Episode: A jollyriffic first contact <3 Starring: The Recusant Army and the Astolanian Remote Forces [hr] [center][b]I[/b][/center] A low and long groan came from Core-Keon, his face screwed up with disgust. The sun of the Termina’s eastern coastline reflected off his metal-pocked face and outlined the features of his comrades. Most were standing up straight while a few slouched, a long march throughout the night still pulsing in their sore legs and feet. A few Eidolon guides had warily joined the group, but otherwise kept their distance. The scene all around was nothing short of peaceful. Large rolling hills of emerald grass made up most of the view, with the hillocks hiding various dips and valleys up until it stretched closer to the beach. There it turned into a large berm of coarse soil and sand, slowing abruptly to the water-lapped coast below. Dark blue water — very much unlike the stagnant pools of the All’s End Sea — washed lazily over the saturated sand, pushing a small army of hermit crabs to and fro with each breath. On the wind was the smell of salt and in the ears of the recusant, the calls of shorebirds and gentle songbirds played alongside the whispers of the eastern ocean — it’s only challenger being Core-Keon’s groan. His legs were throbbing under his greaves and he could barely feel his feet. No matter how much he padded the inside of his leather boots with Xo wool, it never felt like enough. He was just glad he didn’t get hungry anymore. “Damnit Keon,” a tall man known as Core-Faulo quickly snapped. He stood behind Keon, with dark eyes stabbing into the other man’s back. “We all marched the same distance, stop your whining.” “Yeah?” Keon turned to look over his shoulder, never sure if Faulo was an unlikely friend or just a jerk. “But not all of us have blackmetal feet, you big-mouthed jackass.” Faulo shot a breath through his nostrils and stabbed a finger against the back of Keon’s cuirass. “It’s not my fault you were given a metal-plated asscheek instead.” “Core-Faulo!” The bark of Cosi-Werria scattered the bickering as both soldiers stood up perfectly straight. The Cosi stepped beside the two. Like the rest, she was in complete scouting uniform. From leather boots and gloves, to blackmetal greaves, cuirass and pauldrons. Her head was uncovered, letting jet black hair freely fall over her armor. Her hand was ever attached to the hilt of her sheathed blade, a habit a lot of the hard-asses tended to possess. “Yes, Cosi?” Faulo looked to his officer with as much respect as he could muster. A small grin cracked on the side of Werria’s lips. “Are you harassing our one-cheeked-wonder once again?” “Cosi-Werria!” Another voice came bounding onto the scene. The owner was scrambling down one of the grassy hills, an Eidolon guide and another Recusant soldier right behind him. This soldier was wearing his full face-mask, but even so, the excitement in his voice was palpable. “What is it?” The words were light — Cosi-Werria’s tone seemingly couldn’t help but mirror the excitement. “Junt-Cailen located the vent, she’s requesting we all meet at her location to begin a full perimeter scan.” Keon’s face brightened, though he couldn’t help but feel at least a little nervous; he never met the Godstriker before. Faulo shoved a hand against his back, knocking him forward. This time a bubble of anger popped in Keon’s gut and he rolled his eyes. “Hevel’s own, were you always such a dick?” Faulo simply shrugged, starting his march as if he didn’t do a single thing. [center][b]II[/b][/center] Second Generation Prime Days were long. It wasn’t because the work was hard (which it was), or because they worked far from home (which they did), but because they never slept. They never ate. They never relaxed. Second Generation Prime Astalonian platforms had the shared feature of being unable to go into standby mode. This meant that they had to experience every second of their days completely conscious and bored out of their minds. And bored he was, the Prime who’d taken the name of Biter. You see, he had been assigned to one of the worst types of missions available to the Servant Armada… That of Vent Maintenance. Vent Maintenance was simple, right? You were given a bunch of system upgrades that allowed you to perform highly skilled tasks and directly control two wings of drones, and then you were sent off on a predetermined route to check up on a given number of vents, to make sure they were working well enough to not cause a catastrophe. The issue was that expedition-grade drones needed to charge for eight hours a day, and guess who had to wait sitting around doing nothing while the drones soaked in the godlight? Exactly. His current route had taken him almost an entire year so far, and the next Vent was the last one he had to check before going back home to Astalon to check up on his descendants. Three hundred and five days of walking and fault finding… It was at times like those that Biter missed having an organic body, one that could sigh. About time now, he thought as he felt the first of the drones booting up. Full charge, it reported. Before the others woke up from their long nap, Biter squatted down, grabbed a pebble from the ground and stuck it into his mouth. With a powerful bite, he crushed the pebble and caused it to let off a few multicolored sparks. The latest A.F.M. System was really pretty handy and went along with his theme, not just because it gave Biter an actual mouth to bite with, but also allowed him to measure the potency of the Aethelic Flow wherever he was. Useful when one’s job involves tracking Flow Blockages for a living. AETHELIC FLOW BUILDUP DETECTED. TWO THOUSAND SEVENTY SIX METERS BELOW, SEVEN HUNDRED EIGHTY FIVE NORTH NORTH WEST. One last fault to fix and then he could go home, Biter thought. Then the rest of the drones came back online and assumed formation. All 7 Guardians formed an arrowhead above the treetops, and all 7 Engineers trailed behind Biter himself as he shifted into a quadruped form, then they shot off towards the Vent nearby. [center]III[/center] Core-Keon stood in shock. To his left was the half of his scouting squad, and to the right was Faulo and his other half, but in front of him stood the fabled Junt-Cailen, the warriors discussing something with Cosi-Werria. Cailen wore the uniform of the leadership, her entire body covered in plates of blackmetal save for her blazing eyes and oddly enough everything below her elbows. She was unique in that she didn’t carry a blade on her, instead being renowned for the use of her fists, that of which were naturally plated in metal by her infection. The spectacle of seeing Cailen for the first time almost overshadowed the discovery of the vent for Keon, but in the end he couldn’t help but notice the strange metallic grate, a hot hiss of air ripping through it and causing the wild moss that dressed it’s perimeter to shake with life. Already, the logistics core had placed several large wooden crates by the vent, and Keon could only assume the parts for the tabular dial were enclosed within. As exciting as meeting the Junt was, the realization that this would be the easternmost vent in current Recusar territory was not lost on Keon, his mind already piecing together what the tabular dial would look like hovering above the vent — not that he had any idea what it looked like. He frowned. Or did. His observation of the Logistics Core ended abruptly as he caught sight of his comrades pointing up at the sky. As soon as Keon himself craned his head up he saw seven identical trails of white smoke painting the sky. They weren’t clouds. Muffled, hurried whispers came from the group around Cosi-Werria. The Cosi herself stared up at the skies, as if expecting something to come crashing down. Keon’s hands started to sweat and without realizing it, he rested his left hand on the hilt of his blade. Then a sound like thunder rolled over the land. Many flinched and covered their ears, while others like Cosi-Werria and the famous Godstriker held fast. In his entire career, he’d never seen his superiors as tense as now. He had never seen them holding so tightly onto the hilts of their sheathed weapons, or seen the subtle way their fingers shook in the case of Junt-Cailen. Though Keon couldn’t tell if the Godstriker’s fingers were shaking in fear or excitement. A distant hum grew closer and closer, until even Keon could tell that it wasn’t just one hum, but seven. Closer and closer, until he heard both the hums and the whirring. “Do not move a muscle.” Called out the Godstriker. Seven figures burst forth from the canopies of the trees to the southwest. They were made of metal, they were loud, they floated, and they all trained their sights on different members of the expedition. Their shapes all differed slightly but they all had a single round eye at their front, which glowed a bright and angry red. Keon froze, his eye meeting one of the flying automatons’ as it observed him closely. That gaze made his legs feel like they were made of stone. The smoke that began to trail out of the holes of both barrels that lined the flying automaton’s undercarriage lit up all the warning signs in his brain. Do not move, Keon thought as hard as he could, for Hevel’s sake do not move! His peripheral vision caught movement. All the automatons caught it too. The sound of a blade being unsheathed. A hiss of smoke. An intense hum as the automatons all turned. It was Core-Faulo. “NO ONE THREATENS US! ATTA-” It was as if the very air shattered. A deafening cacophony of thunder after thunder, explosion after explosion rang out. Keon’s eardrums nearly popped. Most of the Logistics Cores’ screamed. Keon himself took a step back, stumbled, and fell onto his backside. A foot hit someone in the face. An arm shot up and entangled itself in a tree. Rotten organs splattered and covered Keon and three others in their blackened juices. A dented metal skull fell through the grates of the vent. All that remained of Core-Faulo were pieces, his anchor ripped apart. A stray bullet had taken a piece of Cosi-Werria’s face off, but the hiss of her smoke was already slowly repairing her fractured skull and relining her face — the Cosi not even flinching. “First protocol!” The order went up. Keon could hear his old training Cosi’s words, Protocol One: no quarter. A silence that lasted only a fraction of a second punctuated the change — ending with the cacophony of blades being drawn and battlecries rattling the ground. Metallic boots slammed down and recusant soldiers launched through the air towards their prey. The wind hissed by Keon’s own eyes as he followed behind the Junt. Streaks of fire followed bullets and flashes of metal blinded the periphery as the two vanguard’s clashed. Smoke hissed for every bullet that punched through the flesh of a recusant and the scream of tearing metal followed every sword strike against the drones. One such drone flew by Keon, but he was quicker and managed to stab out with his blade, knocking it off course and putting a heavy dent into it. The machine wobbled, guns firing haphazardly into the sky — only to stop as a blackmetal fist came plowing through it’s form, launching sparks in every direction. The ominously steady gaze of Junt-Cailen burned into Keon’s memory as she stood there with a drone impaled on her right arm, the fire of battle raging behind her. In his astonishment, Keon barely noticed Cosi-Werria spinning wildly behind the Junt, her twin blades whirring through enemy after enemy — until reaching a taller robot in a humanoid form; a prime. [center][b]IV[/b][/center] [i]GUARDIAN 6 OFFLINE GUARDIAN 3 OFFLINE CRITICAL DAMAGE INCOMING.[/i] Sparks flew and explosions ensued. The smoke momentarily enveloped the leaping Recusant’s body and when she finally emerged closer to him, her body was covered in grievous burns and cuts. Both cooling fans on his back spewed forth fire as he forcefully engaged all the vitae in his body. He shot his left arm up. One of the twin blades sunk into his reinforced metallic chassis and with a single step he threw the homuran off balance. He parried the second blade and with a single move he unsheathed his own blade and cleaved off both of the Recusant’s arms. The smoke-flesh fell to the ground and smoke hissed out of the Recusant’s stumps. [i]Activate broadcast. Recipient: S.O.A. EXTREMELY URGENT.[/i] Only two of his Guardians remained… In a moment of respite, he caught a glimpse of a heavily battered Guardian on the other side of the clearing. With a single thought, all seven Engineers under his control rushed out of hiding and towards that drone. Four of them crashed into the Recusant soldiers, and the other three retrieved the drone. [i]There’s no need for you to die a second time, boy.[/i] A male Recusant jumped down from a tree, landing on Biter’s back and nearly knocking him down. A long dagger dug deep into his thorax. He let out a demon-like wail as he felt the tip getting stuck on his core’s shielding. The last Guardian drone, rather than continuing to defend itself, turned and shot a single explosive bullet at the Recusant on Biter’s back. The Recusant’s stabbing hand exploded in a shower of smoke and Biter’s visor cracked under the shockwave. In that instant, he turned his head around completely and bit half of the Recusant’s neck out. The stealthy Recusant fell to the death-stained ground with a gurgle and wide bloodshot eyes, until Biter stomped on his chest, crushing his Anchor. The buzz of electricity and an ensuing explosion alerted Biter to the destruction of his last Guardian, and so he stood straight up and stared at the approaching Recusant soldiers. Biter had been keeping count. With just himself and seven Guardians, they had managed to reduce the Recusant squadron to one third strength. He felt nothing as he looked at the carnage spread all over the area. There was no blood, only smoke and rotting bodies.The Recusant were not truly alive, and therefore deserved no empathy. His Central Pump roared as he fired his Vitae up once more, this time to push the blade stuck in his left arm. It shot out and buried itself in the Twin bladed Recusant’s torso. His grip tightened around the hilt of his long blade. “Seventeen down, ten to go.” He said, his voice box distorted. Out of the ten remaining Recusant, only one was confident enough to approach. She was a fist-fighter, capable of punching through reinforced metal plating, and something about the way she walked seemed familiar… [center][b]V[/b][/center] Cosi-Werria fell off to the Prime’s side, arms severed and a blade sticking out of her stomach, but otherwise completely alive and unharmed. Junt-Cailen could see that there was the energy of health still in the Cosi’s eyes, but between her and the Godstriker herself was the final enemy, a prime. Without wasting any time, Junt-Cailen fell into her stance. She shifted her feet and squared her shoulders, cocking her elbows and bringing her fists up in a martial pose. Fire still scorched the wild grasses around her, making the final battlefield a charred and burning valley between two helpless hillocks. The prime seemed to hesitate once Godstriker fell into her pose, but instead of thinking too much on it — Cailen let loose a fist. Biter went to dodge, but the fist Cailen threw froze halfway — a feint — her other arm came in a wide arc, giving the prime just enough time to leap back from the strike… or so he thought. A third punch was thrown, this one straight and bearing the Junt’s entire weight behind it as she stepped forward and gave a powerful shout. Thrusting like a piston, her fist plowed into the Prime’s chest and blasted through every layer of circuitry and shielding with a disarray of sparks until her metal hand came exploding out the back of the robot. Cailen’s face was mere inches from Biter’s as she held her final stance — but his body was unresponsive, his core clutched in the fingers of the fist that had impaled him, wires rattling with excess energy. Godstriker could feel the metallic body go limp against her arm — it was over. [hider=Summary and Battle report] Recusant Date 1.2.13 Initial battle report Eastern expeditionary lands Junt-Cailen in opposition of Biter [hr] Auxiliary fragment of the 1st logistic core successfully locate the vents designated V3 on the Eastern Coast by the hillocks designated S1. Auxiliary fragment successfully deliver their tabular dial to the site under the supervision of Junt-Cailen the Godstriker. Shortly after delivery, the second generation Prime known as Biter (an engineering prime) and his squadron stumble upon the expedition and a skirmish broke out. Sixteen of the twenty-seven recusants were killed in action (a seventeenth lost their anchor to a blast, but remained intact outside of the body, their anchor is being shipped back to Leadership for proper regeneration) while the entire Prime escort, including Biter, were neutralized. The vent location has been secured and set up of the dial is underway. Suggested retraining of forces to better handle explosive rounds and reconfiguring chest blast shields to prevent penetration. Request reinforcements for proper settlement. Biter’s core to be relocated to Leadership control. Witnessed, written, authorized, Cosi-Werria of the 1st Logistics [/hider]