| “I was never a man of worship. None of us were, at least not anyone that I knew. But… you had to be there to really understand. You young people, you just… - You had to be there, alright? I’ve never seen anything like it. I saw it with my own eyes. I was there on the marketplace that day, when we offended the heavens and their chosen. Everything just… - There was glass everywhere. The sky, the ground, it was shining in a way that still makes me wonder if it all wasn’t just a wayward snowstorm, passing through in the middle of summer. But then I remember the screams of those cut and hurt by the glass. I remember the screams of those trapped beneath the collapsed houses of poor construction, the ruins being consumed by fires, spreading out from overturned hearths. I remember the screams, stemming from mothers, howling for their fragile newborns. We paid for our arrogance and we all became men and women of worship that day; creatures of fear. - You young people, you just don’t understand. You had to be there.” |
~ Ramblings of one ‘Valis Marsus’, senile male, human elder who is currently under medicinal study for magic-induced memory loss at the central academy for the healing arts. Recorded by historian Foundrich of the society of chroniclers, fifty years afterwards.
Gottlieb whistles, wandering down the metal corridor of the station.
After a good night’s sleep and a good session at the cannon, he’s decided that his prior bout of paranoia was entirely unfounded.
He’s alone on the station, after all. Kai had confirmed as much.
Besides, even if anyone else were here…
Gottlieb flexes his muscular arm, continuing to whistle as he walks.
He lifts his eyes, towards the blue dot that is watching him from a door, marked with a ‘two’. This is the way to hydroponics. Gottlieb winks to Kai, flexing his arm a little harder.
The man supposes that, well, the shock of everyone dying and him being trapped in space was all just a bit much for one day. It’s perfectly reasonable to be paranoid about these long, empty, humming metal corridors in this situation, right?
He listens to his whistling echo out around himself, coming back around to him.
Gottlieb stops whistling, continuing on his walk.
He’s going to do one more lap and then he’ll stop by the mess hall to grab his breakfast.
“I’d kill for a fried egg and some toast,” sighs Gottlieb, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks.
But there aren’t any chickens in hydroponics. So, ass-flavored nutri-bars are what’s for breakfast.
Gottlieb sits back down at his console, stuffing the bar into his mouth. Crumbs fall at his feet.
| (Gottlieb) ate [Nutri-Ration{Blue}] |
| (Gottlieb) has recovered 10 STAMINA |
Kai doesn’t seem to notice.
He sweeps the crumbs away with his boot in secret, pretending to be fascinated by what he sees on the monitor, zooming around.
“- Wait. What the hell?”
Gottlieb jumps up, leaning in towards the screen.
“Kai. Is that a dragon?” he asks.
The camera locks on to a large, ruby-red creature, soaring through the skies. It is, by all definitions, a dragon. At least as far as Gottlieb can tell.
It’s a beautiful creature. It looks strong and proud and healthy. It is a remarkable specimen and clearly the apex predator of this and many regions of the world. Muscles ripple beneath its ruby scales and even through the lowered fidelity of the camera, tracking the flying creature during the night, he can see the size and the state of its razor teeth.
Gottlieb’s hand sinks towards the controls, grabbing hold of them.
- Should he?
It’s an amazing creature. Magic being real is one thing, the same with goblins, that’s all fine and good. But a dragon? A real dragon?
That’s pretty cool.
| [Reprimand issued] Orbital Gunner Gottlieb - Wasting resources Context: (Used military optical installation and smart-context resources in order to identify the validity of dragons) - Notifying the captain |
“Come on, Kai!” barks Gottlieb, pointing at the screen. “Look at it! It’s obviously a dragon!” Gottlieb plants himself back down, and zooms in, his finger hovering above the trigger.
| [Correction] - Visual target has been identified as a ‘wyvern’ and not a dragon. Suggestion: Orbital Gunner Gottlieb should consult the digital library and further his general education. Doing so would be a benefit to station capabilities. |
Gottlieb’s eye twitches.
It is night.
Meridian, the old man from the lighthouse, sits, bound in chains before the captain of the guard of the enemy.
Outside of the tent, spirits are high, as the soldiers apparently celebrate their divine victory, handed to them by the gods themselves.
He had never heard of such a thing, never seen anything like it. The whole cliff, the whole lighthouse, his pride and joy, was just… gone.
He had fallen into the sea, somehow surviving the collapse, as well as the drop, in a wayward miracle of a some kind.
- This was also the workings of the gods, it can only be assumed.
As for the elf, she seems to have vanished into the brink.
“Surely you see the reasoning in it, Meridian?” asks the captain of the enemy's guard. He is also an older man, with a short, but thick and well trimmed white beard. “It’s time for a change to come. If even the gods come out of hiding to say this to you, then will you not listen?” he asks. “The people need a trusted ruler.”
Meridian lifts his head. “You have my older brother. He is already the king.”
“The gods chose you,” says the captain, not bothering to lower his voice. “We came here on orders,” he explains. “But now we leave in faith. We have seen, Meridian.”
Meridian sighs, shaking his head. “That talk will get you killed, if anyone hears it,” says Meridian.
The captain laughs, getting up. He undoes Meridian’s shackle and pulls him outside of the tent.
The gathered soldiers of formidable number and spirit are loud and boisterous.
- But not in a typical celebration of victory.
Meridian looks out over the field of men below them, all of them are gathered in large masses, led by the holy-people of the church. The soldiers, unable to deny their eyes, ears and burnt skin, have found revelry in their experience of something truly divine.
They all sit in song and prayer.
“Look,” says the captain. “The gods have sent us a sign,” he says. “They knocked you from your tower.” He points at the soldiers, listening intently to the sermons being held. “These men are killers, Meridian. Mostly convicts let out early to serve and a few deserters. Now look at them.” He shakes his head. “What will it take for you to see that your people need you on the throne?” he asks. “The gods will it.”
Meridian shakes his head. “I am too old and I don’t care for the position,” he explains. “Let my brother have it.”
The captain shakes his head. “Your brother is older still and time has taken his mind. He’s growing dangerous. Please, Meridian. You are chosen by fate.”
Meridian laughs. The captain is an old man too, but he himself is a far older man and he doesn’t believe in things like fate anymore. “I’m just an old bag of bones, who is always at the wrong place and the wrong time,” says Meridian.
The captain sighs, lowering his head in dismay. “Will nothing change your mind?” he asks. “Please.”
Meridian shakes his head. “I want nothing to do with it.”
“Even after what you saw? After what happened?”
“It was just a strange anomaly.”
“Meridian!” scoffs the captain. “Don’t be an old fool. An anomaly? What does that even mean?”
Meridian shakes his head. “Nothing will change my mind. Not even -”
The daylight of the morning spontaneously arrives, several hours too early, overpowering all of the lights of the hundred torches of the camp. Meridian feels his hairs stand on end, he watches as the short gray mane of the captain rises into the air, as if held by a witch's fingers before himself.
His ears burst, his eyes go white as a great pressure crashes down over them from above. Men scream and shout and tents collapse, trapping their struggling inhabitants inside.
He stumbles, the captain grabbing him and holding them against a large rock, outside of the tent and the two of them watch, as a great, massive beast, a wyvern, scorched to ash, plummets out of the sky, straight towards them.
They scramble, running to the side as fast as their older bodies can move and an instant later, a giant beast, the size of thirty men, crashes down against the rock and the tent, flattening them.
Dust and debris fly through the quivering air.
Meridian and the captain stare at the carcass of the ruby drake, smoldering and cindering, glowing ash still rising towards the sky from its glowing bones like a signal fire, heralding the dawn of a new era.
Men gather around, slowly, as they orient themselves, their senses returning to them. Their sight stops shaking, their ears stop ringing and they all turn to look at Meridian.
A hand places itself on his shoulder.
“I think you should reconsider,” advises the captain of the guard.
Meridian looks at him and then back towards the dead wyvern, slain by the hand of god itself.
| [Battle complete] |
| (Gottlieb) has killed: (Ruby Wyvern{LVL 30}) |
| You got [475/475] EXP ! |
| *+~- [LEVEL UP!] -~+* |
| You are now level 8! |
| You got [650/650] EXP ! |
| *+~- [LEVEL UP!] -~+* |
| You are now level 9! |
| You got [900/900] EXP ! |
| *+~- [LEVEL UP!] -~+* |
| You are now level 10! |
| You got [073/1250] EXP ! |
| [You have {3} attribute points to apply] |
| [You have {2} ability points to apply] |
“WOOH!” shouts Gottlieb, rising to his feet and pumping his fist. “Did you see that, Kai?!” he asks excitedly. “Shot it right down!” he says, putting his hands together and slinging his hand downward, while whistling.
“Pakooosh!” says Gottlieb, childishly mimicking what he assumes the explosion of its crash-landing had sounded like.
| GOTTLIEB | |
| Level: 10 | Experience: 073/1250 |
| Class: Orbital Gunner | Sub-class: None |
| Race: Human | Home: The orbital-weapons platform [Currently moving to continent {4}] |
| STRENGTH: 12 [+] | DEXTERITY: 7 [+] |
| INTELLIGENCE: 8 [+] | WISDOM: 5 [+] |
| LOVE: 6 [+] | LUCK: 9 [+] |
| [Raised STRENGTH +3](To 15) |
The button on the top of his shirt breaks off, rattling to the floor and Gottlieb continues to strike a series of poses, knowing that Kai is watching him.
He smugly smiles at the camera. “Oh, man, it sure is nice to have a body,” says Gottlieb with some snark to his voice. He turns around, flexing his arms and shows Kai his back. “Boy, I sure am glad that I’m human.” He can’t help but grin. “I guess it’s lucky for you though, Kai -” Gottlieb grabs the sides of his standard-issue shirt and violently rips it open. “- That I’m still a machine!” he says, flexing in a new, tighter pose, to show off his new, bulging muscles.
| [Engaging Emergency Protocols] ‘Onboard planetary orbital station artificial intelligence unit’ will now initiate a self-termination protocol. Suggestion: Please stand by and be ready to assume manual station controls. >>> Failure to do so will result in catastrophic station failure.  Please report us if you find any errors so we can fix it asap!
~ Ramblings of one ‘Valis Marsus’, senile male, human elder who is currently under medicinal study for magic-induced memory loss at the central academy for the healing arts. Recorded by historian Foundrich of the society of chroniclers, fifty years afterwards.
Gottlieb whistles, wandering down the metal corridor of the station.
After a good night’s sleep and a good session at the cannon, he’s decided that his prior bout of paranoia was entirely unfounded.
He’s alone on the station, after all. Kai had confirmed as much.
Besides, even if anyone else were here…
Gottlieb flexes his muscular arm, continuing to whistle as he walks.
He lifts his eyes, towards the blue dot that is watching him from a door, marked with a ‘two’. This is the way to hydroponics. Gottlieb winks to Kai, flexing his arm a little harder.
The man supposes that, well, the shock of everyone dying and him being trapped in space was all just a bit much for one day. It’s perfectly reasonable to be paranoid about these long, empty, humming metal corridors in this situation, right?
He listens to his whistling echo out around himself, coming back around to him.
Gottlieb stops whistling, continuing on his walk.
He’s going to do one more lap and then he’ll stop by the mess hall to grab his breakfast.
“I’d kill for a fried egg and some toast,” sighs Gottlieb, slipping his hands into his pockets as he walks.
But there aren’t any chickens in hydroponics. So, ass-flavored nutri-bars are what’s for breakfast.
Gottlieb sits back down at his console, stuffing the bar into his mouth. Crumbs fall at his feet.
Kai doesn’t seem to notice.
He sweeps the crumbs away with his boot in secret, pretending to be fascinated by what he sees on the monitor, zooming around.
“- Wait. What the hell?”
Gottlieb jumps up, leaning in towards the screen.
“Kai. Is that a dragon?” he asks.
The camera locks on to a large, ruby-red creature, soaring through the skies. It is, by all definitions, a dragon. At least as far as Gottlieb can tell.
It’s a beautiful creature. It looks strong and proud and healthy. It is a remarkable specimen and clearly the apex predator of this and many regions of the world. Muscles ripple beneath its ruby scales and even through the lowered fidelity of the camera, tracking the flying creature during the night, he can see the size and the state of its razor teeth.
Gottlieb’s hand sinks towards the controls, grabbing hold of them.
- Should he?
It’s an amazing creature. Magic being real is one thing, the same with goblins, that’s all fine and good. But a dragon? A real dragon?
That’s pretty cool.
“Come on, Kai!” barks Gottlieb, pointing at the screen. “Look at it! It’s obviously a dragon!” Gottlieb plants himself back down, and zooms in, his finger hovering above the trigger.
Gottlieb’s eye twitches.
It is night.
Meridian, the old man from the lighthouse, sits, bound in chains before the captain of the guard of the enemy.
Outside of the tent, spirits are high, as the soldiers apparently celebrate their divine victory, handed to them by the gods themselves.
He had never heard of such a thing, never seen anything like it. The whole cliff, the whole lighthouse, his pride and joy, was just… gone.
He had fallen into the sea, somehow surviving the collapse, as well as the drop, in a wayward miracle of a some kind.
- This was also the workings of the gods, it can only be assumed.
As for the elf, she seems to have vanished into the brink.
“Surely you see the reasoning in it, Meridian?” asks the captain of the enemy's guard. He is also an older man, with a short, but thick and well trimmed white beard. “It’s time for a change to come. If even the gods come out of hiding to say this to you, then will you not listen?” he asks. “The people need a trusted ruler.”
Meridian lifts his head. “You have my older brother. He is already the king.”
“The gods chose you,” says the captain, not bothering to lower his voice. “We came here on orders,” he explains. “But now we leave in faith. We have seen, Meridian.”
Meridian sighs, shaking his head. “That talk will get you killed, if anyone hears it,” says Meridian.
The captain laughs, getting up. He undoes Meridian’s shackle and pulls him outside of the tent.
The gathered soldiers of formidable number and spirit are loud and boisterous.
- But not in a typical celebration of victory.
Meridian looks out over the field of men below them, all of them are gathered in large masses, led by the holy-people of the church. The soldiers, unable to deny their eyes, ears and burnt skin, have found revelry in their experience of something truly divine.
They all sit in song and prayer.
“Look,” says the captain. “The gods have sent us a sign,” he says. “They knocked you from your tower.” He points at the soldiers, listening intently to the sermons being held. “These men are killers, Meridian. Mostly convicts let out early to serve and a few deserters. Now look at them.” He shakes his head. “What will it take for you to see that your people need you on the throne?” he asks. “The gods will it.”
Meridian shakes his head. “I am too old and I don’t care for the position,” he explains. “Let my brother have it.”
The captain shakes his head. “Your brother is older still and time has taken his mind. He’s growing dangerous. Please, Meridian. You are chosen by fate.”
Meridian laughs. The captain is an old man too, but he himself is a far older man and he doesn’t believe in things like fate anymore. “I’m just an old bag of bones, who is always at the wrong place and the wrong time,” says Meridian.
The captain sighs, lowering his head in dismay. “Will nothing change your mind?” he asks. “Please.”
Meridian shakes his head. “I want nothing to do with it.”
“Even after what you saw? After what happened?”
“It was just a strange anomaly.”
“Meridian!” scoffs the captain. “Don’t be an old fool. An anomaly? What does that even mean?”
Meridian shakes his head. “Nothing will change my mind. Not even -”
The daylight of the morning spontaneously arrives, several hours too early, overpowering all of the lights of the hundred torches of the camp. Meridian feels his hairs stand on end, he watches as the short gray mane of the captain rises into the air, as if held by a witch's fingers before himself.
His ears burst, his eyes go white as a great pressure crashes down over them from above. Men scream and shout and tents collapse, trapping their struggling inhabitants inside.
He stumbles, the captain grabbing him and holding them against a large rock, outside of the tent and the two of them watch, as a great, massive beast, a wyvern, scorched to ash, plummets out of the sky, straight towards them.
They scramble, running to the side as fast as their older bodies can move and an instant later, a giant beast, the size of thirty men, crashes down against the rock and the tent, flattening them.
Dust and debris fly through the quivering air.
Meridian and the captain stare at the carcass of the ruby drake, smoldering and cindering, glowing ash still rising towards the sky from its glowing bones like a signal fire, heralding the dawn of a new era.
Men gather around, slowly, as they orient themselves, their senses returning to them. Their sight stops shaking, their ears stop ringing and they all turn to look at Meridian.
A hand places itself on his shoulder.
“I think you should reconsider,” advises the captain of the guard.
Meridian looks at him and then back towards the dead wyvern, slain by the hand of god itself.
“WOOH!” shouts Gottlieb, rising to his feet and pumping his fist. “Did you see that, Kai?!” he asks excitedly. “Shot it right down!” he says, putting his hands together and slinging his hand downward, while whistling.
“Pakooosh!” says Gottlieb, childishly mimicking what he assumes the explosion of its crash-landing had sounded like.
The button on the top of his shirt breaks off, rattling to the floor and Gottlieb continues to strike a series of poses, knowing that Kai is watching him.
He smugly smiles at the camera. “Oh, man, it sure is nice to have a body,” says Gottlieb with some snark to his voice. He turns around, flexing his arms and shows Kai his back. “Boy, I sure am glad that I’m human.” He can’t help but grin. “I guess it’s lucky for you though, Kai -” Gottlieb grabs the sides of his standard-issue shirt and violently rips it open. “- That I’m still a machine!” he says, flexing in a new, tighter pose, to show off his new, bulging muscles.
|
