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Have you ever had a dream that you um you had your you could you’ll do you wants you you could do so you’ll do you could you you want you want them to do you so much you could do anything?
1 mo ago
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Have you ever had a dream that you um you had your you could you’ll do you wants you you could do so you’ll do you could you you want you want them to do you so much you could do anything?
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3 mos ago
I've just come out of an existential eldritch hysteria induced nap and running on 6,000 years of sleep
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9 mos ago
I tap refresh and wait and see, a flashing note, a reply for me. No new posts, just the same old screen, yet still I hope for what might've been.
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10 mos ago
"He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience supreme happiness."
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10 mos ago
Looking for a few people to help create a shared sci-fi universe. If that sounds fun, drop me a PM!
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Bio
Hadn't updated this in a WHILE so I deleted it. I'm Ducksworth, or Duck, or Duckie. PM if you wanna know more, yeah?
Nicknames/Aliases Mumeiki (無名機), meaning 'Nameless Machine' in Japanese.
Birth City/District: Neo-Tokyo
Age: 24 years since birth, 8 years since awakening from coma.
Height 5'11 ft (1.8 m)
Racial Background: Pure blood Japanese
Race: Zero Percenters
Hair Color: N/A
Eye Color: N/A
Appearance:
Mumeiki is a ghost in the neon-lit streets of the underworld, a human silhouette stripped of identity and replaced with machine. His form is sleek and efficient, designed for both the shadows and the chaos of open combat.
His body is entirely cybernetic, composed of advanced composite alloys and synthetic muscle fibers that mimic human movemen. The plating is smooth yet subtly segmented, allowing for seamless articulation. Traces of deep gunmetal and darkened silver highlight the contours of his form, giving him the appearance of a machine sculpted for lethality rather than bulk. He is built for agility, neither towering nor diminutive—his frame is compact but powerful, built to strike and vanish.
His head is a featureless mask of reinforced metal, a smooth, expressionless visage that absorbs light rather than reflects it. There are no human features—no mouth, no nose—only a blank faceplate broken by a small, circular visor where his optics reside. The visor glows faintly, shifting between muted orange, purples, and blues, or white, depending on his system state. Sometimes, it flickers erratically, as if betraying the instability beneath his programmed obedience.
Beneath his outer shell, artificial muscle fibers coil like living steel. His joints move with unnatural fluidity, making his motions eerily precise. His hands are dexterous, each finger capable of near-microscopic adjustments.
His legs are reinforced for silent movement, with digitized actuators in his ankles that allow for impossible landings and split-second acceleration. Magnetic nodes within his feet grant him the ability to grip surfaces, scaling walls and clinging to ceilings like a specter.
When moving, Mumeiki does not walk—he glides, steps too smooth, too controlled to be mistaken for anything human. His presence is cold and calculated, yet when he stands idle, there’s an unsettling stillness to him, as if he is waiting for an order, an activation, a purpose.
His katana, his sole weapon of choice, is housed in a magnetic sheath along his back, seamlessly integrated into his frame. It is an extension of his body, drawn with a whisper of steel.
Despite his inhuman appearance, there are faint traces of what he once was. His proportions remain eerily childlike in subtle ways—not in size, but in posture, in the occasional tilt of his head as if questioning the world. In moments of stillness, one might catch the way he shifts his weight, fidgeting in a way reminiscent of a child waiting for instruction.
In the neon glow of the city, he is a shadow—nameless, faceless, and inescapable.
Mutation Marker(s): None.
Personality: Kaito Fujimoto, now known solely as Mumeiki, is a complex blend of advanced cybernetic efficiency and innocent human naivety. At 25 years old, his personality is shaped by a life of comatose existence followed with isolation and obedience.
Innocent and Child-like: Despite his formidable physical capabilities, Kaito exhibits a child-like innocence. His sheltered upbringing and prolonged medical coma mean he sees the world with wide-eyed wonder and simplicity. This innocence often manifests in his behavior, such as tilting his head curiously when asked a question or swaying gently when idle, behaviors others might misinterpret as frustration, impatience, or malice.
Obedient and Loyal: Kaito’s sense of loyalty and obedience is deeply ingrained. Having been raised under the watchful eye of the company that 'saved' him, he follows orders with unwavering dedication. He perceives the company as a parental figure, leading to an almost blind trust and a willingness to carry out any directive, no matter how dangerous or morally ambiguous.
Emotionally Detached: Due to his cybernetic enhancements and lack of traditional human experiences, Kaito struggles with emotional depth. He is often emotionally detached, processing situations and interactions with a mechanical logic rather than human empathy. This detachment, however, is not due to lack of feeling but rather a lack of understanding.
Curious and Adaptive: Kaito possesses a natural curiosity about the world around him. This curiosity drives him to explore and learn, albeit in a limited capacity given his sheltered upbringing. His cybernetic enhancements allow him to quickly adapt and process new information, making him an efficient and formidable shadow enforcer.
Tragic Innocence: There is a sense of tragedy in Kaito’s personality. His advanced cybernetic body contrasts sharply with his child-like mind, creating a poignant image of a being caught between two worlds. This tragic innocence endears him to those who take the time to understand his unique nature.
Overall, Kaito Fujimoto’s personality is a blend of obedient loyalty, child-like curiosity, and a haunting sense of emotional detachment. These traits make him a formidable enforcer, bound by the company that shaped his very existence. Aspirations: Despite his mechanical precision, Kaito Fujimoto harbors simple yet profound desires shaped by his innocent and child-like mind.
Understanding: Kaito is driven by a basic curiosity about the world around him. He wants to understand his place in it, the people he encounters, and the mechanics of his own body.
Belonging: Kaito longs to feel accepted and part of a community. This stems from his inherent need for connection and the loneliness he feels due to his isolated upbringing. He wishes to find friends and allies who see beyond his mechanical exterior.
Approval: Kaito seeks approval and praise from those he respects, especially from the company. He equates completing missions successfully with gaining acceptance, much like a child seeking validation from a parent.
Playfulness: Despite his role as a shadow enforcer, Kaito has a playful side. He enjoys discovering new things, exploring his environment, and even engaging in light-hearted activities. This playfulness is a way for him to connect with his child-like innocence.
Protection: Kaito has an inherent desire to protect those he cares about. This protective instinct is simple and straightforward, rooted in a child-like sense of loyalty and duty. He wants to ensure the safety of those he considers friends or allies.
Fears:
Disappointment: Kaito is deeply afraid of disappointing the company that raised him. He fears failing his missions and letting down those he seeks approval from.
Rejection: Kaito fears being rejected or abandoned by the company and the few individuals he trusts. The thought of not being needed or valued terrifies him.
Unworthiness: Kaito has a fear of not being good enough. He worries that he might not meet the expectations set for him, and this fear drives him to constantly strive for perfection.
Identity Loss: Even with his child-like mind, Kaito has a subtle fear of losing whatever sense of self he has. The thought of becoming entirely machine-like and losing his humanity is unsettling to him.
Vehicle: N/A, the company has provided all his long-range transport needs.
P O W E R / C Y B E R N E T I C S I N F O R M A T I O N
Strengths/Natural Abilities:
Assassination: Kaito is highly skilled in assassination techniques. His cybernetic enhancements grant him exceptional precision and stealth, allowing him to eliminate targets efficiently and silently.
Covert Infiltration: Kaito excels in covert infiltration missions. His ability to blend into the shadows and move undetected makes him an expert at entering and exiting high-security areas without leaving a trace.
Hand-to-Hand Combat: Kaito's cybernetic body grants him enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes, making him a formidable hand-to-hand combatant. He is proficient in various martial arts and combat techniques, allowing him to defeat opponents with ease.
Katanas: Kaito is a master swordsman, specializing in the use of katanas. His precision and speed, combined with his cybernetic enhancements, make him deadly in close-quarters combat.
Hacking: Kaito possesses advanced hacking abilities, allowing him to infiltrate secure networks, disable security systems, and gather sensitive information. His cybernetic enhancements include interfaces for direct connection to digital systems, making him a powerful asset in cyber warfare.
Information Gathering: Kaito is adept at gathering intelligence and analyzing data. His enhanced cognitive abilities enable him to process and retain vast amounts of information quickly, making him an invaluable asset for reconnaissance missions.
Enhanced Senses: Kaito's cybernetic enhancements include augmented senses, such as improved vision, hearing, and tactile sensitivity. These enhancements allow him to detect threats, identify targets, and navigate complex environments with ease.
No Need for Sleep: Kaito does not require sleep in the traditional sense. Instead, he enters a "stand-by" state to pass the time and recharge his energy reserves. This ability allows him to operate continuously without fatigue, making him highly efficient and reliable.
No Need for Food: Kaito's cybernetic body eliminates the need for conventional nutrition. He does not require food to sustain himself, further enhancing his ability to remain operational for extended periods without the need for sustenance.
Unwavering Obedience: Kaito follows orders to a T, ensuring all directives are completed with precision and dedication. His programmed loyalty means he prioritizes mission success above all else, even at the expense of his own personal safety. This unwavering obedience makes him a dependable and effective asset for the company, capable of handling high-risk and morally ambiguous tasks without hesitation.
Weaknesses/Flaws:
Naivety: Kaito's child-like innocence makes him naive and easily manipulated. He tends to trust others without questioning their motives, which can put him at risk of being deceived or taken advantage of.
Emotional Immaturity: Kaito's lack of emotional depth and understanding leads to difficulty in processing complex emotions. He often struggles to cope with situations that require empathy or nuanced emotional responses, making him appear cold or detached.
Obsession with Approval: Kaito's deep-seated need for approval from the company and his superiors can cloud his judgment. He may prioritize completing missions perfectly over considering alternative, more humane approaches, potentially leading to reckless decisions.
Limited Autonomy: Kaito's unwavering obedience to the company means he lacks the ability to think independently. He follows orders to the letter, even when they may be morally questionable or detrimental to his well-being.
Lack of Self-Preservation: Kaito's commitment to completing directives makes him disregard his own safety. He is willing to put himself in extreme danger to ensure mission success, which can lead to severe injury or mechanical failure, or even destruction.
Isolation: Kaito's inability to form deep connections with others due to his emotional detachment and mechanical nature leaves him feeling isolated and lonely. This isolation can lead to a sense of emptiness and lack of purpose beyond his missions.
Mechanical Limitations: While Kaito's cybernetic body grants him many advantages, it also has limitations. He may experience malfunctions or performance issues in long exposure to extreme environments, such as intense electromagnetic fields or severe weather conditions.
Unfamiliarity with Social Norms: Kaito's sheltered upbringing and lack of traditional human experiences make him unfamiliar with social norms and customs. This can lead to awkward interactions and misunderstandings when dealing with others.
Cybernetics/Gadets/Accessories: Weapon: Nano-Katana The Nano-Katana resembles a traditional, albeit sleek and modern katana. Its blade is honed to a nano-thin edge, making it extraordinarily sharp and capable of slicing through most materials with ease.
Cybernetics:
Neurolink Core – Overhauled human brain enhanced with cybernetics, allowing rapid data processing.
Internal Diagnostic Suite – Provides real-time analysis of cybernetics, detecting damage, malfunction, or performance degradation.
Cognitive Enhancement Module – Grants complex thought beyond natural human ability, assisting in infiltration, combat strategy, and hacking.
Neural Firewall – Advanced cybersecurity measures to resist hacking attempts, with corporate-level encryption and counter-intrusion systems.
Cortical Black Box – Stores critical memories and mission data in a secure system, ensuring continuity even in case of partial system failure.
Multi-Spectrum Optics – Optical enhancements allowing thermal, night vision, infrared, ultraviolet, and electromagnetic spectrum analysis.
Adaptive Targeting System – Tracks and predicts movement, assisting with precise attacks, dodging, and threat assessment.
Acoustic Amplification Suite – Enhanced hearing, capable of filtering frequencies, detecting heartbeats, and isolating conversations.
Silent Step Feedback – Adjusts footstep pressure in real time for silent movement, crucial for stealth.
Olfactory Sensor Array – Detects chemicals, toxins, and environmental changes through artificial scent processing.
Tactile Sensory Dampening – Reduces pain perception to ensure focus in combat as well as assist with repairs, with the ability to re-enable full sensitivity
Augmented Musculature – Synthetic fiber muscles provide enhanced strength, agility, and speed.
Kinetic Energy Redistribution – Absorbs impact from falls, strikes, and blunt trauma.
Hyper-Reflex Suite – Near-instantaneous reaction speed, increasing combat efficiency and evasive capabilities.
Integrated Combat Recorder – Logs fight patterns and opponent data for post-mission review and adaptation.
Limb Synchronization Enhancements – Eliminates movement lag, ensuring complete control over every action with peak efficiency.
Internal Lockpicking Suite – Built-in micro-tools in fingertips for bypassing mechanical and electronic locks.
Electromagnetic Footing – Allows walking on walls or ceilings using magnetism and micro-thrusters.
Chameleon Surface – Minor color-shifting ability on armor to blend into dark environments.
Composite Endoskeleton – Reinforced but lightweight structure, providing durability without sacrificing speed.
Subdermal Shock Absorption – Reduces impact damage and neutralizes blunt force trauma.
EMP Shielding Layer – Provides resistance against electromagnetic pulses, though powerful EMPs can still affect him.
Retractable palm claws – Hidden within fingers and palms for precise climbing.
Integrated Dart Launcher – Fires tranquilizers, poisons, or EMP darts from his forearm.
Wrist-Mounted Grappling Line – High-speed retractable line for rapid movement, stealth kills, or vertical mobility.
Internal Blade Maintenance System – Keeps his katana in pristine condition, sharpening and cleaning it as needed.
Augmented Grip Enhancement – Allows unbreakable hold on objects, useful for combat and wall-scaling.
E X T R A
Anything else? - Theme song - Memory Glitch: Occasionally, Kaito experiences brief moments of memory lapse due to his neural interface. During these moments, he might pause mid-conversation or action, appearing lost in thought before snapping back to reality. These glitches are harmless but add a layer of vulnerability to his character. - Quiet Humming: Kaito has a habit of quietly humming a traditional Japanese lullaby when he's idle or deep in thought. Unbeknowst to him it's a song his Mother used to sing to him when he was in the coma. - Analyzing Gesture: When processing information or making decisions, Kaito has a habit of tapping his temple lightly with his cybernetic fingers. This gesture indicates that he's accessing his neural enhancements for deeper analysis.
H_i_s_t_o_r_y
In the sprawling cityscape of Neo-Tokyo, within the humble Ishibashi district lived a couple whose love for each other was as enduring as their struggles. For years, they yearned for a child, but their attempts were met with heartache and disappointment. Yet, against all odds, their miracle finally arrived—Kaito. He was their beacon of hope, the embodiment of their dreams, and they cherished him with all their hearts.
However, life dealt a cruel hand. Shortly after his birth, Kaito was diagnosed with a debilitating disease that would be fatal without extensive medical intervention. Undeterred, his parents poured every ounce of their resources, love, and hope into saving him. Doctors, treatments, and experimental procedures became their world. Kaito spent his life in a medical coma, a state of suspended animation where cutting-edge technology battled the relentless disease.
As the years passed, Kaito's tiny body was gradually replaced with cybernetic parts. Each enhancement was a testament to his parents' unwavering dedication. But the cost was steep—financially and emotionally. The once-joyous household grew somber and strained as the weight of debt and despair bore down upon them. Despite their sacrifices, Kaito's parents succumbed to bankruptcy and died, never seeing their beloved son awaken.
When Kaito finally emerged from his sixteen-year slumber, he found himself in a world alien. His parents were gone, their debts cleared by a corporation known as Ijōna Corp. Recognizing the potential in his cybernetic form, they claimed him as their own. They saw in Kaito not just a boy, but a tool—a weapon to be honed and wielded.
Stripped of his name and identity, Kaito was reborn as Mumeiki, or "Nameless Machine." Under the cold, calculated oversight of his assigned handler, codename Kage, he underwent rigorous training. Day in and day out, Mumeiki mastered the arts of assassination, covert infiltration, and intelligence gathering. Kage ensured his obedience through psychological conditioning, molding him into the perfect shadow enforcer.
Kept in isolation, Mumeiki's social skills remained stunted. The world outside the company’s walls was a mystery, one he was only allowed to glimpse during missions. Despite his child-like innocence, he became a figure of fear and efficiency—a ghost in the machine, executing orders with lethal precision.
Yet, within the heart of the nameless enforcer, a spark of curiosity flickered. Fragmented memories of his past, the faint echo of a lullaby, and the warmth of parental love haunted his thoughts.
Three months ago, Ijōna deployed Mumeiki on what should have been a routine data-scrubbing mission, eliminating traces of a supposed intelligence leak. However, the mission was a trap—set by Tsuki’s gang to confirm the existence of Ijōna’s rumored assassin. The fabricated data forced Mumeiki into an inescapable paradox: follow orders and risk destruction, or abandon Ijōna entirely. With no way back, he defected, and ever since that night, he has been with Tsuki’s gang.
Jet was too engrossed in filling his belly to fully participate in the animated discussion around him. Instead, he nodded occasionally, his eyes keenly observing as the new recruit grappled with the harsh truths of crew life. With a soft smile, he acknowledged Zane who tucked into his own meal. Lifting the almost-empty bowl to his lips, Jet shoveled the last few granules of protein into his mouth. He sighed softly as he chewed, the meal turning into a paste between his teeth.
After swallowing, Jet finally spoke up. "Don’t let it get to ya, kid. It’s pretty cushy here, and you'll earn your keep in no time. Besides, this ship needs all the upkeep it can get." He chuckled lightly but abruptly stopped himself. "Crap," he muttered, standing up and breaking into a hurried jog. ”The damn power plant…”
Fel watched Jet leave, nodding silently to himself, having a pretty good notion what was going down. He likewise stood, leaving Zane finishing his bowl, laying his hand on the kid’s shoulder as he passed by. ”There’s more in the pot, Zee. Feel free, but also know that the leftovers will be there later if you feel the need to graze.” Fel made for the flight deck. Zane looked up from his bowl of chili as the grizzled soldier took off down the corridor. Looking at the others that were nearby, he pointed in the direction of the “vapor trail” that Jet left and spoke with a mouth half-full of his food. ”Anybody else catch that? Somethin’ about a ‘power plant’? That don’t sound too welcomin’...” the youth said nervously as he slid out from his seat at the table and meandered off after him.
The doc was at the table, and thanked Fel for the meal, to which the spacer merely nodded, smiled thinly. It weren’t nothin.’ Folks had to eat. And aboard the UA, there were times that were lean. Leaner than he’d like. So when the cupboards were stocked, better to eat up. Wrench was there too, at his usual spot at the corner of the table closest to the galley. The little astromech liked to be able to swivel to see everything, and that spot had the best vantage point fore and aft. He extended his third wheel, ready to follow Fel to the flight deck, but Galdaart waved a hand relaxedly as if to say it wasn’t necessary, and the little droid stopped, tooting its indifference.
Jet's relief was palpable as he swung into the engine bay, shoulders sagging as he saw everything was still, mostly, intact. The thought crossed his mind that this sudden dash might have been the last grain that broke the Eopie's back. He stepped in, immediately pulling out his datapad to check over the vital systems.
Jet muttered to himself quietly as he went over each item. “Hyperdrive... coolant leak, should be fine for now. Ion flow regulators... Fluctuations, nothing major. Plasma injectors... Worn out, need replacing Again. Power conduits... good. Gravitic stabilizers... Slightly miscalibrated, easy fix. Backup systems... all good..” He took a deep breath, reassuring himself that everything seemed to be holding together, at least for now.
”Everythin’ all right here, old timer?” the confused youth inquired, the tension in his tone suggesting he was quite worried with how the older man left the galley in such a hurry. His eyes were wide with wonder as he looked around the engine bay, all of the flashing lights and whirring sounds of machinery distracting him from anything else at the moment. The youth stared around in awe as he waited on Jet to finish going through all of his checklists.
Jet looked up from his datapad, a wry smile crossing his face. "Yeah, everything looks good, for now," he reassured, his tone calm and steady. "Just making sure we keep this old bird flying. These engines have a way of keeping me on my toes, but nothing to worry about." He patted a nearby control panel affectionately. "Welcome to the heart of the ship, kid. Stick around and you might learn a thing or two about keeping her in the sky."
Jet then returned his focus to the datapad, continuing to review the list of items they needed. The chaos back on Lotho had completely distracted him from the fact that this old makeshift rig required some serious TLC—Tough Love and Calibration.. He reviewed the diagnostics again, methodically making notes of what they 'desperately-needed,' 'somewhat-needed,' and 'would-be-nice-to-have.' The list was short, thankfully. For now.
As he turned to leave, he placed a reassuring hand on Zane’s shoulder and plastered his face with a wide grin. ”Maybe, when it comes to it, you could give me a hand? Kark.. It constantly needs work and..” Jet's heart sank for a second, his thoughts lingering on Nova. His voice dropped, somewhat melancholic, his grin faltering. ”I like to teach you young’uns.”
Fel had that difficult-to-identify, yet impossible-to-ignore need to check the Navacomp that seemed hard-wired into his consciousness. Too many jumps, too many years, too much riding on their success, and mostly – as a smuggler and erstwhile ne’er-do-well, too many custom routes and corners cut to ever feel too comfortable in a hyperspace lane.
The outlander sat heavily in his seat, and called up their plotted course on the navacomp. Fourteen minutes till sublight, for a final course change, to Abilene. (it was tough to trace a ship’s destination via hyperspace jumps, but you could never be too careful. Fel had heard tell of pirates jumping unsuspecting civilians (or Republic ships) on the standard routes, and there had even been talk of the Empire tracking ships through hyperspace. Fel wasn’t sure how much of that he bought… but when the Empire was concerned, Fel was willing to believe almost anything.
He leaned back from the Navacomp and caught sight of a flashing red light on the console. Nothing to be concerned about, just one of many hull temperature sensors (that one had been on the fritz for a few weeks) but he allowed his mind to wander, focussed on that red light, and before more than a heartbeat had gone past, he was in the seat of his TIE/IN once more, different red lights flashing all around him, and that comm chatter… the screams… that acrid, burnt smell… his thumbs hovering over the triggers… sweat stinging his eyes and the fire… the fire…
He startled away from the memory, hand falling instinctively to the sidearm that wasn’t there. He calmed his racing heart and steadied his breathing. Wiped a hand over his four days’ stubble. Checked the Navacomp. Three minutes to sublight.
Leaning back, staring at nothing but the swirl of the vortex out the view-port, the deep-spacer punched a button on the arm of his chair, activating the internal comms. ”We’re dropping out of hyperspace in a minute, folks. Could be a bit of turbulence for a few tics. Then on our last jump to Abilene. Should be planetside by just after skydark, local time. Just under an hour’s flight time from now.” Pressing the button once more, the comms clicked off, and Fel thought how nice it would be to not have to rack down aboard ship that night. An actual bed, and fresh air, would do just fine. Now – if only he could avoid getting shot by a local, they’d be in great shape.
Jet finished reviewing the list with a practiced ease, already running through the mental steps of what needed handling first. He slid the datapad under his arm and made his way back to the galley.
As Jet entered, he glanced around the room but didn’t spot Fel. The empty chair where the spacer had been moments ago told him everything he needed to know. The walk was short, one he’d made countless times before, and as the cockpit door slid open with a soft hiss, there was Fel, just as he’d figured. The spacer was sunk into the pilot’s seat, staring out at the swirling vortex of hyperspace, his expression distant.
Jet stepped inside, his boots lightly tapping against the decking. He didn’t say anything at first, just crossed the small space and pulled out the datapad, setting it down on the console where Fel couldn’t miss it.
"Got the list," Jet said finally, his tone easy, matter-of-fact. "Injectors are shot. Stabilizers are drifting—not bad yet, but you’ll feel it soon enough. Coolant patch from earlier is holding, but you know how those go. Nothing we haven’t handled before." He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms as he studied Fel. "Figured you’d want to know before we hit Abilene. Market’s probably our best shot to grab what we need. Question is, you want me on that, or are we splitting the joy?” Jet smirked faintly at the thought, his tone light but steady. "She’ll hold for now, but it’s creeping. One weak link’s all it takes," he added with a small shrug.
”Always something, kark…” Fel looked over the list, only then realizing that his tension and the fevered memory he had only just snapped out of had left a sheen of sweat on his brow. “Wonder if Abilene’ll even have half this stuff. Ain’t no starport. We might have to make a stop at a shop. If Abilene has this gear, any of it, it’ll be ours for the taking. If she don’t, we gotta go elsewhere for it. Hell, can’t be without ‘jectors or stab’s.” He cursed again, but as much because of the weight of the situation, the crush of people who relied on his ability to succeed, to pull in paying work… as the added cost of doing business. And maybe the memory was playing havoc on his nerves. Maybe.
He didn’t have to think much to do the mental math. “We don’t get this from the boss lady… and I don’t imagine our luck is that good… this takes five large off the cuts before we even get to fuel. I’ll shoulder ten of it out of my take, split the rest amongst the rest of the crew, ‘cept the Doc. He has no stake in our ship. But even if Abilene has the goods, I can’t have you on repairs while we’re her ‘guests.’ I don’t trust her, and I need your eyes on our backs… no, we’ll have to set down elsewhere, or stop at a dock to do the repairs after Abilene. …Kark.”
He rubbed at the back of his neck. The frustration wasn’t with Jet, and the Spacer hoped he knew that.
Jet chuckled and gave Fel a hearty slap on the back, trying to lighten the mood. "Don't sweat it, Fel. We'll manage. We always do," he said with a reassuring grin. "I'll cover the costs with my share, too, no problem. Between the two of us, we can shoulder the whole expense. No need to worry about splitting it with the rest of the crew."
Jet took a step back, his stance more relaxed. "We'll get what we need, one way or another. And you know I always have your back. Just point me in the right direction, and we'll sort it out." He glanced out the viewport at the swirling vortex of hyperspace, then back at Fel. "We'll be fine. Just another day in the life, right?"
Fel smiled good-naturedly. “Yeah… just another day, living the dream.” He thought about the fifty different ways they could have got dead in the last twenty-four hours, the host of issues surely to come, the tense dealings to come with Abilene, getting paid (or not getting paid) and the, well, cat issue. Dream. Right. Better than any day under the yoke of the Empire, though. Silver linings…
Astlo offered a curt nod in return to the steward, his acknowledgment tempered by his age and a tendency to forego the flourish younger men might employ. Respect was given, though not with the elaborate gestures that so often accompanied courtly displays. After decades in service, Astlo had earned the privilege of brevity.
He inhaled deeply, the air filling his lungs before escaping in a slow, deliberate sigh. The idea of a royal heir being found was, on its surface, a hopeful proposition, one that could alter the course of a faltering kingdom. Yet Astlo’s seasoned mind, sharpened by years of intrigue and deception, found it difficult to embrace such hope without skepticism. It was far more plausible that the story was born of idle tongues—some mountain charlatan seeking favor or fame, perhaps to impress a lover or secure a fleeting moment of grandeur. Such tales had a way of inflating with each telling.
Despite his doubts, Astlo could not dismiss the matter outright. The summons to investigate had come directly, and with it, a clear mandate: to ascertain the truth and to curb the overzealous actions of those desperate to prove themselves. For all his cynicism, a faint ember of hope remained within him. If the rumors held even a shred of truth, the discovery of an heir might restore not just the royal line, but the stability of a fractured realm. And should such a day come, Astlo fancied he might play a part in shaping this heir—not merely in matters of ceremony and etiquette, but in the deeper arts of governance and wisdom.
He stepped forward, his boots striking the polished stone floor with a deliberate rhythm. Clearing his throat, Astlo addressed the steward, his voice measured and calm.
"My Lord Steward," he began, his tone imbued with a practiced steadiness born of countless councils, "I must admit that the likelihood of these rumors being anything more than mere fabrication seems exceedingly slim." There was no arrogance in his words, nor a lack of deference—only the tempered perspective of a man who had seen far too many false hopes raised.
Pausing, he stroked the length of his beard, as if the action might tease further insight from his thoughts. "That said, I will attend to this matter as requested. Any course of action that merits your attention deserves to be pursued with diligence, regardless of my reservations."
His gaze met the steward’s, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Astlo’s doubts were clear, but so too was his commitment to the task at hand. Whatever the outcome, he would approach it with the care and gravity it deserved.
[The Old Sentinel District, a Derelict Warehouse] [The Night Before]
Draven trudged through the crumbling streets of the old Sentinel District, a plastic grocery bag dangling from his hand. The ‘hero’s’ salary—what little was left of it—had sustained him thus far, but it was a far cry from the life he used to lead. His latest attempt at grocery shopping had been another exercise in frustration. The stores were crowded, even during hours when only night owls and misfits once roamed. He had preferred it that way, back when he didn’t have to dodge strollers or endure the endless chatter of the public he once served.
As he neared the warehouse that now masqueraded as his home, he paused at the battered metal door. A sigh slipped out, carrying with it a quiet prayer.
Please, not tonight,” he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with resignation.
The door groaned open, the hinges protesting in a drawn-out wail. The interior was just as he’d left it—dim, damp, and bearing the scars of long-forgotten fires. Charred walls and a lingering smell of ash reminded him daily of the life he’d burned to the ground, both literally and figuratively. Yet, past the desolation of the outer corridors lay a patch of relative normalcy.
Draven had spent months carving out a semblance of living space from the ruins. The concrete walls, ceiling, and floors gave the area an austere, bunker-like quality, and every piece of furniture—if it could be called that—was made of concrete or metal. Anything remotely flammable was locked away in fireproof containers. It wasn’t ideal, but it was safe, and for Draven, safety had become synonymous with solitude.
He entered the makeshift kitchen and set the offending plastic bag on the counter. The fact that paper bags had fallen out of fashion annoyed him more than it should have. After all, they were biodegradable. Grumbling to himself, he unpacked the meager assortment of items he had managed to procure.
For once, the warehouse was silent, devoid of unwelcome visitors. His self-proclaimed ‘fan’ hadn’t shown up yet, which spared him the task of scrubbing scorch marks off the floors after futile attempts to burn the creature into oblivion. He leaned against the counter, his mind drifting.
Why Glutton—that thing—kept coming here was beyond comprehension. The demon, as he liked to call it, was the only one who still dared to call him by his old name: Blaze. A name Draven had long since buried, along with the bright-eyed fool who thought the world was worth saving.
Blaze was dead. Nova City had killed him. He had been remade in the ashes of their betrayal—he was Hellfire now. A villain, yes, but at least an honest one.
Still, Glutton clung to the name as if it had meaning, as if the hero it belonged to could somehow be coaxed back to life. “Blaze,” the creature would rasp with that maddening grin. Draven’s fists clenched at the memory. He’d tried to burn it out of Glutton, but the demon was as stubborn as it was grotesque.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to calm down. The flames flickering at his fingertips faded.
[The Following Morning]
The sun hadn’t risen yet, but Draven was already awake. Sleep came in short, unsatisfying bursts these days. Concrete beds weren’t exactly designed for comfort, even when covered with the best flame-retardant sheets he could find. Not that it mattered. The lingering heat from his Hellfire often left the bedding smelling faintly of smoke by morning.
Swinging his legs over the edge of the slab, his feet met the cold, unforgiving surface of the concrete floor. He winced slightly, slipping on a pair of well-worn, fireproof slippers that made faint scuffing sounds as he shuffled into the kitchen.
With the remote in one hand, he flicked on the television, letting the familiar hum of morning news fill the air. It wasn’t so much entertainment as it was white noise to drown out the echoing silence of the warehouse. The anchor’s monotone voice prattled on about weather forecasts and mundane local events, but Draven hardly paid attention.
His focus was on the battered coffee maker sitting on the counter—a relic from a better time. He filled it with water and a scoop of cheap, pre-ground coffee, its bitter smell wafting through the kitchen as it brewed. Grabbing a chipped ceramic mug, he waited, leaning against the counter as the machine sputtered to life.
The screen behind him flashed brighter as the segment transitioned, catching his eye. He turned back, watching absently as the headline scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
“Bank robbery in progress at Nova First National Bank,” the anchor announced, her voice carrying a note of urgency.
Draven’s brow furrowed, his interest piqued. He grabbed his mug, the coffee still steaming, and took a careful sip as the report continued. The camera cut to a chaotic scene outside the bank—shattered glass, panicked civilians, and the familiar glint of hero armor.
Still shirtless, he crossed the room, leaning closer to the television. The announcer began listing the heroes who had arrived on the scene, her voice now bordering on excited. Then, a name that made him freeze:
”Glutton.”
Draven’s breath hitched slightly, the mug hovering mid-air. He set it down with a faint clink, his jaw tightening as the screen displayed the figure of the demon among the would-be heroes.
“What the hell are you doing?” he muttered, his voice laced with irritation.
He turned from the television and walked briskly back to the bedroom, the concrete floor cool under his feet. Tossing on a black shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he caught a glimpse of himself in the cracked mirror propped against the wall. A shadow of who he’d been stared back—gaunt, unshaven, and tired.
Fully dressed, he returned to the kitchen, pouring another splash of coffee into his mug. Glutton’s name repeated in his head, each echo tugging at a mix of curiosity and annoyance.
The thought of the demon meeting its end in a mundane robbery was, at first, satisfying. But the longer the idea lingered, the more it rankled. Draven chuckled dryly, shaking his head as he leaned against the counter to watch the broadcast unfold.
”I’ve tried to kill you myself, you bastard,” he mused aloud, taking another sip. ”If I couldn’t, I doubt a couple of crooks will manage it.”
He set the mug down, his lips twitching into a wry smile. Still, a flicker of unease remained. Whatever game Glutton was playing, it was bound to be as maddening as it was dangerous.
“Do not disappoint me, Demon.” Draven muttered, his voice low and cold.
As the camera panned to the ongoing chaos, he settled into the chair nearest the television, coffee in hand, wondering just how far the morning would spiral.
Nickname/Titles: Most simply see him as ‘Old Man,’ whereas his friends call him Astlo, or some other variation to shorten his rather elaborate name. Although he bears the titles Eminent Archmage Supreme, Grand Wizard of the Mystic Realms, Supreme Custodian of the Arcane Lore, and Elder Sage of the Celestial Conclave, he thinks little of them. In jest, those who know him well might even dub him "Mentor" or "Professor" due to his natural tendency to guide newcomers. He does, however, enjoy how his official titles make people squirm when they hear them.
Rank / Profession:
Astlo earned the title of Eminent Archmage Supreme after averting a catastrophic magical disaster. His unparalleled expertise in the arcane arts allowed him to neutralize a rogue spell that threatened to engulf the kingdom in hellfire. This extraordinary feat showcased his profound knowledge and skill, solidifying his reputation as a foremost authority in magic.
The title of Grand Wizard of the Mystic Realms was bestowed upon Astlo following his groundbreaking discoveries in ancient magics and otherworldly realms. His extensive research and daring explorations significantly advanced the kingdom's understanding of interdimensional magic, earning him this prestigious recognition.
Astlo became the Supreme Custodian of the Arcane Lore due to his tireless efforts in preserving ancient magical knowledge. He dedicated countless hours to safeguarding invaluable wisdom, ensuring that the kingdom's mystical heritage was meticulously documented and protected. His dedication to this cause earned him immense respect and this distinguished title.
Astlo's leadership and profound understanding of celestial phenomena led to his appointment as an Elder Sage of the Celestial Conclave. Along with several like-minded peers, he formed the Celestial Conclave to explore celestial events and offer guidance on mystical matters. His contributions and insights were instrumental in the Conclave's success, earning him this revered title.
Astlo's natural propensity to guide newcomers and his dedication to teaching earned him the titles of Mentor and Professor. His mentorship has left a lasting impact on countless students, many of whom view him as a father figure or a wise grandfather. His unassuming grace and profound wisdom make him an irreplaceable mentor and teacher.
Age: Age holds little significance to Astlo, yet by conventional standards, he would be considered “87.”
Gender: Male.
Appearance:
Astlo stands at 5'10", a stature that exudes quiet confidence. His crystal blue eyes, often described as piercing and serene, seem to hold the wisdom of countless lifetimes. His stark white hair flows like a cascade of snow, complementing his dignified presence.
Astlo's physique is deceptively frail, belying the power he wields. His attire is a blend of traditional robes and practical garments, designed for both comfort and functionality. He often wears deep, rich colors such as midnight blue and emerald green, adorned with intricate arcane symbols and patterns that subtly shift and shimmer.
His face is marked with the lines of age and experience, yet there is a gentle kindness in his expression. A long, flowing beard, equally as white as his hair, completes his venerable appearance. Despite his seemingly fragile form, those who look closely can sense the quiet strength and depth of experience he possesses.
Astlo's hands are often caught holding a book, a tool that is as much a part of him as his own limbs. This book, bound in ancient leather and filled with his own scribbling and notes, serves as both a focus for his studies and a symbol of his status.
Personality:
Astlo has witnessed the passage of time in all its intricacies, leading him to grow indifferent to the mundane aspects of daily life. However, this detachment does not equate to impatience; on the contrary, he finds profound joy in life's prolonged, quiet moments, paying attention to details that others often overlook. Though he would never openly admit it, Astlo possesses an innate propensity to become a guiding figure for newcomers. It's not a mantle he seeks, but one that seems to find him. Whenever fresh faces enter the arcane community, they are inexplicably drawn to Astlo, sensing a wellspring of knowledge and a comforting presence. With an unassuming grace, he takes these fledglings under his wing, providing wisdom and support as naturally as breathing. Astlo’s mentorship is marked by patience and a deep understanding of individual potential. He sees not just the raw abilities but the hidden talents within each person, nurturing these strengths with gentle encouragement and insightful guidance. He may appear frail and unthreatening to the untrained eye, but those who know him recognize the quiet power and depth of experience he holds. In essence, Astlo is a pillar within the arcane community, a figure who embodies the bridge between ancient wisdom and new beginnings. His presence offers a sanctuary for those who seek knowledge and understanding, making him an irreplaceable mentor and guardian of the mystical arts.
Background:
Astlo's origins remain an enigma, even to himself. His parents moved to the capital when he was just an infant, perhaps seeking a better life for their son. They never spoke of their past, always insisting it was "best left in the past." Despite this, Astlo's parents were well off and afforded him the finest education available. From a young age, it was clear that Astlo possessed an extraordinary affinity for the arcane, leading to his early admission into the esteemed Wizarding Academy.
At the Academy, Astlo's abilities flourished. He was a prodigy, effortlessly learning spells and arcane theories. His natural talent and dedication to the scholarly pursuit of Wizard magic shaped him into a formidable wizard. His insatiable thirst for knowledge drove him to explore the deepest recesses of magical lore, seeking wisdom beyond the confines of the Academy.
Though Astlo was among the rare few capable of bearing a rune, he chose to forgo this honor. Instead, he believed that his true strength lay in mastering the arcane arts. This unconventional choice earned him immense respect within the magical community, underscoring his commitment to knowledge and understanding over power. He often thinks on whether he made the right choice, choosing scholarly pursuits over what could be seen as divine providence.
Throughout the years, Astlo became a cornerstone of the kingdom’s intellectual and mystical realms. His presence provided a sanctuary for those seeking guidance and wisdom. Although he never sought the role, he naturally became a guardian and mentor for newcomers, drawn to him by his comforting aura and profound insights. With unassuming grace, he took these fledglings under his wing, nurturing their potential with gentle encouragement and patient guidance.
In his twilight years, Astlo remains a guardian of ancient knowledge, ensuring that the mystical arts continue to flourish and guiding new generations as they embark on their own magical journeys. His legacy is one of wisdom, patience, and an unwavering dedication to the pursuit of knowledge.
Rune Affinity (if applicable):
Had Astlo chosen to accept his rune, he would have been granted the Rune of Temporal Perception. This rune alters Astlo's perception of time, allowing him to experience the flow of time at different rates. Key abilities include:
Temporal Slowdown: Astlo can slow down his perception of time, enabling him to think, analyze, and process complex matters that would normally require a lengthy amount of time in mere moments. This heightened temporal awareness grants him unparalleled strategic and analytical abilities.
Temporal Acceleration: Astlo can also speed up his perception of time, allowing him to pass time more quickly during periods of waiting or inactivity. This ability helps him endure long journeys or tedious tasks without becoming impatient.
Temporal Echoes: Astlo can leave behind temporal echoes of himself, creating afterimages that confuse enemies and provide him with a tactical advantage. These echoes can also serve as decoys or distractions during combat.
Temporal Memory: Astlo can recall events and details with perfect clarity by revisiting his past experiences in slowed-down time. This ability enhances his memory and provides him with detailed recollections of important information.
Temporal Anchor: Astlo can 'save' his current state and return to it when he wills. This ability allows him to create a temporal anchor point, effectively saving a moment in time. While his physical and mental state do not revert, he can instantly teleport back to his saved location.
This powerful rune would significantly enhance Astlo's abilities, making him a master of forethought, planning, and strategic execution.
Skills & Abilities: Combat Prowess:
Combat Spells: Astlo's extensive knowledge of magic allows him to wield a wide array of combat spells with precision and versatility. He can seamlessly transition between offensive and defensive techniques as the situation demands. His spells can range from powerful blasts of energy to intricate barriers, providing both devastating attacks and robust defenses.
Adaptive Tactics: In combat, Astlo's approach is highly adaptable. He can quickly assess the situation and modify his strategy to counteract his opponents' strengths and exploit their weaknesses. His extensive magical repertoire allows him to craft and deploy spells on the fly, tailoring his approach to the specific challenges he faces.
Supportive Spells: Astlo can use his magic to support his allies in battle, enhancing their abilities, healing their wounds, and providing critical protection. His supportive spells ensure that his companions can fight at their best, making him an invaluable asset to any team.
Resourcefulness: Astlo's resourcefulness in combat is unmatched. He can use his environment to his advantage, turning seemingly mundane objects into powerful tools or weapons. His creative use of magic allows him to outmaneuver and outthink his opponents, making him a formidable opponent in any confrontation.
Leadership Qualities:
Strategic Thinking: Astlo’s vast experience and knowledge make him a brilliant strategist, capable of quickly assessing situations and devising effective plans in both combat and complex magical projects.
Inspirational Presence: His wisdom and calm demeanor inspire confidence in those around him. Astlo’s ability to remain composed under pressure reassures his allies, making him a natural leader in times of crisis.
Mentorship: Astlo’s role as a mentor extends beyond teaching; he nurtures the growth of those under his guidance, fostering a sense of loyalty and respect. His mentorship has cultivated many successful magisters and scholars.
Magical Talents:
Alchemy: Adept
Astlo's proficiency in Alchemy allows him to create potions and elixirs with various beneficial effects, such as healing, enhancing abilities, and neutralizing toxins.
Alteration: Master
Astlo's mastery of Alteration magic enables him to manipulate the physical world, altering the properties of objects and enhancing physical attributes with ease.
Conjuration: Expert
Astlo excels in Conjuration magic, summoning creatures and objects from other planes of existence, providing powerful allies and useful constructs.
Destruction: Expert
Astlo's expertise in Destruction magic allows him to harness and unleash elemental forces, dealing significant damage with fire, ice, lightning, and other destructive energies.
Enchantment: Master
Astlo's mastery of Enchantment magic allows him to imbue objects and individuals with magical properties, enhancing their abilities and creating enchanted items with special powers.
Illusion: Master
Astlo is a master of Illusion magic, manipulating perceptions to create convincing falsehoods, deceive the senses, cloak his presence, and control minds.
Additional Details:
Quiet Study: Astlo finds solace in the tranquil environment of his study, surrounded by ancient tomes and manuscripts. The quiet moments spent delving into the depths of arcane knowledge are among his most cherished.
Storytelling: Astlo has a talent for storytelling, often regaling young magisters with tales of ancient times and magical adventures.
Teaching Young Wizards: Astlo takes great pleasure in nurturing the next generation of wizards. He enjoys imparting his vast knowledge and watching his students grow and develop their skills.
Fondness for Sweets: Despite his advanced age, Astlo has a sweet tooth and enjoys indulging in candies and pastries.
Recklessness: Astlo has little patience for those who act without thinking, especially when it comes to magic. He believes that careful consideration and wisdom should always guide one’s actions.
Disrespect for Knowledge: He holds knowledge in the highest regard and despises those who dismiss or misuse it. Ignorance and willful disregard for wisdom are among his greatest pet peeves.
Unnecessary Conflict: Astlo values harmony and prefers peaceful resolutions. He dislikes conflict and strife, especially when it can be avoided through understanding and dialogue.
Safe Discovery and Training of the Royal Rune’s Heir: One of Astlo’s foremost goals is to ensure the safe discovery and proper training of the heir to the Royal Rune. He is committed to guiding and protecting this individual, preparing them for the responsibilities that lie ahead.
Leaving a Legacy of Wisdom and Magic: Astlo is dedicated to leaving behind a legacy that will inspire and guide future generations. He hopes that his contributions to the arcane arts and his teachings will continue to influence and shape the magical community long after he is gone.
Forgets Mundane Details: While his mind is sharp when it comes to magic, Astlo occasionally forgets mundane details, such as where he left his glasses or what day it is.
Talking to Himself: Astlo has a habit of muttering to himself while deep in thought, often puzzling out complex magical theories aloud.
Griff couldn't suppress a stifled chuckle at the vehement objections to the term 'perv dungeon,' though he found it impossible to decide which scenario he would actually prefer to be caught up in. On one hand, embarking on a daring rescue mission seemed undeniably heroic, a chance to prove himself. The thought of sailing on a naval vessel, feeling the salty air whip through his hair, hearing the powerful hum of the ship's engines beneath him, and being part of a coordinated naval effort was something he had never experienced—not to mention the thrill of combat. He visualized the adrenaline rush, the tactical maneuvers against adversaries amidst the vast ocean, and the sophisticated weaponry at his fingertips.
Yet, hesitation gnawed at him. Despite the earlier reaction of his bracers that hinted at some hidden potential, he often felt woefully inadequate compared to his companions. They exuded an air of competence and confidence, their resolute gazes and seasoned hands likely honed through extensive experience. Griff, on the other hand, felt like an imposter, an outsider with little to no practical value. A week into his tenure with the task force, he remained acutely aware of his inexperience and the pressure to quickly adapt.
His eyes darted around the room, wary of drawing unwanted attention and getting reprimanded for speaking out of turn. He glanced at the stern faces of his superiors, their eyes steely with determination, and the casual confidence of his peers as they discussed their strategies with ease. When he was sure it was safe, he turned back to the instigator of the covert conversation. "Honestly, I’m not sure where I fit into all of this. I suppose I’ll just let them decide where I’m best suited. I can’t exactly pinpoint where my... talents would be most useful," he admitted, the word 'talents' leaving a sour taste in his mouth like bitter medicine.
He shuddered, reflecting on his supposed gifts with an air of self-deprecation. Being a Noble Arms user was supposed to be a great honor, a mark of distinction, but Griff had only ever felt an overwhelming sense of shame and embarrassment. The weight of his soul-forged weapon felt burdensome, a constant reminder of his untested abilities. What possible contribution could he make in either scenario? It was as if he was destined to be forever in the background, a mere footnote in the grand tales of heroics and valor.
The room buzzed with anticipation and fervor, but Griff’s mind drifted into darker corners of self-doubt. The pressure to live up to the expectations of his Noble Arms loomed over him like a storm cloud. With each passing day, the gulf between what was expected of him and what he believed he could deliver seemed to widen, leaving him adrift in a sea of impostor syndrome.
Finally, he redirected the question back to his companion, realizing he had perhaps lingered on his own insecurities for too long. "What about you?" he asked, hoping to shift the focus away from his undesired self-reflection. The urge to hear someone else’s story, to see if they too grappled with such heavy burdens and doubts, was almost a desperate need. Within him, a faint glimmer of hope flickered—perhaps, through shared experiences, he might find solace or even a spark of courage to ignite his own path.
Hadn't updated this in a WHILE so I deleted it. I'm Ducksworth, or Duck, or Duckie. PM if you wanna know more, yeah?
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Hadn't updated this in a WHILE so I deleted it. I'm Ducksworth, or Duck, or Duckie. PM if you wanna know more, yeah?</div>
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