start the ten-day trip to Uchuam.
 
"See that is more representative of me usually." You kiss Volter's chin, then roll off of him and hunt for your underwear. "Now that you've knocked the rust off."
"I promise I really didn't notice anything off the other night," Volter says.
"That's because you were drunk." You spot your panties from last night somewhere in the tangle of bedsheets and slip them on. "I must've been moving like a fresh caught fish having a seizure."
"You were cute."
"Yeah but were your ears ringing after?"
"I don't remember."
"Are they now?"
"Yeah."
You shoot a finger-gun at him while you shoulder your bra straps on. "Iron Mantis, baby. Accept no substitutes."
"Didn't notice the ink last night, Iron Mantis."



"Ya like?" You pivot to give him a better look. "It used to just be three parallel lines. You can still see it on the blade and the crossbar. See?" You point.
"Why that?" Volter asks.
"It was Argus XVI's thing," you say. "It's still on the banners. Rumbler's Sigil. Zaphidor has one too, and so do some of the other crew. It was how he marked his property. I had it turned into a sword once I killed him. It seemed apropos."
Volter nods. "Very."
"Anyway," you say. "I've gotta get the day going. You might want to start acquainting yourself with the Rumbler. It can be a little confusing at first. Just ask people for directions."
"Suppose I should find Pi Xui," Volter says. "He's probably fretting about all kinds of things right now. Where're you headed?"
"Morning training with Zaphidor," you say.
"Oy. Sounds painful."
"I usually try to go easy on him."



Zaphidor flicks his stick down your guard and whacks you on the top of the shoulder.
"Touch."
"Ow! Motherfucker!" You stumble backward and rub the point of contact. "If you weren't you I'd call you in to beat the shit out of you."
"Work that blindspot, Boo." Zaphidor twirls his stick. "Every motherfucker who knows what he's doing is going to try to use it against you. Once you get a feel for it you can turn it into an advantage."
"I don't see how I can get a feel for it when you're beating me numb every morning," you say.
"Don't psych yourself out," Zaphidor says. "You'll start to be able to read them and see where their blade is without seeing it. It's some zen shit. SOooo." He tosses his stick to one side. "I think that's enough practice for one morning."

You grin and roll your eye. "You thirsty for some Tea, Zaph?"
"Before we get to the tea I need to give you some commander shit dry ass biscuits," Zaphidor says. "Those six we lost the other day."
You deflate a little. "Yeah?"
"Hon I know we need to get those Caravan people in line asap," Zaphidor says, "but I could really use some replacements in the meantime. Four of them were frontliners I lost, and the two who were crewmen have replacements rotating in from my fighters. Ya bitch is shorthanded right now."

1 You think about it:
A Promise Zaph you'll keep that in mind this next conquest and make sure not to lean too hard on his fighters.
B Ask Anastasi which peasants fought best yesterday and approach them to be replacements. They won't know auto fighting so well but it's better than nothing.
C You have plenty of trained prisoners from the Autos you smashed yesterday. You'll be able to turn at least six of them.
D Assign Volter to Zaphidor for him to command for the time being. One guy who can Erase people's heads makes up for six who can't.

"OK so now that's out of the way." Zaphidor sits on the practice room's bench and bounces up and down, giddy with excitement. "Tell me EVERYTHING."

2 You say:
A Twice, Zaph. Twice. The Dry Spell just got very, very wet.
B He was very good. I hope he knows this was just like a one-time using him kind of thing though.
C I think there's chemistry, Zaph. I think I've found me a man.
D I think there's chemistry, Zaph. I think I've found me a regular lay. As long as he gets that you can't pin down the Mantis.
E IDK. I got way too drunk and moved way too fast.
 
Last edited:
"Twice, Zaph. Twice."
"Yaaas! You slut!"
"This dry spell just got wet aye eff."
"So how was he?" Zaphidor asks. "Because sometimes Vic these hot guys, like, just kind of coast by on their muscles."
"Well first time we were both incredibly drunk," you say. "And so I don't remember TOO too much but I was drunk and I didn't have practice so I'm on top of him like blaughghag."
"Like did you throw up?"
"No that's just an illustrative onomatopoeia trying to capture the, you know,"
"The Victoire Yingtie experience."
"Yah. But we were drunk. So I had an excuse. And it was really nice to break the seal. So like 7 out of 10 for that one."
"Like I thought you were going to say 5."
"I mean it was really nice to break the seal. And he has a good dick. And like this morning? Like: 9.5."
"Oh my god. Like seriously?"
"And only not a 10 because I don't believe in perfection. But like it was like some kinky shit. Like you know how like when it's really good it makes you walk different after?"
"How exactly would I know that, bitch."
"Oh. Right. Sorry." You lay down on the bench and stretch your hamstrings. "The point is I think I've found a fwubbie. As long as he knows you can't pin down the Mantis."
"Hell no. Mantis ain't no butterfly."
"Exactly."



"And was he a gentleman?" Crik asks.
"Don't pretend like Zaphidor didn't tell you everything," you say.
"Vic that would be mad unprofessional," Crik says. "Only the broad outlines. The rest you can just extrapolate by how you're cocking your hip out so far today."
You un-cock your hip. "My freaking Talons. This is why I should just tell Anastasi everything."
"Hey power to you," Crik says. "What do I care where humans hide their salamis?"
"Half-shaytan," you say.
"Big whoop. I'm 9 tenths of one." Crik bounces his bow on his shoulder as he leads the way to Jackpot Jane. "Anyway Sketter's off interviewing my candidates for consul so I helped Anastasi pick out some good peasants to bring in. We're keeping them in loading teams and shit and rotating vets out into the key positions, so they shouldn't affect us too much. Figured I'd get like a dozen and we'd take a day to weed out the shitty ones."



"Fuck you for that strat, by the way, Crik."
Knock, Chief Facilitator Gunnery for Jackpot Jane, is leaning against a catwalk strut as you enter the cavernous chest port. "I got two good loaders swapping out to Zaphidor's combat teams and my pick of Yokels of the Century to replace them."
"They're just loaders," you say. "What do they need?"
"Literacy would be a start." Knock raps on the catwalk to get the attention of the two villagers poring over Jane's blueprints. "Hey. Boys. Wrong way up."
"Hm," you say.
"If anyone can teach em I can teach em," Knock says. "Provided anyone can teach em. Which I'm not guaranteeing. Normally we try to make sure all the loaders have a full knowledge of every spot on Jane so they can sub in or make repairs as needed but in this case I guess these guys are mostly just going to push shit and crank shit. Still." He scratches his nose. "Not fun when your training regimen is mostly about how to keep the recruit from making things worse."

"We also got a couple prisoners onboard we're seeing about working out an indentured service thing with," Crik says, as the two of you climb up toward the Head. "But I made the call we don't trust them until we have to or we've starved-slash-beat the douchebag out of them. These guys were patriots, mostly. Good for them."

1 So about training up those Autos while I'm out:
A I want about a half dozen more of our men here and replaced by peasants to get the new Auto crews up and running.
B We'll just leave Sketter to get that set up. I trust him to keep things from getting out of hand.
C I want to stay here for four or five days before we set off, to get the Auto training program running well enough that they can do it without us here.
D I want to delay training them until we're back from dealing with Uchuam. We can take care of things with infantry and the Wall in the interim.

2 Now that we have that sorted out:
A Prepare to get underway to Uchuam, by way of the main highways. They're likely to see you coming, but it'll be quick, efficient, and relatively safe.
B Prepare to get underway to Uchuam, by way of the spiny ridges of Upper Jutter Crest. Ensure Uchuam isn't expecting your arrival at the cost of a rougher journey, and be careful: there there be dragons. Literally.
C Prepare to get underway to Uchuam, by way of the lowland canyons. Quick and discrete, but infested with bandits and tidemad tribesmen.
D Wait: There's something else I wanted to do before we go: ________________
 
Last edited:
Dear mum and dad,

Rook here again and I havent the time to draw you pictures right now but I'll do it as soon as I'm able but I thought I ought to write to you as we've just had our big battle and it went like gangbusters!
The town is ours and it turns out that it's not all made of gold but there's so much gold in it it might as well have been so I've sent you some more. If youve already ate the dog oh well so be it. Ive ate something called a lobster today which looked frightful like a bug but tastes all right. Bombat says theyre a delicacy as they come from the oceans but there aren't oceans anymore so no idea where this one came from. Bombat went and got his arm messed up in the fight but Strix came and chopped it off and gave him a new one, and changed the skin color to his and all. Strix is our doctor and also shes a pain-mage. But dont worry shes not at all wicked or scary that much but she does smile an awful lot and even more when shes chopping folk's arms off. But she's all right and shes right fit too.

The sad part is that we lost a few of ours in the fight. RIght in the middle of it a great big sword was stuck into the Rumbler and I didnt see it happen but apparently it cut Verbissen whos one of my mates on Jackpot Jane right in half. Rotten luck there for him. We gave them a Rumbler Funeral, which is you cremate them then load their ashes into Jackpot Jane one by one and then Victuar said some nice words about them and we fire them off into the sky. It's mental but very cool and how Id like to be funeraled but dont worry! Im all spic and span like I said.
We have some new replacements for the blokes we lost and theyre a bunch of peasants and not to be rude but theyre quite stupid mostly. Only and this is what I wanted to tell you but I was saving it: I dont have to deal with them on the cannon anymore because ZAPHIDOR SAYS I'M PROMOTED TO BERZERKER NOW!!!

I've traded in my sword for another sword only it's HUGE now and me and a few other blokes have started training with him. Mum dad hes loads cool. He talks like a girl which is a bit odd but when youre as strong as him you can do whatever you want really and hes so funny. He says Im the most enthusiastic, and really thats better to work with than people who all the way know what theyre doing but I think he was being sarcastic but anyway he says Im not all that amateur and Im getting much better. Got my first scrap as a berzerker coming up soon and really looking forward to it Ill let you know. Were staying in the city a few days while we train the peasants to drive the autos we fixed up from the scrape. They fall down a lot which is hilarious but it frustrates Victuar but we all laugh anyway and so does she eventually.

Havent seen her around as much as usual and Zaphidor says thats because shes found a hammer to pound her nail in which I think means shes shtupping the Void Mage we met. Normally she has an Open Door Policy which means we can come in and ask her questions whenever but its shut a lot of the time now and theres a sock on the handle which is her way of telling us no coming in. Oh I havent told you about him but he fought with us down at Jackpot Jane and he punched great big holes in people. But not with strength but with magic. He just touches you and he makes big chunks disappear. Its mental. Theres another new fellow he brought with him whos very nervous around us but thats because were some hardcore men. Especially me as Im a BERZERKER now!!!!!

Will write again soon all my love. Have you seen grandfather lately? Or did we confirm he was got by that griffon?
Much love
Rook
 
Hey Gang. Bad news:
Like a big idiot I left my tablet pen in the Damn Train Station.
The good news is that a replacement pen is only 32 dollars.
The bad news is that I live in New York City and work in the Arts, so I have a pretty strict budget for myself. I already blew my last paycheck's Entertainment Cash on Hyper Light Drifter, Stardew Valley, and therapy for how bady Hyper Light Drifter is kicking my ass.

So believe it or not I can't actually afford to replace my pen right now. Which sucks and I'm sorry. I'd do commissions to pony up for it but I can't exactly do commissions when I don't have my damn tablet pen. Truly a catch twenty poo.
I can't update this motherfucker with a mousepad, so I'm going on a brief hiatus until I get the money to replace it. If anyone has some spare coin this week and feels generous, message me and I'll give you my paypal info. Don't feel obligated, tho. Quests should be Free.
Sorry, gang!!! As soon as I get it back I'll do some kind of celebratory Gold image. IDK what that is yet.
 
Waci said:
Have you considered drawing robot porn for money, payment in advance?
Click to expand...
Click to shrink...

If I don't draw the robot porn for free i cant get hard its too mercenary

Departing from that questionable note, and in lieu of a real update, let's take another dip into Heartlock's JOURNEYS.
This time: The Automata.



AUTOMATON.
The Knight of the Wasteland. The Steel War King. The Ruination of Men.
As the Warmage was in the Era of Mysticism, and the Outrider before him in the Early Ages, so now is AUTOMATON. The distillation of our violent and violently new epoch. The perfect intersection of man, magic, and machine.
The first Automaton, birthed in the forges of Old Zestimora, was in comparison to the sleek war machines of our modern era a laughable shambolic relic, barely outsizing a townhouse and housing a crew of one dozen at most.
And yet one must picture, if one can, its debut on the battlefield, in those high tranmontane winds and ways of Zestimora. Place yourself behind the eyes of a lowland spearman as the first of an infinite future's massive steel footsteps echoes through your ears, and from around a mountainous bend, lo! a metal giant! With a cast-and-rivet cudgel the size of five men and a crude-age cannon ensconced in its chest!



This was the first Automaton, and his name was Talos. His creator was the most supreme genius and terrible villain of his century: an archmage whose true name is lost to time and apocrypha, but who called himself the Author of War.
As the rivers of molten metal that were his creche flowed into their molds, his detractors shook their heads at the gross expenditure of resources and effort that flowed with them. Surely, they said, our time and steel are better spent training battalions of a thousand or more.
How could they have guessed that the inception they were witnessing would change the world?

In his debut battle, he slew 300 men, singlehandedly. In that bloody baptismal was anointed a new warfare, and at its mailed heart was the Automaton.
Yet even as the Zestal Courts marvelled at their unparalleled victory, they committed their greatest error, one deeply felt and indelible. When the Author of War had completed his task, they failed to slit his throat.
And as they poured the wine, he toasted his patrons, collected his pay.......
and vanished.
He was never seen again by any eye that survived to report its scope. But the decades that followed carried his impression on them as surely as a bootprint from one of his behemoth children. For those of skill and wit enough to seek him out were given in exchange apprenticeships under his wing, and as they spread across the land they brought with them in their heads his ways and plans, imparted with no fear of secrecy or monopoly. The Author of War had no allegiance to king, country, or code. Perhaps he sought to even the field and ensure Zestimora could not dominate the planet; or perhaps he simply wished to see the world through a haze of cannon smoke.
Whatever his reasoning, the Automaton became the core of a new Warfare: one of screaming metal, of towering machine-men and of hero-praetor demigods at their crowns. As they became ubiquitous they grew. Nation-states caught in the ever-larger shadows of their neighbour's automata sought to outpace them. Whole societies were reconfigured. Ways of life were inexorably destroyed. Fields were abandoned to newly automated worker-autos; and in their places forges were stoked. The warriors grew; new weapons and cannons and joints bristled from their fearful forms; Talos himself soon showed as a gnarled dwarf in comparison to the flagship Automata of the new order. The Metal Age began.

The air of mystery, romance, and terror has never left the Automaton. In our new world of drastically reduced resources the backslide has begun; and many automata now destroyed will never be repaired or replaced. Each individual loss represents the loss of thousands of hours of painstaking craft from masters of every discipline. While new automata are made here and there, the remnant Gods of the Metal Age remain the largest and mightiest figures of the Post-Tidal world. They crest high on the horizon, vestiges from a time of ambition, plenty, and puissance. Their praetors are the only ones of whom it can be said: Here is one who has mastered the New World. We are to them as insects.
Pray now to the Gods that the Praetor might ignore you; and if they do not, pray instead to the Praetor.
 
Last edited:
After 4 days spent setting up a training school for the peasant praetors, the Rumbler is on the move once again, toward Uchuam.
It travels high atop the crests and crags, where the air is thin.

This is Dragon Country.

Year 19 Post-Flood, day 315
The Heart

"Not a total shitshow." Volter holds the door for you. "The sword auto's making progress."
"Yeah well how fucking hard is pointy end goes in baddie." You glumly take a swig of tea. You pause in the doorway to the Rumbler's Heart. "Ink. This is some great fucking tea."
"Pi Xui taught me," Volter says. "Gotta toast the cardamom."

"HELLO, VICTOIRE!" Strix calls cheerfully across the yawning open chamber. She and Pacitar are perched on a high pillar, bathed in the Heart's glow. "HELLO, VICTOIRE'S PARAMOUR!"

Volter waves as you lead him up the winding footpath to the altar.
You're here to start doing some Research and Development on new magical ammunition. Time to find new, better ways of blowing shit up.



"You look drawn, my Queen," Pacitar remarks, as you step onto the pillar, motes of light playing across your hair. "Is all well?"
"I'm just glad to be out of that goddamn city," you say. "Those peasants are gonna be the death of me."
"Their rate of improvement is quickening," Pacitar says. "Now that we have pushed the boulder to the hilltop. Perhaps a few weeks on their own will do their discipline good."
"Perhaps." You rub the red fur spread across the altar. A hefty iron shell pins it in place. "They better not just blow the place the fuck up."
"Sketter will take care of everything," Strix says.

Everyone but Volter laughs.
Volter looks confused.

"So." You tap the shell. "What's this kind of experimentation gonna cost me?"
"Each shell we prototype will require approximately 5000 dekadrachmae to produce," Pacitar says. "Should we move forward in creating a replicable way to create them and add them to the armory, I predict around 15,000 dekadrachmae more."
"Brand of Eurandon," you say. "What the hell do you need that kind of scratch for?"
"Banquets," Strix says.
"Materials," Pacitar says.
"And possibly a banquet or two," Strix says.
"Creating new spells and spell effects from nothing is a difficult, mucky process," Pacitar says. "I shall have to clear my laboratory almost to its bare flasks, as I suspect will Strix. I suppose we could go without compensation, but the unguents and focii required can cost several lifetimes' worth of lucre."

1 Well then:
A I have an idea for a big scary new magical type of shell: _____________________
B Fuck it! Just brew me up another witchfire to replace what we used up.
 
You tap your chin. "I have a lot of ideas. I don't know. Can I get you guys a list? And then take the rest of the day to get me the prototypes of your favorites?"
"It would be our privilege to try," Pacitar says.
"And our pleasure to test," Strix says.
"Why are you glowing?" Volter says.
"Hmm?"
"You're glowing. You got a halo."



"Oh right." You bat a couple loose motes of light off your hair. "It's a thing that happens to a praetor when they're this close to an Auto's heart. It like.... reaches out into you. Like you always have the feeling of your automaton like" you tap your forehead "in here, but when you're this close to his heart... it's kind of like I'm floating between me and the Rumbler. Or both at once."
"The ineffable magic of the automaton," Pacitar muses.
"What's it like being the Rumbler?" Volter asks.
"Big, bad, and battlehorny," you say. "Kind of cool. Kind of like heavy. But spending too much time down here gives me a headache. So I'll leave you guys to it."

You turn to go. Volter follows you.
"Ah ah ah." You plant a hand on his chest. "You stick around here, Volter. Help these two out. Make some mage friends. Maybe they'll learn ya something."
"I thought we were gonna--" Volter dips his eyes upward.
"Baby the head's actually that way." You point past him and a little bit down. "And I got a robot to run. I've been slacking off."
"K. True. Sure. But uh." Volter leans into your ear. "Who exactly is Strix going to test some of this stuff on?"
"Herself, usually." You pat his shoulder. "I'll be back this evening. Make me a good WMD. Thrill me." You kiss his chin. "I'll make it worth your while."
You sashay away, very satisfied with the feeling of his eyes on your backside.
"Good-bye, Victoire!" Strix says. "Hello, Victoire's Bedwarmer!"
"Strix," you warn.

Evening

"Death in a host of flavors!" Strix dances through her workshop, nearly knocking over one of the glowing shell-vessels and waking Pacitar from his nap with an undistinguished snort.
Volter is painstakingly painting an angry shark mouth along the nose of the shell he's working on.
"This is some good stuff," he says. "I never knew I could make this kind of stuff."
"Your paramour has deft hands, Victoire," Pacitar says.
"Thank you, Pacitar."
"Not that you wouldn't already know," Strix says.
"Thank you but ironically, Strix." You run your hand along a brass-fitted shell, veins of destructive magic thrumming across its surface. "Give me the run-down. What have you built for me in here?"



"Our menagerie, Mantis." Strix pauses her caterwauling with a final spin and raises her arms in joyful presentation. "Five working prototypes."
"At 25,000 dekadrachmae," Pacitar says.
"Your angelic head has room for numbers, darling Pacitar." Strix strokes Pacitar's hat. "Mine has room only for explosives.
I have made for you:
A Sarin Shell! To puncture Metal Hide and produce hallucination and madness within!
A Tarburst Shell! Packing the puissance of my classic battlefield favorite into a deadly little delivery. Hit them at center mass and we shall cook them out without overly harming their auto. I call her Heartburn."

Pacitar hoists himself out of his chair and over to his own work table.
"My contributions, milady; pet projects Pacitar picked providentially from your provided papers."
"Adroit alliteration, Pacitar," you say.
"I did it first," Strix says.
"A Quickload Shell. Slug ammunition whose action in firing will magically brace and clear the barrel for another round, immediately. Even Jane herself will be ready for another shot the moment it's been loosed.
A Neutralizer Shell. A negating field of antimagic which will bring smaller Automata to temporary immobility and larger ones to a sluggish torpor."

"Oh and I did one," Volter says.
Strix beams. "We saved it for last!"
"'S a Void Shell." Volter taps the painted nose of his product. "Not a great name, but. Y'know. It's supposed to go in and then pop an Erase thing that only targets organic stuff. So all it does to the Auto is a little hole but then everyone inside zzzzip. Anyway that was the theory but I don't know if it's strong enough for everyone."
"What's it strong enough for?"
He shrugs. "Like, a quarter of the Auto coverage. Sourced out from where you target. So like hit the torso and you'll clear out a bunch of people, hit a cannon emplacement and the crew zaps out."
"And if it's anywhere near the head? The Praetor?"
"Zzzzip."
"Zzzip." You stare into the shell's painted eyeball. "Damn. Void magic."

"The question, Iron Mantis, is how to test these shells in field conditions," Pacitar says. "The arcane principles behind each are sound, but the only way to truly conclude anything is to load them into a cannon and fire them."
"That was the intention I had."
"Far be it from my mind to douse the flames of your anticipation, mistress, but we are high on the Jutter Crest," Pacitar says. "Loud noises will attract-- well, dragons, mistress."

1 You say:
A Aha. Good point. I don't need to test fire them to approve them for manufacturing, will I?
B Fuck yeah they will. Moving targets. Let's get these suckers loaded!
C So let's take a quick detour into some lowlands somewhere we can fire them off in peace. Shouldn't take more than a couple days.
D So let's change course and cut through the canyons, be as conspicuous and juicy a target as possible, and find ourselves some bandits to be our test subjects.
E I'm willing to wait on trying these out til we get to Uchuam. The caravan city will make a nice debut.
 
You must login or register to reply here.
Remove ads
Back
Top