Bugman

From Ashes We Rise: Chronicles

Salkor looked upon the wide assembly of the Martian parliament. Hundreds of figures representing all the forges, and indeed the voices of the broader galactic Cult of the Machine were present, all array in small cubicles that provided no privacy, but rather simply served to give a small workspace for each to accommodate the often bulky assortments of cybernetics the Martian Priesthood bore. In many cases, representatives were not present in person and instead had a servitor bear a screen, hologram projector, or other means of display along with vox gear to relay their speech.

"Let the rite of percussive appraisal begin!" A tapping noise would come as mechanical fingers struck the foam upon the hundreds of microphones in the parliament, each followed by a quiet expression of "Testing, testing, testing, one-two-three...." the noise punctuated on occasion by random squeals as incense drifted into the devices.

“Have the spirits of the transmitters been sufficiently appeased?” The Fabricator-General asked, but the slightest of binharic whines through the air indicating the words had been outputted.

“Yea and verily, o’ speaker.” Returned a servitor to his side.

“Very well. Before we begin, is all the roster present?” the question was redundant of course, the milliseconds of it ultimately a waste of time as a part of his heads-up display showed that indeed all nine hundred and seventy three figures scheduled to be in attendance were in fact present in one form or another. But it was tradition, and to brook the mere thought of violating it would cause indignant outcry and the pointing of plasteel fingers.

“Good. Today we mark the thirty-second plenary committee of the Martian plenary, which I now state to be in session.” A gong would ring at glass shattering volume behind him. “The occasion is a solemn one, and indeed one of emergency.”

“Get on with it!” a heckler demanded, a fact that was made all the more annoying as in the cybernetic communion of the hundreds of figures assembled there was no anonymity, yet Forgemaster Antares seemingly felt no regrets about his outburst as Salkor examined him with his ocular implants.

“On this day, an unacceptable attack happened.” A hologram activated behind Salkor and in front of the assembled parliamentarians. It displayed hundreds of missiles fired and laser countermeasures ineffectively attempting to destroy them. Although all present already knew of the attack, they nonetheless immediately broke out into bickering and accusations.

“Silence!” The Fabricator General demanded, flicking a wax-encrusted switch to deactivate the optic cables connecting individuals, such that any speech could only be made through analogue means and without private mutterings upon the noosphere. “I am ordained as servant of our Omnissiah to bring order to this madness. We are all aware of the tensions between different schools of our faith.” he said, not elaborating on the tense situation of the electro priests.
“The violence that stems from it is unacceptable, however. Thus, while we will abide by all the laws and ordinances of this establishment and the red cloak, the right is waived by the commission to bring the perpetrators of this matter to justice.” He heard the gurgle of respirators and static of old synthesizers as again cries of protest came, but they were ultimately ignored.

“Thus we will begin with what is known. Magos Khur, the missiles fired upon the aircraft of the Corpuscarii pilgrims came from your Forge. The serial numbers and make and model inevitably match to Manufactorum IL-99. In particular, the photoreactive plasteel diamantine coating on the warheads is a known specialty of your forge. Do you have any comment?”

“I. AM. UNABLE. TO. SEE. HOW. THAT. INCRIMINATES. ME.”

If Salkor had a lot more of his human biology from brain to respirators system, he would have sighed. The Magos used an ancient synthesizer that was an archaeotech pride of his, supposedly reliable enough to last many tens of thousands of years without any parts needing replacement. The trouble was, his pride and joy seemingly would take that long to construct paragraphs. “You are not incriminated, we simply need to know if any orders were placed that were suspect.

“I. KNOW. NOT. OF. ANY. SUCH. ORDERS.”

“Very well, then we will require a full listing of any and all orders for your surface to air and other missiles matching the remains we found for the last three years.”

“THERE. IS. NO. CONSTITUTIONAL. BASIS. FOR. SUCH.”

“In this emergency we have waived the requirement to only receive the exact work orders matching each serial number given that far too many of said serial numbers have not survived.”

More outcry, and now on somewhat expected partisan lines. The Fulgurites were eager to defend their little gun runner, while a great many Magoses were enraged at the precedent being set. If this was centuries ago, Salkor would understand. He absolutely would hate the rest of Mars to have a right to root around in his work. But, what other options did he have? This was the closest to a middle ground he could come to.

“THIS. OUTRAGE. CANNOT. STAND.”

“No, but neither can we have your air-defence penetrating missiles used against fellow Martians. We are to be better than this, and yet we seemingly are not.”

The bulbs that displayed the preparation of speech of Magos Khur’s synthesizer began to glow, but this was interrupted by a great shock that rattled the Parliament building.

All present immediately read hundreds of readouts, a servitor then unfolding a screen from a mecha-dendrite beside Salkor. “The entourage of Magos Loiy is no longer present. The entourage of Magos Khur is departing. The entourage of Magos Khur is no longer present.” it announced. That was certainly an understatement, as the site where several vehicles an dozens of Skitarii and attendants once stood was now ash.

Salkor played back the footage of the servo-skulls that had observed them. It had taken mere milliseconds, but nonetheless there was a capture of the blue wave that fell from the sky. Dreamily, almost like a cloud the plasma had descended from the sky and turned the figures into nothing. A great many figures not part of either Magos’s party wwas caught and melted in part of entirety.

To Salkor, this was an opportunity. “Magos Khur, if you would care to reveal information that would make you reasonably believe you are at risk, security may be provided for you and your forge.” He announced, quite satisfied with how this line of inquiry was going even if the sum total of disaster had only just doubled, perhaps tripled.

From Ashes We Rise: Chronicles

The Council of High Studies looked upon the silver child that mere moments ago they feared would extinguish their lives. But they couldn’t even begin to fathom what to make of its gesture of submission. These men spent centuries of their lives performing maths that the rest of human life could hardly fathom. They studied arts and history to find leisure and purpose, yet to also understand their own human nature and shortcomings. Despite almost the entire day being dedicated to learning in one form or another for all peoples of Asclepius, none could comprehend what was happening here.

Directness was the only thing the High Polymaths could think of. “Explain yourself.” Proctor Balear said, tapping his ceremonial staff upon the ground with the sound somewhat muffled as it struck his bear.

The child’s arms shifted, away from the pose of one upon its heart and the other outstretched to now both being spread far apart in an embrace of the whole world. “I cannot. It was my hope that learned men as yourself could.

Under their breaths, the Polymaths made grumbles of explanation that they could explain the situation, though they certainly needed more context and facts to make a final judgement. But ultimately, even these most arrogant of teachers were also the most eager of students and thus were willing to - if somewhat begrudgingly - concede that they knew not what the hell was going on.

“No, we cannot. Who-... what are you, why are you here, what are you called. Let us know that.” Proctor Kampande asked, with his free hand making the slightest of gestures that would get the onlooking crowds present to clean up after the performance of The Fall; it was over, and there was a new matter to attend to.

The child looked overhead with some fascination before it answered, its eyes moving with imperceptible speed as it tracked each and every drone that came to the site. Only then it spoke. “I do not know what am I, or why I am here, I have no name, or memory of events prior to my arrival here.” It ran a hand down its own cheek, smiling ever so slightly as it did so. “But… insofar as I can understand, I was born this day. I may have had a gestation period of sorts previously. I am… confused. I hope you can help me. Your words, knowledge, it pours into me. But I cannot fathom what to do with the information that ever more floods my thoughts. I believe such a question has been asked times infinite before. I believe today all of this effort I have seen has gone to trying to reply to the question. But, I cannot yet see from it an answer. I hope you can help me. Please.” it said, almost pleading and verging upon tears as it spoke.

Logical as they were, the fact emotional manipulations were all but bred out of the Asclepian populace made the Council of High Studies largely soften towards the creature before them. Still, ever greedy for new morsels of knowledge another voice spoke. “You say you were born today. Yet, you know so much of us, of the world. Explain this. Did your progenitor perhaps somehow install knowledge within you?”

The primarch nodded, now smiling with the melancholy seemingly evaporated. “No, that is not the case. I was born knowing nothing but my existence. I think, therefore I am. From there I assume my sense do not deceive me. I consider the smallest of things; the pull of the soil beneath me, every word you millions speak and the reactions from them. The very ripples and waves in the air you use to ferry knowledge among each other, and to these machines. All the tiniest of details, but interconnected. I learn this foundation. But I hope from you to learn so much more until that inevitable day my knowledge eclipses yours.

Now, almost an excitement overcome the men. They were issued both a challenge, but also an opportunity. One by one, the Polymaths arose from their seats and raised their staves towards the sky, the orbs at the tip of each staff touching the one of the neighbouring man.

“To learn from the best.”

“To overcome the faults you were cursed with!”

“To defeat the laurels upon which one rests.”

“To seize the days, months, years, and life!”

“To befriend numbers, though they may be irrational.”

“To challenge our norms, yet adore tradition!”

“To ponder the axioms of truth and love.

“To know time flies, but to dream to outrun it!”

“To fathom the unfathomable.

“To shatter the walls between our disciplines!”

“To never yield to lies.”

“To plot twists, in tales and geometrics alike!”

“To let your study’s fruits pour on eager minds.”

Then as one, the Polymaths struck the ground with their staves. “Though we know not your name, you as all willing minds are given an opportunity; to become a humble student with the greatest minds of man. Welcome to Asclepius, the World-Academy!”

From Ashes We Rise: Chronicles

Flesh on feet sizzled as men and women ran forth to adore the silver figure at the heart of the crater of sand turned to glass. Caressing hands ran across its body, the mercurial texture of the flesh bringing great awe to the cultists. Only the two shamans dared not step on the slag to approach the child. They could hardly see it behind all the fawning men and women upon it but even what little they saw had unprecedented potence that perhaps millions of even great minds as them couldn’t match. As much as an instinct within their brain told them to get on their knees in prayer, they knew this had to be handled carefully.

“O’ gift of the stars, we thank you, we thank the Fathers and Mothers of Sky and Earth for your sight!” Belsokh announced, his eyes skipping towards Ptraf for but a fraction of a second for affirmation.

“My Lord.” Ptraf began. “I hope our offerings were to your satisfaction. How may we serve you?” he said.

“How may we serve our masters?” Belsokh quickly added, somewhat confused by what Ptraf was saying; he was not yet enlightened to what had occurred this day.

“Why are there dead before me.” The figure stated, its voice almost smothered by a tattooed hand running across his lips.

“My Lord, I apologize, we put as much devotion as we could before the sacrifices expired, we-” Belsokh began, before being interrupted by Ptraf.

“It was a necessity. Their lives were given eagerly.”

“But why?” he giant child asked.

“To bring you forth my Lord.” Ptraf replied.

The child looked quizzical for a moment, its skin then very slowly changing pigment and moving across its flesh before it almost perfectly mirrored the appearance of Ptraf; even the tattoos he could not see directly were derived from visions of the man reflected off of the coast’s waters.

Not bothering to dislodge several of the people stuck to him, the child stepped forward and thus upon the stand to stand before the two magicians. It stared in the eyes of one, then the other.

“How did you summon me? I do not believe I was called. I saw the stars, the infinite nothing before I arrived upon this world. I saw the lights of your sister world. I believe my presence is an accident, elder. I do not think I am meant to be here. Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild, I do not know what this means. I do not believe any of this is meant for me. I do not think these souls should have died.”

Belsokh looked astounded, and then very quickly enraged despite the fact the figure before him could clearly slay him. “Their lives were spent righteously! They died for a greater cause!” He screamed, unable to be silenced by the hasty waves of Ptraf.

“Sire, Sire, you were brought here by a greater will! Can you not see? I see now you are a being of wisdom, of logic, no? Surely you understand there are no accidents, no chance, that is true superstition before our truth. You can see we are here to serve, to bring truth!”

“Serve, then. Where may I find the greatest realm of this land. Do not say it is here beneath my feet. Who built that?” he pointed to the not too distant temple, made at least in part of materials far too complex for these tribals. “Our ancestors, my lord.”

“Very well then. Who built that?” he pointed. What his finger was aimed at was unseen to all present, but Ptraf knew of what he spoke. “That is the Kingdom of Jhumal. Great are its armies and treasures, but it is not the greatest realm.”

“What is the greatest?”

With a sigh, and a look of defeat followed by one of scorn towards Belsokh, Ptraf sagged his shoulders and spoke. “I will tell it to you my Lord, but only if you make a small promise.

“What?”

“When you are downtrodden, when you are lost, and unsure of this world and life. Perhaps now, perhaps years, perhaps decades or centuries from now, when such a time comes, you will seek me out and ask me to explain why this is, and then you will listen.”

“I agree to this. When my existence is dim, I will ask you for light.”

“Very well. Up the Coast, to the East. Seek the great walls with great helms bearing galeas as towers, there you will find the realm of Ummaria, it is perhaps the greatest realm upon this planet.”

“Thank you.” With that, the creature reverted to its silvery form and walked off in the direction of this Ummaria.

“I see now, Ptraf. You aim to make this imposter perish in the deserts without slaying our own. Wise.” he said, as the child trodded well past the vanishing point of their vision.

Ptraf shook his head but said nothing. One day, one day he would redeem himself for the failures of this day.

---

Days later, after trodding far through the desiccated land the child brushed off the dead worshippers who had gladly died of thirst upon him. Washing himself of their residues in the salty waters, the child then looked up and saw the crest of a galea in the distance. There, his destination.

As he approached the walls, many a horn blared. He looked up, hearing the twisting of windlasses long before the ballista bolt missed him. He looked upon it, fingers tracing the painting along the fletching. Hundreds more followed.

Unafraid, he continued towards the walls. Stones soon followed shattering earth and stone around him. Eventually he was close enough that the men within the towers and upon the walls could see the features of the primarch.

“Please, do not fire upon me, I wish no harm!” the child bellowed, the voice carrying far further than any present could imagine. To their own surprise, all men present found themselves obeying.

“Now, please let me in. I wish to see your Sovereign.”

The child smiled as the gates opened for him. The day had just begun.

Firefly - Second 'Verse

A trip to a hospital was now warranted. On his third day on Pelorum, Elias had found that his skin had started to begin browning. Thankfully, it had not begun to burn as he had feared. The fact he had accomplished this without using some oily sunscreen that would stain his clothing was one he was quite glad about. It was in these little victories that the Elias Riemen of today found solace.

He looked at a map on a board on the street after some walking, and after referencing it he looked up to see the faded neon lights of a red cross barely visible in daylight. There it was, the hospital. Just as he took a step towards it, he felt ever so slightly light. That was a fact that was very easy to establish, given that other than his clothing he had nothing but a tattered leather wallet on his person. When you have just one thing on you, its absence becomes quite apparent. He looked around for the offender, until he spotted a kid speed walking away from him. Elias's brief wondering of whether this was the offender was quickly resolved when the teen gave a look behind himself and locked eyes with Elias before promptly starting to flee as fast as his feet would take him.

Well, Elias knew he wouldn't catch the brat in a sprint. He would probably beat the kid in a marathon, but in an urban setting that wasn't a winning strategy to catching a pickpocket. Looking down, a loose bit of pavement entered his hands. Testing the weight, he remembered his high school years, his time in college. All the sports ma and pa made him sign up for, insisting he get the basketball scholarship in spite of the fact they had a money to pay for tuition a few hundred times over. Well, the piece of cement was nothing like a basketball or any kind of ball for that matter, but Elias knew he had a pretty damn good throwing arm. After a brief wind up, he sent the cement flying in a smooth arc to hit the boy on the shoulder with a meaty thunk even at the meters separating them.

Quite leisurely now, Elias strolled over to the yelping youth. Picking him up by the collar of his waistcoat, the engineer shook his head. "What a ridiculous outfit for such a planet." He said, or at least tried to in a string of syllables incomprehensible to the boy. Picking through the struggling boy's pockets he eventually retrieved his own wallet, and then another. "H'ahgeh." Elias managed, as close as he could in saying "taxes". He wasn't going to pretend to be a pinnacle of morality by any stretch, but he felt that robbing a thief wasn't going to earn him any more reincarnations until samsara.

Well, satisfied that he had lunch money and perhaps something to bribe a clerk, he entered the hospital. Strolling up to the counter of the reception, the woman there didn't even look up as he pressed a button that printed a ticket for him and tearing it off extended a hand not busy with a crossword. Taking it, Elias looked at the number. 4812. He began to write "What is the current active number?", when he heard a speaker announce "NOW SERVING TICKET FOUR. SE-SE-SE-SE-SEV-SEVEN. TWO. NINE. REPEATING, NOW SERVING TICKET FOUR. SEVEN. TWO. NINE."

"Fu'h."

Three hours passed until he heard "NOW SERVING TICKET FOUR. SEVEN. SEVEN. THREE." At that point his stomach began to make noises akin to an engine struggling to ignite. Looking down at an imaginary watch on his wrist, he decided he had time to go and get some sort of snack. Strolling out he went about until he got himself the cheapest hotdog he could find from a street vendor, reasoning that the dead flies or whatever would be extra protein for the bucks spent. Licking his fingers, he entered the hospital only to turn pale as he heard "NOW SERVING TICKET NINE. TWO. THREE. THREE."

A mixture of panic and confusion overtook him as he sprinted towards reception again, where the crossword enjoying lady repeated the routine of tearing off a ticket to hand him. He swatted it out of her hands, and pointed to his before quickly scrawling "I WAITED THREE HOURS", words he circled three times for emphasis.

"Sorry hun, you missed it." came the lazy reply.

"HOW THE HELL DID IT SKIP FROM 4729 to 9233?"

The woman chuckled. "Did you not read the ticket? It says the numbers aren't in consecutive order."

"WHERE????"

"Turn it over."

He did, and still didn't see.

"WHERE???" he repeated, now with several underlinings of the question mark.

"Look closer."

He did, and at last his squinting gaze spotted the beige print on the white paper. His hands trembled with rage, but the part of his brain that got straight As in university managed to soothe the ape within that was eager to rip off faces and throw feces. Rather lamely he stooped down, and picked up the ticket he swatted out of the woman's hands and once more took a seat.

After some fifteen minutes of waiting, an elderly man and his grandson sat near him. Looking to them, Elias wrote "MY NUMBER IS 5599 COULD YOU TELL ME WHEN IT IS CALLED? I HAVE BEEN HERE HOURS, GOING TO FALL ASLEEP ANY MOMENT", the final letters being tiny to accomodate the piece of blackboard the struggled to fit them. As an afterthought, he added a bill appropriated from the thief. While the elderly man began to grumble something, his grandson was all too eager for some candy money.

With a boar-like snort Elias awoke from the boy tapping his shoulder, just as the PA system finished calling his new number. Patting the child on his head Elias arose and rushed to the waiting nurse.

Clumsily he sat upon the chair that was far too small for him, the nurse typing something into a computer. "Name?" she asked.

"ELIAS RIEMEN." he wrote on his blackboard.

"Hmmm, you're not local then. Not surprising really. Alright, do you have any ID?"

"NO THEY TOLD ME TO COME HERE TO GET BIOMETRIC VERIFICATION."

"Oooooh, sorry. This site doesn't have that equipment, you're going to have to go up to the Memorial Hospital in the downtown. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

The man's hands began to tremble, then his legs. After a very brief hyperventilation, he wordlessly stood up and left the building.

Arriving at the memorial Hospital, a very similar routine happened, albeit the staff and conditions were of a far higher quality with smiles and the sickening white cleanliness that smelled of chemicals permeated the establishment. "WHY IS IT CALLED MEMORIAL HOSPITAL? ITS SUPPOSED TO BE IN SOMEBODYS MEMORY" Elias wrote to a passing worker at some point, out of pure curiosity.

Spotless white teeth moved to reply "Oh, its in memory of everybody, because everybody deserves to be in our thoughts." Such a line reminded Elias of shitty speeches he had to write for English class in high school. The thought was so meaningless yet pretentiously high-brow that it made bile rise up his throat.

At last however, another nurse tended to him. "What can I help you with sir?" he babyfaced fellow asked, quite pleasantly before asking who he was.

"I NEED TO RESTORE IDENTITY, I WAS TOLD TO GO HERE AFTER THE OTHER HOSPITAL DID NOT HAVE THE EQUIPMENT FOR THAT."

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry sir. The issue is that right now that equipment is going through some maintenance. It is not available right now, I am afraid."

Again inconceivable anger came over Elias, but there was no point venting it on the guy before him. "WHEN WILL IT BE READY?"

"A week or so from now. Again, so sorry."

Elias pinched the bridge of his nose which was all that was left of it, but he had not yet given up. "CAN I SUBMIT MY WORK NOW, AND YOU WILL PERFORM THE TESTS WHEN ITS READY?"

"Sure!"

"OK"

"...."

"WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO?"

"One second."

Eventually the man returned with a doctor and a wheeled table with some equipment. In a lengthy process they took all sorts of measurements of him, pictures of things like eye colour, and samples of things like blood, fingerprint, and saliva. On the one hand, Elias feared that in his new ship-bound life having records of him like this would be quit detrimental. On the other, they hypothetically already had all of this.

At last, following a payment of all that he had on him, he received a card with a bar code on it. Unfortunately, the card was not ID. Simply, it was a means of verification that he would have access to the results of the work done with his measurements and scans and analyses. But, at least he was now getting somewhere.

"WILL I BE ABLE TO ACCESS THIS OFFWORLD?"

"You'll have to pay extra for that." The nurse said.

If this had happened earlier, Elias would have been angry again. But compared to his other trials, this wasn't so bad. He just had to go get the money to upgrade the card. Once more, he simply picked up his chalk and blackboard and ran off in pursuit of a little coin.

Putting myself out there.

Something I find that helps me is being very piecemeal! You don't have to write the epic of gilgamesh overnight, you can just do a paragraph or some other bite size at a time :>

Seeking co-GMs & Lead Role for Post-War Mass Effect RP

“The Reapers had fallen. Our minds were broken, we couldn’t think, some of us could hardly walk. The war was done, it was won, even if some might argue we had lost. But when we assembled that day, when the commander drew the line in the sand and offered us the chance to end our war for each and every soul if the wished, not a single body crossed the line. Everyone had family, friends, and justice to face outside our work. But we all knew the truth. The galaxy won the war, but it would never really be done until the end of time. Kali Yuga would come once more some day, and we would have to fight then again too. Someone had to think of mankind first. Maybe we won’t be there with our own rifles. But our children, grandchildren, and our souls will stand there for all sons and daughters of Earth. The whole galaxy would hate us for our efforts, but so what? So I stared upon my comrades. Then, I smiled, for what had I to fear?”

Hi! I’m Bugman. I’m still new to this forum in contrast to some people who have been here years, but I like to think I am somewhat acquainted with it by now. I am here to recruit help for an RP in the Mass Effect setting following the conclusion of the third game in the series. But, with somewhat of a twist.

The players will be the not be the good guys. The team, the crew, everyone will be part of Cerberus. We might not exactly be the mustache twirling villains, but we're going to need some serious lawyering to even convince someone we're anti-heroes.

With the reaper war finished in the control ending and the reaper fleets going into dark space, these people full of reaper implants will have their minds broken. They will struggle to deal with a new world, where they aren’t sure if their thoughts are their own or the work of the alien steel still within their bodies even though the source of indoctrination is long gone.

But though extinction by the reapers is a threat disappeared, mankind will find that there is once more an existential threat. When nobody else will do anything to protect the rights of man, the Three Headed Hound will arise. This cell of Cerberus will initially be small-fry, their organization’s much diminished power following the reaper war meaning the scope of their activities will be greatly reduced. However, they will eventually stumble upon a galaxy-wide conspiracy that threatens every man woman and child of the milky way. Ready or not, Cerberus and the player team will have to rise to the occasion and save a world that hates them all while wrestling their own demons and loyalties.

I will expect just a few rules to be followed:

-Follow site-wide rules and guidelines.
-Commit to the story and characters. Frequent and consistent posting is required.
-Communicate clearly if you're unable to post or wish to change anything.
-Seriously, respect each other. Be open to feedback and discussion.

To date, I am not ready to currently launch this RP. I have many details I am yet to decide on, and how to bridge the gaps between individual posts and scenes, to the much broader plot. However, the goal is to create an RP environment where the players are part of not just a living and breathing crew, but also determine the fate of the organization they are suddenly far more important in, to guide its politics and indeed the fate of the galaxy. The crew will have place for many different people: biotics, soldiers, scientists, doctors, tech specialists, and much more. Similarly, the player who is the commander of the ship can be of a diverse background, and the RP will just as easily accommodate a commander who receives a crew that covers their weaknesses and complements their strengths as one that simply mirrors and concentrates their existing skill-set to make a more specialized if less versatile cell of Cerberus.

Moreover, if and when this hopefully gains sufficient traction to continue on, I wish to expand this with a spinoff RP in the same subsetting following a team of spectres and their trustees formed to track and hunt the Cerberine team and potentially stumble upon the same grand conspiracies and threats that Cerberus is dealing with.

This is all quite a daunting effort to me. To that end, I wish to seek out only two, maybe three people for now to build off of. First, I want to find somebody that is a co-GM, a thought heavily inspired by a legendary Firefly RP I am in! Somebody to proofread a load of my ideas, help bridge them to make sense together and be internally consistent, and perhaps most importantly, to help keep it running if for whatever reason I am briefly indisposed. Second, I want somebody to play a “main character”. A Shepard-esque figure, in charge of herding the cats that their team will be. Somebody that has the first say in the hard decisions, somebody who will take the first blame for failure and the first praise for success. A person who resolves disputes between team members, who decides what the priorities of their Cerberus cell are, who represents the amalgam of the Cell’s ideas, thoughts and feelings and will help mold the greater organization of Cerberus in this image. They will make the first line of decisions with the greatest consequences. Depending on what me and the potential co-GM come up with, there might be a brief period where we do some 1x1 stuff to actually play out details of backstory, and “prologue” to the main story. We the GMs will also likely play some NPCs within the crew to both pad out roles too minor for players like a ship janitor.

While we will begin with something minor just shortly after the war, as the galaxy and Cerberus alike recover more and more from the Reaper-War there will come a time where both the grand-scale plot is followed and more personal items of interest to each character (analogous to perhaps ME2’s loyalty missions) will come to the fore.

Please post here or message me if you're interested, I should reply within a day or two.

To people who are interested in the RP if not quite these roles, I am excited to hear from you too though regretfully I must say it will be some time before you might see something yourself. However, hearing roles people might want to take early is good too.

The bug man's humid chamber of nasty things

“The Reapers had fallen. Our minds were broken, we couldn’t think, some of us could hardly walk. The war was done, it was won, even if some might argue we had lost. But when we assembled that day, when the commander drew the line in the sand and offered us the chance to end our war for each and every soul if the wished, not a single body crossed the line. We all knew the truth. The galaxy won the war, but it would never really be done until the end of time. Kali Yuga would come once more some day, and we would have to fight then again too. Someone had to think of mankind first. Maybe we won’t be there with our own rifles. But our children, grandchildren, and our souls will stand there for all mankind. The whole galaxy would hate us for our efforts, but so what? So I stared upon my comrades. Then, I smiled, for what had I to fear?”

Hi! I’m Bugman. I’m still new to this forum in contrast to some people who have been here years, but I like to think I am somewhat acquainted with it by now. I am here to recruit help for an RP in the Mass Effect setting following the conclusion of the third game in the series. But, with somewhat of a twist.

The players will be the not be the good guys. The team, the crew, everyone will be part of Cerberus. We might not exactly be the mustache twirling villains, but we're going to need some serious lawyering to even convince someone we're anti-heroes.

With the reaper war finished in the control ending and the reaper fleets going into dark space, these people full of reaper implants will have their minds broken. They will struggle to deal with a new world, where they aren’t sure if their thoughts are their own or the work of the alien steel still within their bodies even though the source of indoctrination is long gone.

But though extinction by the reapers is a threat disappeared, mankind will find that there is once more an existential threat. When nobody else will do protect the rights of man, the Three Headed Hound will arise.

To date, I am not ready to currently launch this RP. I have many details I am yet to decide on, and how to bridge the gaps between individual posts and scenes, to the much broader plot. However, the goal is to create an RP environment where the players are part of not just a living and breathing crew, but also determine the fate of the organization they are suddenly far more important in, to guide its politics and indeed the fate of the galaxy. Moreover, if and when this hopefully gains sufficient traction to continue on, I wish to expand this with a spinoff RP in the same subsetting following a team of spectres and their trustees formed to track and hunt the Cerberine team and potentially stumble upon the same grand conspiracies and threats that Cerberus is dealing with.

This is all quite a daunting effort to me. To that end, I wish to seek out only two, maybe three people for now to build off of. First, I want to find somebody that is a co-GM. Somebody to proofread a load of my ideas, help bridge them to make sense together and be internally consistent, and perhaps most importantly, to help keep it running if for whatever reason I am briefly indisposed. Second, I want somebody to play a “main character”. A Shepard-esque figure, in charge of herding the cats that their team will be. Somebody that has the first say in the hard decisions, somebody who will take the first blame for failure and the first praise for success. A person who resolves disputes between team members, who decides what the priorities of their Cerberus cell are, who represents the amalgam of the Cell’s ideas, thoughts and feelings and will help mold the greater organization of Cerberus in this image. Depending on what me and the potential co-GM come up with, there might be a brief period where we do some 1x1 stuff to actually play out details of backstory, and “prologue” to the main story.

If either of these roles interest you, post here or message me, I will be glad to take you on and hopefully we will be a good fit.

To people who are interested in the RP if not quite these roles, I am excited to hear from you too though regretfully I must say it will be some time before you might see something yourself. However, hearing roles people might want to take early is good too.

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if you see this, you can message me about this if you have questions and such, though I am still doing a lot of deliberations and a good bit of writing

The bug man's humid chamber of nasty things

I will post here to test formatting and stuff yes yes

From Ashes We Rise: Chronicles

The descent of the young Primarch upon Brahms was much slower than unto Asclepius. The world had a noticeably stronger field of gravity, particularly outside of the field of artificial gravitation instituted closer to the surface of Asclepius. Moreover, it was surrounded by artificial debris that would put the asteroid rings of many a gas giant to shame. The disturbances in the warp that at times surrounded the world and made it an ideal candidate to disgorge the pod of the young Primarch were similarly a factor in slowing down the youth’s descent. These factors all combined to ensure that the first conscious memory of the child was to see the beauty of open space as his craft slowly descended through the atmosphere of the world. To his surprise, the natural pull of gravity abruptly stopped, and the path of the child’s pod now adjusted.

From across the stars, four virtues arise,
Benevolent chaos in celestial skies,
Their wisdom unfathomable, their essence profound,
In the heart of darkness, grace is found.

Men and women alike were dancing around the fire, in the distance many candles and torches lit in the ruins of a temple. They dared not light the once glorious braziers to the Gods and Goddesses, for though their devotion was great they knew the faithless - or indeed the faithful with even greater zeals - lurked nearby. Moreover, it was high time for the Skyfolk to arrive. But they could not delay the ritual. The time to reap the rewards of their masters was now.

Kirna, for our valor, our strength, our might,
Bring us to battle, to war, to fight.
The sound of drums, for blood our quest,
In your fiery realm, brave hearts find rest.

Some of the folk were naked, some were clad in body paint that covered every pore over their bodies, others wore so much cloth, furs, or hide that only their devotion to their beloved masters had not made them fall over from heat stroke even though it was the night’s witching hour.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

Every so often, one of the men and women would perish of their own volition. One jumped into the flame, not a sound escaping her as her eyes boiled to liquid and flesh turned to ash. Another beheaded himself. For many minutes, the mans teeth would chatter a maraca-like staccato to give the chanting rhythm. One tore a long rope of her entrails out and began to devour them with great gusto — whatever was slurped up like an errant noodle would soon be replaced exactly where it disappeared until at last she collapsed, her dark skin turning pale from bloodloss. At last, one man impaled himself upon a great stake, gibbering sybillant praise as he slowly died.

Nyrielle, lady of life, of death, of rebirth,
You cradle your children, you praise our worth.
Through your blessings, our numbers grow,
By your will and cycle, once more life flows.

Arrows were fired into the sky at random, and most fell harmlessly into dirt. A few fell and killed performers, or injured them but they continued in their ritual nonetheless. The few who stopped in pain were brutally murdered for their weakness.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

As more and more blood reached the waters of the nearby beach’s shore, the reflections of moonlight and torchlight very quickly began to shift to something of the sea’s own glow.

Tizh, weaver of destiny, of hope, of change,
In your infinite labyrinth, possibilities range.
Let us purge and end the lies of truth,
Roll us your dice, make heroes of youth.

For most of the world, the night went on without note. But here? The moon turned blue, then red, then purple, then green, before all the colours at once emerged to spin into one another.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

The soil beneath the praying tribals shifted, sand moved such that they all stood upon an eight-point star. Any disturbance to the formation would seemingly be undone by random movements of the ground matter.

Solnos, muse of passion, of art, of delight,
Stoke our heart's embers, they blaze alight!
Under your beauty’s spell, we submit to a trance,
Pleasure from pain, rejoice, we dance!

It was now that the greatest of shamans went towards the fire, one by one laying corpses in a circle around the flame. Ordinary sacrifices would not do, no. These were all firstborn of the tribe.

Harmony in chaos, wisdom in the wild.
Hear our plea, bring gifts, your child.
Almighty, all-gracious, be our guide,
Through the nightsea’s infinite tide

At last, one newborn was placed within the flame.

Defend us from light, bring us your dark
Save us from the faithless, deliver our ark,
Forgive us our mercy, accept our gift,
A perfect soul, you will find it, sift.

The first line of participants around the flame was instantly vapourized by the Primarch’s arrival. The second line was turned to mincemeat, the third suffering ruptures of organs and catastrophic bone breakages. It was only the fourth that lived to see what they had summoned, and not a one was regretful.

This was with the exception of the two greatest of the Shamans at the scene.

“Ptraf, surely I cannot be the only one, do you not see that this is not what we deigned to summon? The ritual failed, our destiny was stolen from us! This… thing is flesh and blood, I smell it now!” he announced, quietly pointing an accusatory finger at the blood spattered child before whom hundreds were prostrated. “This intruder is not from the demesne of our lords!”

“No, Belsokh. I see it now in the stars. This is a gift far greater than you had ever thought of asking for.”

From Ashes We Rise: Chronicles

It was the day of the twin tailed comet, as it came to be known in the poetic canons of the Meroec system. To a great many it was said to herald a great weal, yet to many others it would be a sign of damnation. The different cultures of Brahm would all draw their own conclusions and truths as to what truly happened on that fateful day, just as the Polymaths of Asclepius would. But all would be so disastrously wrong.

Yea, the arrival of each sibling to the system was near identical. Though on Asclepius it was night and in the far North, and on Brahm it was upon the night at the equator, both arrived in the midst of rituals.

The people of Asclepius would not describe the Tale of the Fall as it was told to them many centuries ago as a ritual, not really. To them it was a form of art, a performance that would lead to understanding themselves, and to avoid the mistakes of excess that the wise Aeldari had recounted to them. It was unsurprising thus that the display looked quite similar at least to the less developed human eye to what xenologists would describe as Eldar culture. The people were all lean, graceful. Their costumes and movements as they danced and spun were colourful and bearing great artistry. Yet, there was a great care to ensure there was no opulence, nothing sensual or extreme. The outfits covered skin from head to toe, yet were finely ventilated to prevent any sweat of passion forming. Many were even reflective or even coated in cameleoline to ensure individuals would not get too much focus. All were to be modest in all senses of the word. There would be no star of the theater, it was about the story not any of the thousands of men and women within the dozens of kilometres sculpted exactly for the event.

Skirts spun, blades opened flesh that was immediately mended by subdermal cybernetics. It was a very difficult matter, to both ensure the excess was displayed to be understood without this very same excess actually being partook in.

The High Polymaths gazed upon the tightening circle at the centre of the performance, the tightening circle signalling the approaching climax of the display. Though the aesthetic of the theater was deliberately neutered as part of its very purpose, it was undeniable there was skill in the dance and song shown within that humanity in much of its stellar width would struggle to match. One of the High Polymaths nodded with approval as the part of the play where the final collapse of the fall would be displayed would begin. The masks of the performers would morph to the greatest and most artificial displays of ecstasy yet, before a mere moment later they would twist into unimaginable agony.

Upon their hovercraft hundreds of performers that previously remained out of sight arrived as the mystic monsters of excess that brought down hundreds of the dancers. The simulated carnage was brief, as soon after the hovering performers picked up supposedly fallen men and women and flew towards the sky in a widening spiral

As one, the elderly men of the council of High Studies stood up from their seats as the sky split, and a thundering bolt crushed into the earth. The millions of the audience gasped as one in the mistaken belief that this was a component of the performance, but this was far from the case. Nonetheless the actors went on in the mistaken belief this was some part of the performance they themselves were not informed of, their choreography continuing almost perfect and unabated even through the air becoming hazy as heat emanated from molten earth at the impact site.

Quite discretely thousands of drones flew to the site, investigating what happened from afar. Every single type of scanner starting from the mundane auspex to the complex machines attuned to the aether that would detect presence of void shields and gellar fields. Most of them returned readings that were very, very difficult for the Polymaths to interpret, but one thing that all agreed upon was the shape present at the very centre of the display. Weakly, a child rose. Yet as calculations of distance and perspective were done, it became very clear that although the proportions would be of a child, this was no ordinary boy. The thing was as tall as an adult, and it became clear that the silky metallic skin was no costume. The conclusion that this was an alien was the one reached first, but soon a few voices suggested that perhaps this was one of the beasts of excess that the Eldar had warned about. Indeed, this theory soon found support as the creature began to pirouette and spin, to somersault and leap with a speed and grace that not only the human dancers had failed to achieve, but indeed well surpassed that of the Eldar as the few present who had witnessed them could remember.

This was something extraordinary, and one by one the viewers realized that today would forever change how the folk of Asclepius lived.

With a single leap with arms behind it the child crossed the outer circle of dancers, before on the tips of its feet skipping between the other layered circles of performers. Eventually it left the stage, where it began to cartwheel through the crowds almost inexplicably weaving its way through the watchers without touching a single soul despite being larger than most men.

At last, it arrived at the steps that would bring it up towards the high view of the Council of High Studies, the High Polymaths with beards flowing well past their feet watching the thing with a mixture of awe and fear. Hundreds of defensive drones had assembled, yet they were struggling to keep track of it. As it began to sprint up the steps now lacking the previous grace and artistry, the old men suddenly began to sweat as they now perceived a threat before them. Rail shots and lasers flew, but they only served to smash the anti-grav staircase to plasglass splinters as the creature went well past the steps. Yet when it was at last before the circle of ancient humanity, it did not tear them to pieces as they assumed. Rather perplexingly, it went upon one knee. One hand was pressed to its heart, and another outreached towards the old men with a smile on its lips as the head went down towards the ground in deference. Despite the apparent physical supremacy, the creature seemed to openly genuflect towards the Polymaths in a most unexpected gesture of submission.

To Asclepius, the great demiurge had brought interesting times.