19 replies to this topic

[Wandering Rogue]

Mnemosyne

 

 

Every day is the same. Every day is different.  

 

Mnemosyne was titled by that familiar stranger who named them and spoke it to the first who was cast into the world.  The word was followed by a laugh as he wandered away into the mists.  That’s what they say at least.  He does have a knack for naming things with a twisted irony.  Something of a calling card you could say.   There is another story though.  One in which the nameless town was called Mnemosyne not in jest but in prayer.  The call for help from a someone who was very, very lost without any haven in this world cursed with amnesia.  Mnemosyne became the haven for the lost and displaced who find themselves trapped within the walls of lost memories.

 

Lost?  Or discarded?  I can never remember which.

 

What was lost though can be reclaimed.  That was the promise in the words he leaves everyone with. What is the memory to the individual?  Just a collection of events?  Hardly.  Our memory cannot be summed up so casually as banal list of facts and dates.  They lack perspective; to be specific, our perspective.  The way we fit into those events is important but even more than that is how we view them with all of our multitude of biases.  It’s that personal touch that makes them our own.

 

You mean the lies?  Yes, I suppose that is what makes them uniquely yours.  Emotions taint the details over the years.  People do not remember the full truth, instead you’ll find they recall only so much as supports their views while the rest is lies to fill the spaces  betwixt and between.  You see, man can’t even be honest to himself.

 

It is because they are not objective that makes them wholly unique.  There is value in the differences.  It shows that they have had lives filled with different experiences.  Each view may tell something different about the event and they might even conflict but there is still worth in that.  Perhaps even more than you would find in untainted facts.  Each memory cannot exist on it’s own just like history isn’t just a series of stand alone events.  They are a series of strings that tug and pull in ways we can’t even begin to predict.  The memory is no different.  That is what makes the memory of the individual so fascinating.

 

Fascinating?  You find their memories interesting do you?  All of them?  Can you really find the worth in every single one?  Maybe we aren’t so different, eh?

 

~~~

 

Spoiler

A rusted hangar stands alone amidst fields of golden wheat beneath the grey skies and mists.  Just another random piece of the landscape that will change when nobody is around to notice.  Least, that would be the case if it were like any other piece of flair that appears in this land. This hangar though came with a deep sense of deja vu that triggered when someone drew too near.  It was this sense of recognition that marked the hangar as doorway to a memory.

Opening the doors you’ll find a sight that betrays expectations.  It is not the interior of some abandoned hangar. It’s not a building at all anymore. The world opens up in front of you and as you step past the threshold you’ll find the way back gone entirely.  The way is shut leaving you with only the choice to push on into the memory itself.

You stand inside a camp filled with green men in matching fatigues.  Their faces indistinct and waxy as they run about in a hectic fashion.  The sound of explosions can be heard in the distance but they don’t seem to be a threat at moment.  The sound of a commander shouting orders beneath a nearby canopy draws your attention.  

A detailed map filled with tacks and handwritten marks dominates the focus of the man in the room as he waves away others as they run past to carry out their orders.  The commander looks much like the rest of the green army save for having a larger hat to show his importance.  He looked up at the sound of your approach and gave an expression that was impossible to read given his wax face.

“So you’re the reinforcements I was promised?  The crack team of specialists?  Gotta say, not what I expected.  They running out of good ol green boys back home?  Well, can’t go lookin a gift horse in the mouth.  Let’s get you caught up,”  he turned back to the map and gestured to an area south of the center of the map where a green flag was stabbed.  “This is us...and that’s the Town,”  his finger dragged across the open space until it reached the city in question which was indeed labeled “Town”.   Even without him saying more you sort of got the gist of it as you saw the multitude of red marks within it.

“The reds are buried in deep and ready to fight us for every street.  We keep hittin em and they keep pushin back.  Which is where you come in.  Need you to get in there and give us an opening.  Now, we’ll need a few of you in the air to do a run...here,”  the commander stabbed down onto a ridge line north and west of the city.  “Got themselves artillery up here that hammers our boys as they make a break for the city.  You’ll run into the baron and his boys in the skies above but so long as you can take out the guns that’s all we’ll need.”

He gave a waxen look at our numbers.  “Need the rest of you to lead the charge on the ground.  I’ve got some armor you can commandeer or go on foot if that’s your thing.  First points are here, here, and there,”  he gestured to three points around the center of the Town.  “They’ve set up some flak to keep our air from moving in.  We’ll need you to take em out before we send our teams in to do some runs over their headquarters to soften it up before the final push.”

“You get all that?”

OOC

Spoiler

The town is a lot like all those midsize towns you see in WW2 movies with one important difference.  It looks ridiculous.  The buildings themselves look like various structures taken from toy sets and just sort of pushed together.  The style and time periods of the buildings are all across the board and you are free to make up the details to your liking.  The enemy are red soldiers and they will be dug in and using WW2 era weapons.  They are autokillable.  Those attacking the town may kill them within reason.  Your first post should be you pushing into the town backed by your green army npcs and pushing towards the anti air guns.  

Those attacking the anti air can go in on foot or choose a vehicle.  Tank, jeep, or motorcycle.

The artillery number is small and camouflaged in well with the treeline on the ridge but are pretty exposed from the air.  The real problem is that the red army airforce is protecting it and headed by a pilot known as the Baron.  You will have a few npc greens with you up there but you are outgunned.  The reds in the sky are autokillable save for the Baron who you will have iron crosses on the sides of his plane as well as an outrageous mustache.  The artillery cannot be autokilled.

Those attacking in the air will fly in planes...of a sort.  They are giant paper planes like the image above.  They can be armed similarly to WW1 fighters.  Why?  Because it fits the bigger theme and I think its cool.  

~~~

 

Spoiler

 

 

A cobblestone path leads any passerby through a small copse of trees, along a small creek, up a hill, and to a lone house that, if not for the fog, would overlook the town of Mnemosyne. There was a white picket fence surrounding the house, a large tree in the yard with a swing able to seat three, and a dog house with the name Spike on it. There was also a rocketship.

 

Even for the people of Mnemosyne, who are not known for their great powers of memory--rather, the opposite is true--this rocketship seemed out of place. Not only for the fact that most humble and picturesque homes were not likely to be the site of a rocket takeoff, but also because of how crudely constructed it was; with a red nose and red fins that stuck into the ground with no scaffolding, it looked more like a child’s toy. As those drawn to the rocket approached, the door opened with a loud hissing noise, and a small stairway lowered to the ground. They entered

 

The interior was massive. While outside it looked to be able to fit 6 people side-to-side, there was now room enough for nearly twenty people. As they looked around the ship, they were quickly alerted to something odd--they were in space. In the cockpit, they could see the planet getting farther and farther away. There was no turbulence, no sound from takeoff, no one to direct the ship’s course--but it was moving.

 

The planet they left (what planet was that, anyway?) grew smaller and smaller, and they rapidly approached a red planet in the distance. As they got closer, the ship began to shake. Slowly at first, only every so often--but then rapidly, dangerously, constantly. An alarm began to sound, red lights flashed, consoles flashed blue and yellow, and a voice from the cockpit screamed “Ground control to Spaceship, come in! I repeat, ground control to Spaceship, come in! What in god’s name is happening up there?”

 

The turbulence got worse, and the impromptu astronauts struggled to keep their footing. The red planet drew closer and closer, and Ground Control--he called himself Major Tom--kept shouting, sounding increasingly concerned. If only anyone knew how to work the ship and talk back.

 

Suddenly, a boy of about eight years came running from the back of the ship, pushing everyone out of his way, and took matters into his own hands. He grabbed the wheel (did spaceships have steering wheels?) told everyone to hold tight--apparently this situation wasn’t odd for him.

 

The ship careened into the planet. Eight year olds made terrible pilots.

 

However, strangely enough it didn’t seem to matter. Everyone drew themselves out of the wreckage with minimal injury and found themselves on a barren red desert. The eight year old had a spacesuit, but you seemed to be breathing just fine without one.

 

In the distance, there was very little. A number of large rock formations, maybe a mountain or two. It was a very boring planet. You don’t know from where, but there also suddenly seemed to be an army of giant robots.

 

Spoiler

 

“Come on, men!” the eight year old shouted, “We’ve got a job to do! Suit up!”

 

You might find yourself asking why you should take orders from a child, or perhaps what, exactly, you were going to suit up in. But the answers were obvious: in the wreckage of your ship, you find massive-scale versions of yourselves, giant robots with your face on them. The playing field just got quite a bit more even.

 

Edited by Wandering Rogue, 07 February 2015 - 11:51 AM.

[Officer Judy Hopps]

Discord

 

Straying between her toes as her sandals touched the earth, the grass wilted and died while she strolled forward amongst the rampant chaos of war. Surrounding her everywhere among this mess was a glorious conflict, and beneath the tattered edge of her canvas hood, many could perceive an ominous smile beneath it. Lingering there even as a Soldier next to her had his head snapped back once his skull intercepted a heated bullet, Discord slowly took an inhale of the savagery that surrounded her. Relishing the scent of fire, sulfur, lead, blood, and iron. Death, fire, and destruction. Three elements that seemed to interact with one another beautifully akin to a symphony; for rarely was one without the other.

 

Especially in times of war.

 

Eerily, she drifted among the ranks as if she weren't taking any footsteps at all. Rather, she moved akin to a spirit; with a steady and seamless procession.

 

With her travelled an uneasily heavy presence, which wasn't helped when a Green Soldier grabbed her arm. His peculiar, almost plastic-feeling skin instantly began to break and crack as he rapidly began to age. A grave notion, which only ceased to his normally flawlessly smooth state when he released her. Coughing and sputtering, he reengaged the Red Enemy and paid her no heed again. As bullets whistled through the air, each of them crying out for murderous intention, Discord arrived at the central hub a few steps behind the others.

 

Apathetically, she listened on about the urgency involved in their task. Picking up a odd looking weapon which held a drum magazine, (Tommy Gun.^.~) the Priestess inspected it closely. Afterward, an intense study of the Green Men and their utilization of similarly fired weapons, she could determine just how to use it. Pointing the narrow end with a hole at the tip towards the enemy, and then pulling the curved device at the bottom caused the sputter of fire and rattle of ruptures within the weapon itself. Looking above as chaos had filled even the sky, she watched on in wonderment as she glanced back to the others and hefted the compact Machine Gun closer to herself.

 

Deciding that she was going to help on the ground, stood around at first. Silently waiting to see how the group would divide themselves for this peculiar reality, and their peculiar purpose.

Edited by The Hawk's Eye, 07 February 2015 - 11:49 AM.

[Juro]

Major Tom, We Have a Problem

Getting in that rocket ship was definitely a mistake. From the way it looked from the outside, it shouldn’t have been functional. It shouldn’t have taken off. Well, I guess I was wrong again. These dungeons never failed to remind me. I couldn't blame anyone but myself. I was prone to these sort of things. At least that's what I remembered.

I regretted the whole situation, but that didn't really suit me. I wasn't that type of guy. I just had to suck it up and move forward; but it was easier said that done. Being trapped in outer space with people I just met wasn't how I planned to spend my day. Getting jarred around by interstellar turbulence wasn't either, but things never really happen the way I want them too. Nothing new there. The entire trip was nauseating and made me feel like crap. It probably only lasted for a few minutes, but I swear, it seemed so much longer. To make matters worse, the scenery that welcomed us upon our rough and untimely landing didn't make the situation any better.

A barren wasteland filled with sand that was colored a deep red. Yeah, it definitely wasn't that much of a spectacle. Anyway, no matter where I looked, I couldn't find a single sign of life anywhere. Just a bunch of rocks. A whole lot of rocks. It wasn't all that surprising.

While the others got out of the ship, I decided to relax and maybe try and appreciate the desert-like landscape in front of me. Too bad it wasn't working; everything I was seeing was as plain as could be. If only I could have a smoke, things would be a little better. Sadly, I couldn't. It was lame that I forgot to stock up on cigarettes this morning.

I ended up eating my words after a few minutes though. The kid that piloted the ship suddenly started to scream. It was so annoying. I would have beaten him to make him shut up, but after seeing the army of giant robots he was talking about, my priorities kinda shifted.

“Come on, men!” the eight year old brat shouted, “We've got a job to do! Suit up!”

He made no sense. I had no clue what he was talking about, but after turning around, I realized that no matter how much I tried, things would never – at least most of the time – make any sense. When and where these machines came from, not to mention who built them, I did not know. There wasn't really any point in trying to know.

I headed towards the robot that had my face on it. For some odd reason, it had a black, jacket with a fur-like collar similar to the one I was wearing; it was more mechanical and robotic in appearance given the bolts, jagged corners, and metal plates. Although strange and probably not needed, I’d be lying if I said I wasn't impressed. It sorta reminded me of my childhood for some reason. Probably something about the toys I had. Nothing really important.

I eventually ended up in the thing’s cockpit or whatever you called its control room. I was expecting a bunch of screens, panels and buttons. Instead, I got a head-mounted visor that showed me what was happening outside, a wired-up suit that popped out of nowhere, and a weird voice in my head telling me that synchronization was now complete. At first, I didn't get what it meant, but after noticing that this mecha started mimicking my moves, everything became as clear as day. This certainly made up for the sucky start we had earlier today. Since I was all set, it would have been rude if I didn't start things off with a bang.

Wide sweeping arm movements worked perfectly to set the mood. It being performed by a giant robot just made it seem a hundred times better. Mecha-Char's massive robotic hands were then cupped together, and in between them, formed a burning sphere of searing flames akin to a miniature sun. Setting aesthetics aside, this was soon followed by one smooth motion where Mecha-Char brought his hands forward, launching the enormous ball of fire towards the legion of robots that were heading our way.

I didn't actually wait for the thing to hit though. I'm not the most patient of people. With fireballs in each robot hand and a mouth brimming with heat, I rushed into the fray. I had to get up close and personal; that was the best way to do things.

Edited by Juro, 09 February 2015 - 10:58 PM.

[Kind of a Manly Man-chan]

- Defrag - Siege -

 
Have you ever had a dream within which you were aware of the fact that you were dreaming? What if everything you were to experience in that dream felt real? Would you still be able to believe in the assertion that it was a dream? You would conclude that you'd find out sooner or later as you're bound to wake up at some point. But what if you were unable to wake from that dream? How would you know the difference between the real world and the dream world? It would become a laughable assertion at best. Or so he had concluded. Everything had seemed to be void of logic from the moment he had made his first step into this alien world. Perhaps his understanding of what was logical had not been logical, perhaps he had been wrong. He had tried to dig up a scene from his memory to help him understand the situation but his search had proven to be a fruitless one. There were feelings he did bump into along the road of his little trip down memory lane but they made no sense without the attached imagery to provide context. Instead they only served as fuel for the cognitive dissonance he had been made suject to. Nothing seemed logical. But perhaps that was what made it logical. He hadn't come to terms with the dissonance but he had decided to stop fretting himself into a paradoxical spiral to which there seemed to be, at the time, no answer to. Instead he had decided to do the opposite.
 
With an almost childlike enthousiasm that felt nearly as alien as his surroundings he had set out to eagerly learn about the new world that had been presented to him. And this curiousity had brought him from a world he had slowly been growing accustomed to into a new world. One that seemed upon first impression just as non-sensical as the other. But once ventured beyond his first impression he came to realize that it looked like a fun place to be. There were green humanly shaped figures running around with primitive iterations of weaponry, some shouting out orders and instructions while others prepared to execute the instructions given to them. Their indistinct faces confused him to a certain degree but didn't suprise him. It was an unusual sight to behold but it was not something that fell outside of his range of expectations of which at this point none remained. Loud abrupt noises that ceased as soon as they made themselves known to the world shifted his focused away from the green figures. These noises were also a foreign experience. Setting out to find the origin that caused these to be was however put on hold as one of the green figures that seemed slightly different, because of the size of it's hat, called out to the group and ordered them to listen closely. Being of the servile nature that he was he listened closely to the task at hand.

"I will participate on the ground, feel free to use me as you see fit", he volunteered as he geared himself up with the primitive weaponry. "Pistolet-pulemyot Sudaeva" was engraved into the rifle he armed himself with. He checked the magazine, Thirty-five rounds each. He stored 7 of these magazines into the designated holders on a belt he had buckled around his torso. The act felt comfortable and familiar. This was exciting. " So who will I be of service to" he said as he waited for someone to take the lead over the group sieging from the ground. This was exciting and new.

Edited by Kawaii~ Dragon girl, 08 February 2015 - 02:44 AM.

[Siderealmidnight]

Another day, another dungeon.

 

This one was a house at the top of a hill, and an odd house at that. Patchwork had seen this type of house at times in Mnemosyne but understanding of them still eluded him. Why make a colored house? Why make a gate that small and indefensible? He couldn't recall why, but houses like this one always struck him as being fundamentally wrong, the way the trees that sometimes grew in several seconds or people's clothes would occasionally blur felt wrong. There was however something unique about this house.

 

In the yard there was a large metal pillar with a conical top and three small but stable supports keeping it from tipping over. Like many of the things in this world of lost memory the purpose of this pillar eluded him, until someone opened what Patchwork had assumed to be an irrelevant metal fixture and revealed that it was not a pillar but a building that masqueraded as a pillar. The worlds these others came from have so many strange buildings.

 

The interior of the odd pillar-shaped building was as much of a mystery. It was bigger on the inside than it was on the outside, but that was normal for buildings in this place. The strange part was how many buttons filled the metallic table they found themselves in front of. Patchwork was curious as to what the buttons did, but it was unlikely anyone who lived in Mnemosyne would know enough to answer him. So instead he sat down on the floor and meditated until the battle came. Once he may have waited in anticipation, but one of the few new memories he had gained since coming here is that dungeons were always marked by conflict. And so he waited.

 

Patchwork was broken from his trance by the sudden lurch of the building, which had at some point taken to the sky and was now in the process of being brought back down to the ground. At what he assumed to be the helm of what had once again proven to be something different than what he thought was a small child. If this truly was a ship the child was handling it with an extraordinary lack of skill, pushing buttons seemingly at random and spinning the wheel in great arcs and small stuttering motions. With luck this was another situation where things were not as they appeared and this child was not leading them to their demise, though Patchwork's mind provided him with visions of charred bodies and warped metal that had nothing to do with memory.

 

Their landing proved rough, but the damage was minimal when compared to pain, horrible pain, fire in my blood, my muscles, a knot of agony that will never untie, never relent Patchwork shook himself back into reality. Memories thought on too often had a habit of becoming real here. They had landed on some barren desert landscape, but it did not remain barren for long as the horizon became populated with giant metal creatures that, knowing dungeons, were filled with murderous intent.

 

The child who had been piloting the ship led the charge towards the battlefront, and what he meant by "suits" became clear when some of the others who came on the ship ran back into the wreckage and emerged in giant metal simulacra of their own. Sure enough upon inspection there was a metal simulacrum of him inside the wreckage, it even possessed approximations of his clothing and weaponry. In the back of his head Patchwork found a door into a small metal-walled room. There was nothing in the room other than two windows which were likely the simulacrum's eyes. This left the matter of operating the construct something of a mystery. He tried conjuring the configuration he had seen in ship to no avail. At a loss Patchwork thought about how one might control such a construct as this. How does one control their own body? They do it by instinct. 

 

The thought popped into his head unbidden, but it seemed worth attempting. Patchwork sat down in the center of the room and closed his eyes. He tried to replicate the feeling he had when he used his power, that it was undeniably right for him to do what he did. This was no giant metal monster, this was his body, and when he wanted to walk or stand there was no thought needed, it was instinctive, an action so right thought would only get in the way. When he opened his eyes he found he was looking down at a metalic version of his own body and past that another simulacrum firing balls of fire from its palms.

 

Patchwork tried to stand and found the task as easy as it would have been in his own body. No, this is my body, I cannot forget that. After making sure that he possessed the ability to draw the giant metal blade from its sheathe Patchwork charged into the fray. As he neared the closest construct he knew that it was only right that a coliseum would form around it. And so it did, high arena walls rising out of the earth. Of course that earth needed to come from somewhere, and it was only right that it would come from right underneath his opponent. As the arena entrapped the construct a set of enormous stone steps rose from the ground to provide him access above the growing stone wall. The stairs shuddered under the weight of his metal body, but their supports held true and did not collapse. As soon as the construct became visible over the wall Patchwork leapt off the stairs, sword primed to plunge into its metal chest.

[Diabolical Rhapsody]

Garnish - I am Lost-

 

She was a bit terrified by this all. Where she was and how she got here were the questions that she couldn't answer watching all these sweaty, waxy militarymen. Was this a memory? If yes, then whose was it. She didn't know that she could plunge into others life like this before. The last thing she remembered was talking with this sweet guy who had ordered a drink at her counter. He had talked how he felt sometimes that he was in a battlefield.

 

But looking around, she couldn't find him here. Rather apart from a few faces everyone looked the same. It was like a museum of some sort and they were mannequins decked in attire of their respective time. As the General or whatever the guy with big hat was, talked about the situation she felt more out of place. But living in Mnemosyne had taught her a thing. Adapt and Overcome.

 

She noticed carefully the fighting that was taking place at the far side and how the soldiers carried themselves around. She removed her satchel before she donned on her green uniform and looked around for something that she can carry. At last settling for a small 'L' shaped weapon. It had a few parts and watching the others, she had surmised that it projected some kind of projectile that could harm others.

 

It had a very small mallet at its end and a barrel that had to be cocked backwards once to set it up. It also had a small tray where small bronzed cylinders were filled, 7 at a time and then loaded in its belly. She found that she could atleast handle it well enough to not hurt herself and took seven such trays with her and filled them in her pockets.

 

She saw one of her companions get ready and confident. She picked up her satchel and walked up to him as he asked for orders. Stopping a few feet apart she fished in to her bag and took out a flaky meat bun and gave it to him. This was another thing, she never remembered how she cooked what she did, these hazes came too often for her liking.

 

"I want you to have this, as Good Luck~" and she then stood next to him, unsure what her role in this all would be. The best she knew was that she could cook but how was that helpful in taking the Town was something she can't fathom. 

[Jod]

The smell of sulphur reached my nose the minute I stepped through the doorway. Beyond me stretched an alien sight of fire and smoke. Thunder crashes in the distance, it is a noise that seems familiar, but I cant quite recall why.I seem to be stranded in the middle of some kind of encampment. The plaza where I stood was buzzing with activity. With men in loose fitting green clothes making their way through with a hurried pace.

I hear a voice that draws my attention, bringing it to a large canopy to my left. I spot a man with a commanding aura, perhaps he has a clue to my purpose in this place. I cant help but feel slightly out of pace in this place. Something sets me on edge.

It is then that the man, the commander spots me. He beckons me to come to him. For now t seems to be the best course of action so I comply. I dont really have much to lose anyway. Death only means that I will become less me.

The man speaks to me as if I was expected, which surprises me to a certain extent. I am pretty sure I have never seen him before him. But who am I to say, I dont even remember my name.
“So you’re the reinforcements I was promised? The crack team of specialists? Gotta say, not what I expected. They running out of good ol green boys back home"
 

"I-i ... don't know. What is my name?" I ask. Although my hope is small it still exists.

As expected the man looks at me quizzically and moves on with the topic. He brings me up to speed on the current status of the Town as he called. It seems that this is a place of war. I'm not sure what my part in this is, but my gut tells me to aid him in his effort.

"I will take to the skies" I tell him. I notice that their are others, out of place. It seems I am not the only one over here.

With purpose I head out onto the broken asphalt. I call the Sand, and it comes seeping through the gap between moments. A mound of blue sand is suddenly at my feet, warm and comforting. It ripples and flows as if alive, gently rubbing against my calves.

The with a mere thought, I am running on the road upon a wave crest of blue sand. I continue to pick up speed, soon all becomes a blur. I find the hangar, and their I find the Flying things. They are a pure white, they look fragile. I sit on the vehicle, as if it were a horse. It comes a live as if responding to my will. The Sand reacts jealously, until I calm it with a soothing sound.

As if responding to my will the Flying thing stretches its wings and leaps into the air. The Sand follows me like a blue cape. I become lost in the feeling of flight. It is an exhilarating experience. The wind roars past me, the earth a curving around me. I see all, and I feel free.

My ecstasy is broken as I spot red dots in the distance. Following them is the sound of a thousand angry bees. I know they are the enemy. Again responding to my will, Flying thing dives into the ocean of clouds below with a mighty swing of its wings.

Then within a moment I burst from the cloud, the Sand making me look like a jeweled bird twinkling in the sun. I shoot one down, each small ball of red, shaking the Flying thing. The other red has enough time to turn around . It fires at me, but the Sand protects me covering with a rippling blanket of sand.

I see some more reds below me. I plummet to the ground, wings folded. The Sand extends into a razor beak. I cut right through them, as if they were the wind. Then with a mighty heave, I extend my wings, and blast myself back into flight. The sand covers it to once again, make it look like a blue jeweled bird

[KDPtheKing]

MEET THE ICE BARON
Trip

What seemed like a dream, turned out to be his new reality. Standing, in front of a hangar, Trip was looking confused. Not knowing who he was but knowing there was more to himself than the fragments in his mind. Memory, something so taken for granted that it's importance is overshadowed by other things. It is probably the most powerful part of our intelligence. The most powerful part of our sense of self and knowing who we are. Yet, Trip, didn't even know if his name was actually Trip.

Standing at the hangar, he was joined by others who, similarly, had the same reaction he had. "Why am I here?" No one around was capable of answering the question other than stating the obvious. He was at an old school plane hangar out in the middle of the a wheat field. It seemed like something out of a World War 2 movie. Though in Trip's mind it was just a hangar out in the middle of nowhere. Yet, standing around was not going to get him answers. He had nowhere else to look anyway so he followed everyone inside.

There, an entire world seems to be located inside of the hangar. Talk about mind blowing. He could believe the inside came out of, what seemed like, a single plane hangar. What was even more nuts was there was war going on, WW2 style, against what looked like....toy soldiers? "What is going on here? Why are...you are kidding me. What is this place?" He couldn't figure out a single thing. All he could do was keep calm and just go with the flow.

Soon, he was swept up into battle. A green soldier came running up, gathering everyone with Trip. Explained the situation and how we needed to help. It seems like he needed to avoid it but, the war was far too large to avoid anyway. The only option was to help and if Air Support was needed, he knew his talents were going to be needed. "If you need air support, then I'll have it covered. Trip place his palms to either side of his body, arms held straight out. He then used his ice powers and created an automated fighter plane and sent it into the air towards the the target. He then, created a stream of ice that lead to the sky where he joined his plane and the paper plane Air Force. It was time to engage the enemy and ice blasts were for everyone.

[Vafhudr]

Stray - Robots Fighting Spiders on Mars for Major Tom

 

There is a certain sense of safety that emerges from routine. Routine is memorization. Routine is re-enactment. Routine is reassurance amidst uncertainty. Stray woke up at the sound of her alarm-clock. It was an old fashion thing, round and topped with two bells. She silenced it with a swat of her arm and went back to bed for some 20 more minutes. This was sort of part of the routine. Finally, she got out of bed and flinched at the cold ground. She shuffled about for a pair of mocassins and headed for the kitchen. The kitchen/living space, like her bedroom, was rather bare. No decorations. Nothing that stands out – only the bare essentials and basic amenities. She made herself some coffee, along with toasts, beans and eggs. She dressed herselves in her one set of clothes (she would have to work on that) and went about for her morning walk. She would ring the city, walking for a good 2 hours, pausing to watch the evershifting mists beyond the edges of the city. You know that one very famous German romantic painting? It's kind of like that. She then often goes into town and talks with some of her neighbours. We all get a home here, apparently. Some people have begun some businesses. Memories of their past trade came back, apparently. There is not much to talk about though. It's only when you lose everything that you realize how much you draw upon a truly inexhaustible supply of referents – images, sounds, people, events. They all weave an intricate web and now that web has been swiped away, leaving only whisp-like tendrils hanging. Discussions are limited to small talk. Weather is weird this city, but how can you call something weird when you have nothing to compare it to. And yet, one of her neighbour will assure her that the weather is all wonky in this country. Is that knowledge or simply enduring routine?

 

That morning she noticed that there was an anomaly in the grey. A region had appeared. Already dressed for a small adventure and her belly well filled, she didn't see the harm in exploring. She checked her pockets real quick – her notebook was there, and she could feel a few stubby pencils lying around in one of her pockets. She might as well take notes and report back to the town center about this new memory. There was a path. The path was made of cobblestone which led to a small forest. A creek. A hill, and a house upon a hill. She felt a bit winded from the climb, but she now noticed that the house was flanked by a rather unusual sight. Some sort of spacecraft. She quizzed over the construct, unsure what to make of it. She also noticed that she was not alone. Other people had already arrived here. She was a tad miffed, hoping to have been the first to discover the site, but it was clearly not the case. How annoying. In fact, more seemed on their way as she heard huffing and puffing from behind her.

 

Chit chat and introductions did not occur as a door revealed itself and stairs descended from the crude and ricketty toy-like thing. The outside of the object bellied it's interior's space – it was rather roomy and easily accomodated all the visitors. She reminded herself again that these memories were more like dreams. Causality does not apply as strictly. The door closed. Great. This was not exactly a confined space and yet she could already feel a certain anxiety creep within her. A feeling of unease. A porthole appeared – or was it always there? The rocket began to vibrate and suddenly there was a great shock. Liftoff, she presumed. Indeed, as they struggled back to their feet, the world was easily discernable down below from the portal. Too late to back out now. They were strapped in to explore this memory. A radio crackled to life. A voiced asked what was going on, as if reading their collective minds. The vibrations intensifie. Heavy turbulence. Everyone was sent flying from one side to another – kind of like in Star Trek. This was not space anymore. A planet, no, ground, was now approaching real fast. Stray closed her eyes and braced herself for impact.

 

Impact. Stray, along with the others, emerged from the shuttle, undamaged if a bit singed. A boy that looks barely eight, wearing comically oversize pseudo-future military regalia emerges from the cockpit and shouts order. Stray, confused, looks around a see a bunch of moving shapes on the horizon. A feeling of dread seeps in her chest as she notices that, perspective wise, they are in fact far away and big.

 

Oh don't tell me there is going to be fighting. She thought to herself.

 

She noticed that her boon companions were now interested in something else. Bodies. Big bodies. Big metal bodies, apparently. They weren't there before, but they seemed to have emerged from, it turns out, to be rather large capacity ship. Oh and the bodies looked like them. Not creepy at all. Following the lead of her fellow stranded memorists, she headed toward the one that looks like her.

 

“Wow is my head really that big?” she ponders as she approaches what appears to be a door by the bottom of the thing's face. Her face. Guh.

 

She climbs on board - or rather, trips inside the thing. The whole place lights up like the night sky, revealing a ... surprisingly simple set up inside. She clambers a small set of stairs and slips in what resembles a pilot's seat in pre-World War II airplanes. Clocks, levers, all very simple and yet surprisingly sophisticated, line the side of the seat. She feels... surprisingly at ease as she adjusts herself. A corner of a what was once a photograph is held by a simple pincher. A small human detail in a rugged machine.

 

She pulls on the main lever and machine comes to life. The whole metal thing feels suprisingly light, despite the fact that it really ought to weight several hundred tons. The steel titan is sluggish, though, and it wince and cringes into action, metallic sounds reverberating within it's depths. An additional sets of pedals appear – they look like piano pedals. She presses on one and the titan lurches forward. Okay. After a few experimentation, she feels like she has the hang of it. Other mechas lurched into action and initiated combat. Voices crackled on a radio she had not noticed before. She found a small horn-like phone to talk into and respond.

 

“Roger. I'll be providing supporting fire, I guess?” she said as her robo-self pulled up a rather large rifle. She took aim and shot at one of the incoming giants.

[Unbelievably Majestic]

Fracture - Buckle your belts and lock the doors. The time has come for robot wars.

As he looked down the sights of a colossal gun, his finger gently resting on the trigger, Fracture realized that if he was asked about this later he'd have a few confessions to make. First he'd admit to being surprised that the journey into this memory had really not gone anything like what he'd expected. He also would have to admit that he shouldn't have been so surprised by this. The dream-like dungeons follow their own rules, and they hide the guidebook. Expectations were simply foolish. He might next reveal that, despite his rather blank face, he wasn't unhappy with the turn of events. Being in control of a titanic robot and using it to engage other equally gigantic robots in battle was every bit as fun as it sounded. The only down side being that robots didn't tend to feel pain as far as he knew, and so he was now, in essence, without any of the strange abilities of the myst-lands. Which was not ideal, but he'd manage.

Fracture was holding fire, waiting for the robots to draw closer and his allies to get themselves prepared. He'd rather not miss his shot, or force the action before everyone was ready. Besides, this was the best part. The calm before the storm. The long silence in which the flickering flame of excitement heats the blood almost to boiling. The anticipation was sweet as honey. The giant robot he'd acquired mimicked his movements as he crouched in his control suit, its chest rising and falling lightly as he took a slow deep breath. Almost unfathomable amounts of metal shifted and slid against each other with a deafening silence. In the center of his robot, everything was quiet for Fracture. All he heard there was his own beating heart. All was calm. All was still. All was silent. But all silences are waiting to be broken, they hunger for it, and soon enough they get what the want. The sound of friendly gunfire signaled the end of this particular silence, and the start of Fracture's battle. He took a split second to double check his aim and then pulled the trigger. Shooting at the robots with his fancy new highly over-sized rifle.

[Johnny Paradise]

Dusk -- Toy Soldiers

 

Very little surprised her. She doubted that this was always so, but here it was almost a necessary facet of existence, to not be surprised. She wouldn't be able to handle it. And so when she found herself with this caricatures of human life, she didn't bat an eye. Despite not understanding warfare, everything here seemed so nostalgic, as if they were her own thoughts brought to the surface. It was this curious quality of Mnemosyne that troubled her--she wanted to know deeply who she was, but she was so comfortable in the mists being someone else.

 

It didn't matter now. This by-proxy existence of hers would lead her to something real, something viscerally and totally her own. At least, that was the idea. Not sure how true that was in application, but nothing else to do but try considering she was stuck. With a wry smile, she boarded a paper plane. Piloting it was simple. She didn't really know how to do it, but she felt how, and that was enough. She left the earth and her shadow was cast far below, massive against the ground; it seemed to shake with laughter that only she could hear.

 

Her objective was simple, in theory: kill all the red ones. People broke easily, and these ones seemed even more fragile with their waxen bodies. She maneuvered her plane above one of the enemy units so that her shadow fell upon it. It grabbed the pilot and and wrest the controls from his hands. It then shoved him overboard and took the controls. Flying both planes, Dusk made her move toward the artillery that the green man told her about--she would crash her hijacked plane into it.

[Johnny Paradise]

Spaceship to Major Tom, We Have Made Contact

 

As he charged towards the looming deathbots, Brendan Fisher's plan came into effect. The scream of metal flying through the air resonated loudly from the wreckage of his ship, and he jumped into the air. Everything else seemed to fade away as a large piece of scrap enveloped him--was that a torso? It rotated slowly in the air as two legs shrieked into place, the sonic waves of their intense speed dissipating harmlessly as they locked into Brendan's new robotic torso. The process repeated with two arms, and a handsome helmet lowered itself onto the mech's head, completing the Mecha Brendan in style.

 

"Major Tom," he said, "I am engaging the enemy."

 

"We're all behind you, Captain," Major Tom said, his voice playing back in each of the mechs. Brendan lifted his arm and a cannon mounted on his wrist began to glow white. It discharged a blast of energy that tore through two of his enemies, leaving scorching holes in their chests. The heads jettisoned from their bodies, and a parachute bloomed out of the top. Two gray, gelatinous creatures scurried out of the cockpits and away from the battlefield.

 

The robots seemed to disperse at the sight of this destruction. Had they demoralized the opponents already? Eight year olds were very optimistic.

 

As the enemy army parted, a much larger robot with an obsidian frame and flame decals appeared. Their general, perhaps. It pointed a finger at Brendan, and as it turned out, this finger was a missile.

"ELIMINATE ALL THREATS."

 

 

The sounds of battle seemed to trigger the rest of them, and Stray and Fracture let loose gunfire of their own. Their large cannons took pieces out of some of the encroaching horde, but the difference between their guns and Brendan's was immense. Not wanting to take too many shots, the enemy robots prepared their own defenses, and their metallic skin seemed to somehow engorge, becoming thicker and more lustrous--eventually the bullets simply bounced off. Their attacks now seemed fruitless, but they could see that the robots' changes made them slower, and that their joints and necks could not be thickened.

 

4 of the enemy suddenly took to the skies, rockets flaring from their heels, and flew towards Stray and Fracture. Opening their metal mouths, they loosed a volley of yellow energy at the two.

 

 

Char's intensified ability was met with success, and one of the robots took the full force of his flames head on. Its skull was melted in most places, and once he got close enough, Char could hear the sound of screaming; the robot stopped moving. Fire in both hands and in their midst, 3 of the machines turned on him, recognizing him as a primary threat.

 

Their hands and feet shone silver and one of them jumped into the air, attempting to bisect Char with its heel on the way down. Char managed to move out of the way, but the robot's foot made a massive crater in the ground upon contact. Another of the 3 robots threw a punch at his head--it was clear that he should endeavor not to be hit by that.

 

 

Patchwork's large sword pierced the chest of the robot he had trapped. He felt convulsions through the blade, and the machine spurted oil all across Patchwork's sword and body. The robot lurched and fell off of his sword. As it hit the floor, the number 30 appeared on its screen-like face. Then 29. Then 28.

 

Two sets of hands grabbed the edges of his colosseum, and two more robots hauled themselves above the rim of the structure. They laughed with mechanical efficiency.

[SliceAndDice]

Harvest

 

He couldn't say what drew him toward the hangar. Was it curiosity toward this structure he had never seen, or at least could not recall seeing? A eagerness to find out what it was? No, that didn't seem right. There was an abstract familiarity to it, as if he'd been there before. Could this place hold a key to his missing memories? He had to be sure. The journey to the door took little time at all, or so it seemed; he moved toward it as if dreaming, the air around him feeling thicker and heavier than it should have, but it did not slow him. He reached the door of the structure and pushed it open...

 

And what he saw was beyond belief. Hundreds of men, all them green from head to toe, ran about the camp in which he found himself. As Harvest began to wind his way in between the odd, artificial buildings, he found himself dodging around the green army men who ran about. One of them that he failed to avoid collided with him and knocked him into another one like himself, made of pink flesh rather than green wax. The woman he jostled into had been staring at one of the men who seemed to be nursing his hand from some malady, and as Harvest made contact with her briefly he received the same treatment. Wherever his skin had touched her it began to hurt as it started to grow black. But before he could notice it, his power came to his aid and revitalized all of the affected areas. The woman turned and looked at him incredulously, and he mirrored her look. But then they were both beckoned over to the command center, and he nodded to her as he moved.

 

Once they had been given intel on the situation and the so-called Reds, the group of men and women gathered and began to separate themselves. Several of them moved toward the paper planes to begin the air assault. The rest seemed to loiter about, waiting for additional orders. And it seemed there were none to be found. Reaching for a weapon, he found an oddity in that one of the available tools was what seemed to be a strange, cobbled together contraption. On the one hand, it looked like a bow, but it featured arrows with strange rounded tips with multiple bumps on them, clearly attached to the arrow shafts... but nothing held them together. It was as if the two pieces simply held together at the point of contact by magic. Deciding it was better than the strange, loud devices others were using, he grabbed a bow and a quiver of the strange arrows and headed for one of the great, metal bison nearby.

 

"Well?" he called to his apparent companions, "Get in! We have a hunt to go on."

 

As they all piled in and one of the green men began to drive, Harvest turned to the back of the jeep and began to place his hand on each of their chests in turn. Power flowed through his arm and into their bodies, making them feel lighter, faster. Stronger. It left him drained, slightly, but he would soon recover. In fact, by the time they reached the outskirts of the town and began to get out for the attack, he felt right as rain. Knocking one of his abnormal ammunition into his bowstring, he pulled it back and fired it toward a nearby group of red soldiers who had buried themselves in the earth behind one of the roaring machines. As it met its target, an explosion erupted that sent the red men flying in multiple directions and turned their machine to scrap metal. Startled, at first, Harvest had to smile.

 

"This would certainly make cooking a buffalo much faster..." he said.

 

"Come, brothers and sisters! We must fight!"

 

OOC

Spoiler

The woman he bumped into was Discord. So she'll know he can touch her without dying.

Weapon he found was one of those things where a little kid would hold two different toys together and pretend they're one item. It's a bow & arrow grenade launcher.

He got into a jeep/APC, yelled at DR, Missy, and Mafia's characters to get in, and then buffed all 3 of them. In case that wasn't clear.

[Juro]

 

It was just like those previous dungeons. This feeling when things got messy and outright chaotic; the only difference this time was it was a super-powered robotic free-for-all. Nevertheless, it definitely was exhilarating. Getting all worked up and excited about these sort of things didn’t seem healthy, but that was something that I decided to not really care about. Or at least that’s what I remember. Anyway, I didn’t think about it that much. At the time, I had more important things to deal with.

Three on one didn’t seem fair, but it was situations like this that made me want to win even more. Having the odds stacked against you made things a little bit more interesting. I couldn’t help but laugh a bit while thinking this. My mechanized-self did the same; it was awkward when it did it though.

Out of the three that came at me, two went in deep. The first attack packed a punch, but dodging it was easy; now came the second one. A straight to the head; nothing too flashy about that, but I felt like getting hit by that would knocked me out or decapitate the robot I was piloting. Either way, I wasn’t just gonna stand around and find out which was gonna happen.

Ducking out of harms way, as if it was some sort of reflex, I knew I needed to start attacking. You know what they said, the best defense was a good offense. A flaming bearhug from below to restrict movement and a searing large fireball to the face from my bot's mouth were my weapons of choice. If things went well, the heat and force from all my attacks would do wonders to the other two that were close-by. 

 

As awesome as my plan was, I couldn’t help but wonder about how much heat this thing could take. And when I say thing, I meant the robot I was in. Based on experience, I never really had any problems when it came to flame and anything that came with it. I hope the same rules apply to this machine since it could copy my abilities. If not, I think I just screwed myself.

 

It was too late to back out as my bot's flame-engulfed upper extremities wrapped themselves around our mechanized foe's torso along with both its arms . The sound produced by the crushing and melting of metal just made it clear that this guy wasn't going anywhere. Despite this, the robot still continued to struggle while at the same time, the other two headed towards me. This didn't bother me since I was more than prepared with an efficient countermeasure. Fireball anyone?

 

With my bot's mouth wide-open, a swirling ball of fire soon formed, and within seconds, the concentrated sphere of heat and flames was shot fired. Where you ask? Like I said earlier, right in the face. Upon impact, an searing explosion emerged, engulfing myself and all three of the machines that were stupid enough to attack me. The results of my well devised offense was pretty much what I expected. Three disfigured melted machines, a scorched landscape, and one slightly singed Mecha Char.

 

After dusting off the soot and charred remains that were on my bot, my attention was directed the other ongoing fights. The other ones that I came with seemed to had troubles of their own that they were still dealing with, but what caught my eye was the biggest problem out there. Definitely the largest of the bunch, it was styled with what looked like flames. It sure looked cool, but all that design did was tell me that if there's something I had to take out, it would be that. 

 

Supported by me left hand, I extended my right arm forward, pointing out my index and middle fingers at the behemoth of a machine. You know, like some sort of gun. My bot mimicked my actions perfectly and from the tip of my fingers, was another fireball. This wasn't like my previous one's though. Instead of growing in size, it started to pulsate, becoming darker as if being charged up. The shot was fired and the air was left reverberating and distorted by the force and heat was generated by it. I sorta thought that the usual stuff wouldn't do, so I had to step up my game. It may not look much,but this thing was gonna do some damage. Hopefully.

Edited by Juro, 14 February 2015 - 02:42 PM.

[Wandering Rogue]

The Ants Go Marching One by One

 

 

There was something tragically graceful of the slow descent of an paper plane losing altitude as it slowly winded its way down to the earth below.  Oasis was the first to take to the skies with Trip and Dusk quick to follow up.  Together they sent many of the planes down into that sad spiral.  Something melancholy about that quiet fall towards the ground. Well, at least until it actually hit.  Something odd about the paperplanes was the fact that exploded rather spectacularly upon collision.  The fire blossoms from the carcass of the fallen bird like some kind of hungry devil beast bent on burning the world.  They obviously don't but they make a good run of it and at least get the surrounding area.  Which is what gave Dusk the idea to crash his plane into the artillery that was in fact their objective.  This of course had the intended effect of filling their little nest with fire thus disabling their weapons and the firing squad in a most spectacularly cruel fashion.

 

 Fun fact:  wax soldiers are incapable of screaming but do in fact feel pain.  With bodies covered in flames they scrambled from out the licking flames only to slowly melt only feet away.  Even Dusks' green allies had to look away from the soundless melting figures.  These newcomers were truly the monsters they had been promised and they could only pray that the outsiders did not grow bored with just killing reds.  Their objective done they were ordered to move towards the city and hope that their allies had accomplished their mission before they arrived.

 

One thing the air team had forgotten entirely was the Baron of Red who had been left unchallenged and was free to molest green forces.  He'd thinned out their aerial ranks and fallen back with a group of red's elite to take them on again someday.  

 

~~~

 

After a slow start, the green army managed to successfully navigate their way to the Town proper even if just barely.  With some heavy fire on the part of Harvest they managed to make a hole in the Red's encirclement that gave them an opening.  Unfortunately, they'd have no time to take in their victory as they were far behind schedule and if they wanted to have any air support left by the time they made it to the Red headquarters they needed to make a lot of headway against those antiair guns in a short time.  Knowing time was of the essence a column of Green troopers moved down the first street with an armored tank at their head only for a series of explosions to tear them apart in seconds with the survivors being gunned down from gunmen in the surrounding buildings.

 

"Cheater! What was that?"  A childish voice shouted down from the heavens.

 

"Mines,  Duh,"  came the response from above by a cracking male voice deep in the throes of puberty.

 

"No fair.  We said no mines.  See, says so right here in the accords!"

 

"Totes fair.  Stop being a baby and give me that,"  tearing sounds cut through the air as giant pieces of paper floated down from above that had once made up the rules of conduct that the Reds had ignored.
 

The roads ahead were filled with mines while the buildings were filled with enemies.  The objectives are far and the time is running thin. 

Edited by Wandering Rogue, 14 February 2015 - 11:57 PM.

[Officer Judy Hopps]

Discord

 

Bang Bang, I shot him down....

 

Standing patiently, the eerie Priestess stood in wait until someone bumped into her. A peculiar man, who seemed so full of life and light of heart. Not plastic, like the many soldiers that surrounded them. What was most peculiar was his resistance. In the brief moment of contact, she stared at him. The Life that seemed so boundlessly flowing outward from him counteracting stubbornly the Death that flowed from her. There was not a moment of moment of fear, but a moment of curiosity as she increased the input of her power from the moment of contact, only to have it equally rival hers again. There was no fading of blood from the skin, no immediate signs of decay or weariness, there was simply life and nothing else.

 

Silently, she continued to stare at him while their assignments were handed out. Eerily, her gaze remained affixed upon him, and him alone. Drawing the hood off her shoulders, strands of blackened hair fell against pale skin as she boarded the truck bound for the front.

 

Thankfully the vehicle in front of them fared a far worse fate. Rupturing in a rapidly expanding fireball that echoed and rattled the vehicle she was in. There was no time, there was only reaction. Here, trapped in the road, they were simply bait to be shot by these peculiar flying pellets of metal. The last thing she would want to be is the victim of one of those. Not a word she uttered, not a moment she spoke, instead she hefted the Machine Gun she held and hopped deftly out of the back of the vehicle. She needed to move quickly, hastily, nimbly, thankfully that was something she was relatively capable of.

 

Hefting the Machine gun, she pointed it at a door handle of the closest building and opened fire. With a bone-jarring cacophony of gunfire, the door's lock shattered, and her foot swiftly kicked in the door to see a Red Soldier standing there. Without any guise of mercy, she poured a quartet of bullets into his abdomen, making him collapse in a quite dead heap against the ground. Door to door, house to house, the worst kind of war. That is how she would have to fight.

 

Sticking to the first floor however, moving from one house to the next was advisable.

 

Running into the building, she encountered a Red Man who was still using his machine of death towards the other vehicles. And as much as she might enjoy the massacre of war, she still wished to survive. She still wished that the others who were not of green and red would survive as well. After all, their cause was lost if she were alone. So, she grabbed him by the back of his neck and pushed the barrel of the strange weapon into his spine and pulled the trigger. With fragmented red plastic exploding out of the other side, Discord kicked open the door and made her way into the next house. Shooting through the door first to kill any waiting Reds, she kicked in that door as well.

 

she could only hope that this sudden blitzkrieg through the buildings would help push towards their objective.

[Kind of a Manly Man-chan]

- Defrag - Siege 2: ground -

 
 
What is it? He questioned himself, his fingers gently pressing into the soft outer texture of the odd spherical object that didn't quite fit into any of the geometric categories. Small rectangle shaped figures had been placed on the top side of the object, now those did fit into a category. He smiled to himself for being able to recognize at least some of it. The object had an alluring smell that made him long for the object, which occured to him as something rather silly. It couldn't be food. What use did food have on a battlefield? It didn't even look like something edible to begin with. For as far as he knew nutrition looked more like gelatine and was rather droopy of substance. Nothing quite like this. But the real question he wanted to have answered was what it actually was. What was it's purpose? Was it a weapon? He was too afraid to ask. What if his question regarding it's nature offended the young lady whom had so kindly given him this object. He'd have to pretend he knew, that way the young lady would feel at ease knowing Defrag appreciated the gift. So without furder ado he decided upon it being a weapon and smiled at the lady which went accompanied by a thumbs up.
 
The vehicle of transportation came to a sudden halt as a shockwave closely followed by rather deafening sounds that erupted from before them. His green friends before him were shredded into tiny little bits of green as their enemies of red brought down upon them a shower of iron. It was happening. A jolt of electricity shot up his spine and he jumped up out of his seat. First he gave the kind lady who had given him the odd spherical object a soft tap on the shoulder and established a link between the two. He upped the strength in her muscles that would allow her to move her limbs at a faster rate. She had to get out of there and this would a good way of helping her he assumed. One of his companions had left the vehicle and stormed into one of the rather peculiar buildings on the other side of the road. Defrag decided it would be a good option to start clearing out and securing the set of buildings before him. Being out in the open on the street had, by his now defunct green friends, been proven to not be a viable option of approach.
 
With a quick dash he left the relative safety provided by the vehicle and made his way towards the door closest to him. Once before it he stopped his dash and gently turned the doorknob. Wouldn't want to destroy a perfectly fine door someone probably spent a lot of time on to make, that would be a rude thing to do. It was nothing short of a miracle that he didnt get gunned down upon opening the door. With weapon raised to eye-level he stormed inside and found, to his suprise, no figures of red inside to decommission. There was a set of stairs, which didnt quite fit into the overall design of the cosy room, that lead to the second floor. Perhaps this was a good time to use that odd object he had been given. He silently walked up the stairs and once at the end he saw a small group of red figures emptying their weaponry down upon his green friends outside.

First he lobbed the odd object at one of the reds and hit the figure right on the back of the head. It bounced off it's head without effect and fell onto the ground with a silent thud. Oke, It wasn't a weapon. Maybe it would go boom like those things that had gone boom outside? The red that had been hit turned it's head at the puzzled Defrag, it then turned it's head down and looked at the odd spherical object on the ground. "I think it's going to go boom like those things you guys used outside" Defrag warned the red. The red warned his fellow reds and instructed for them to jump out of the window to safety. Defrag hid behind the wall and waited. Nothing happened. "Anytime now" he told himself. Still nothing happened. Perhaps it wasn't a meant to go boom? He looked around the corner and saw that the reds had indeed jumped out of the window. The odd spherical object was still there. What a useless piece of crap.

 

Well, That's at least four down. He moved through the doorway that connected the room to the building next to it and sprayed down a group of three reds that were still occupied with making it rain iron outside. 

Edited by Kawaii~ Dragon girl, 17 February 2015 - 06:23 PM.

[Diabolical Rhapsody]

Garnish

 

 

Soon one of the other newcomers took command, ushering her newly made friend, herself and one other into a jeep. As they moved towards the boundaries of the Town, she noticed that the one who took command had a peculiar aura about him. His confidence and calmness in such a situation was strangely comforting when her mind was making a fool of her. She fished in her bag and gave the other two her flaky pastry as well, but didn't say anything.

 

The other girl who looked like a priestess, hardly even acknowledged her or her present, a menacing aura emanating out of her. As soon as Garnish had touched her, she had felt her skin prick. She quickly retracted and just watched everyone from her seat. As they reached a stalemate, a road, which was literally a death trap. The metal car in front went up in a blast of metal and flames. The surviving Greens that rushed out being picked off by shooters in the buildings.

 

The leader quickly touched her on the cheek. A wave of energy flowing into her as she felt every last bit of fatigue and befuddlement wash away. Before he went into one of the buildings to begin the counter-attack. The girl also soon took out a similar route, waving a bigger "F" shaped gun and charging at a group of Reds, totally fearless.

 

Just as she planned to make haste so that she won't be picked off by the shooters. She felt a hand on her shoulder, she turned to see her friend, a small smile on his face before he too darted towards the buildings. She felt like following him. For the second time in as many minutes, she had felt the same sensation of power. He calmly opened the door and took the stairs, Garnish kept on his heels drawing out her weapon.

 

He made for the open door before quickly jumping back, needless to say it startled her a bit but she kept her wits about herself. She watched through a big hole in the wall, to see the cause of such action. There was a group of four Reds there. Firing at the ones on the Streets below. The next action though made her go numb. Never before, had her food been thrown or disrespected like this. She thought she was a decent cook and the compliments she always received also seem to build her confidence about the same, but to throw it without even tasting, she felt more hurt than being shot at and to add insult to injury the guy with her warned the Reds that it would explode soon.

 

She watched in horror as the other guys instead of trying it for themselves, lobbed themselves out of the window. A tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes got hazy. He got up and made for the next connected building while Garnish walked slowly towards the fallen pastry. She picked it up gingerly and smelled it. It seemed fresh and tasty, she got confused as to why this guy had thrown it. Wiping the tears from her free hand, she kept the pastry in her bag before looking for a kitchen in the house.

 

If the guy wanted her food to go boom, she'll make it so. Trying to fish for stuff, she couldn't find anything but a container of dry flour. 'That would do' she thought. She quickly found a large bowl and began kneading dough. A few minutes later, she was finished. A sticky dough the end result of her excursion. She took out the metal grapes she had taken from the stockpile back at the base and mixed them in, keeping the strange pulling pins away from the dough. She then took the bowl and stuffed it in her bag and got moving.

 

She slowly went into the next building. The one she had met had already killed the Reds here and moved ahead. She listened carefully for sounds of gunfire coming from downstairs. Perhaps, there were more Reds in here. Good time to test her exploding cakes. She took one grape from the dough and fashioned it into a ball, so as to make it into a giant meatball. She silently got to the middle of the stairs to see a group of five Reds take turns firing at the advancing Greens.

 

Meanwhile, a huge sleet of snow fell from the heavens and lit up the entire portion of the street with explosions, covering the window from where the Reds fired. As they looked around puzzled, Garnish took her chance. She pulled the pin and threw the ball of dough at the Reds. It hit one right in his jacket and stuck there. Before they could make sense of the situation, it exploded killing the party.

 

Garnish sat in the stairs in shock. Seeing how her new dish had worked. It took a few minutes to get a hold of herself before she got up and stalked away into the next building.

[Vafhudr]

STRAY

BATTLEBOTS

 

“Oh dear. Why did things have to turn out so aggressive.” Stray grumbled to herself as she saw the robots approach in offensie formation. So much from keeping away from the battle. They were taking the battle to her. She also noticed that some kind of power weapon was accumulating energy at their mouth – something she didn't need in her life right now. So she did what any other kid would do when they play with robots. “pew pew my robots shoots lazers and burns your robot! BOOM. Nu-uh. Mine flies and gets away from your lazers. Also, I shoot down your robot – pew pew pew crash boom!” (imagine a kid shoving a robot toy into the other kid's robot toys.)

 

Stray closed her eyes. Her robot also closed it's metalic eyes. The lights in the cockpit dimmed, as if responding to the effort. Candles would have been a nice touch, but not recommended in this kind of confined space. She tried to visualize flight... symbols of lightness – feathers, leaves falling, birds taking flights. Planes taking flight. Overcoming gravity. The feeling of flying, of fleeing, being unbound by earthly chains. The whole robot hummed with energy, vibrating, creaking, crackling. Small objects and trinkets were the first affected – they began to float, liberated from that cruel mistress, Gravity.

 

And she was flying.

 

Well, to be more accurate, she was floating. The million fuckton robots gently lifted its body into the air, faster and faster, gaining momentum in its rebellion agains the natural order (ah – it was in fact much easier to pull these kinds of stunts in dreams and delusions, because the laws of nature are already suspended: as if robots like this could exist in reality.) The lazers missed. By a lot, as she floated higher than the line of fire.

 

And then she let herself fall. Fall straight unto the two flying robots directly below her, body slamming them from above with her million fuckton metal body, her fake face's expressionless countenance appearing like an uncaring, punishing god striking from above with complete desinterest and without giving a single fuck.  Gravity was a cruel mistress indeed. 

[Siderealmidnight]

There was a sound akin to a child's noisemaker as Patchwork's sword was buried deep in the simulacrum's chest. A black ichor flowed from the wound like blood and the simulacrum went limp, displaying a decreasing set of numbers in its eyes. Patchwork did not know how he knew that, as he was sure he had never seen those symbols before in his life, yet he knew they were numbers counting down as sure as he knew his own body. He did not know what would happen at the end of the countdown, but given the combative nature of the simulacra it was probably nothing he wanted to be around for. Patchwork heard noise coming from outside the coliseum and looked up to see two more of the simulacrum attempting to scale the walls. 

 

Staying in the coliseum was becoming a more dangerous proposition by the moment, so it became right for stair to rise out of the ground at Patchwork's feet, ascending toward where the simulacra to his left was peeking over the wall. As the stairs rose the section of the wall that the other simulacra was presumably attempting to scale lost most of its shape, leaving only a thin layer of rock to support that side of the wall. By the time the colossal stairs stopped at what Patchwork assumed to be where the simulacrum was standing he was already bounding up the stairs, this time leveling his sword for a thrust through the wall and hopefully into the chest of the simulacrum that stood behind it.

 

OOC:

Spoiler

Plan as it stands: make stairs leading to one robot that use the rock from the wall the other robot is leaning against, leaving only the outer layer of rock for the robot to lean against. One robot falls into the arena with its dead buddy while Patchwork stabs the other one through the chest, horizontally this time.