Wasn't the Black Knight "None shall pass," though?
1
like
2 yrs ago
You ever realize that you haven't changed your status in months, go back to change it, and then wonder what the *fuck* your previous status was even talking about?
12
likes
2 yrs ago
No, no, they clearly are referring to Ohio -- which Georgia is geographically south of, so the theory is still sound.
I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at entirely excessive length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.
Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!
...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!
Alto was hardly an expert on the subject, but he was pretty sure missions usually took longer to derail than two steps out the hangar door. He hadn't even been able to get Corvo to run a battlefield scan before the ground had started shaking as the large city on the horizon started getting pounded into dust from orbit. The higher-ups had played it cool, almost immediately announcing a change of orders as the entire squad rerouted away from its planned deployment running cleanup... and straight towards the front lines. A diversionary tactic -- still just a supporting act for some unseen primary offensive. Hardly anything more to worry about than their original goals, he was assured -- but the unease that slipped into the stale air of even his own sealed cockpit suggested otherwise. The ones who should have known best -- those veterans of a thousand-thousand battles -- were uncertain of something. That, alone, painted a far more accurate picture of what was to come than any number of calming words.
Yet closer still was a certain intoxicating thrill -- an eager excitement that belied the shyness he had expected from her introduction. He glanced over to the Corvo's shoulder to see the tall redheaded woman perched there, waving her arms and one of her blades almost casually. He was halfway through awkwardly returning the gesture when he realized she couldn't see him anyway -- though the intensity with which her stare focused on him through the Corvo's optics almost made him think otherwise. She might have been a fellow rookie, but it seemed like she was anything but nervous, despite the last-minute switch up.
Of course, Alto wasn't nervous, either. He had never once been nervous. He wasn't just some greenhorn, after all, nor was this just any old machine. He was an elite of Kabral, clad in the finest steel forged by its greatest minds. If they wanted him to take a walk, he'd stomp anything that got in his way. And if they wanted him to fight...
He checked his ammo counts again. One canister in the chamber, five more in the loading rack. More than enough to kill anything that moved, but not if he wasted it. This wasn't some sim where he could just try again if his gun ran dry.
Low output, then. High speed, wide dispersal. He didn't need to level a city block just to kill a few pawns. Missiles first to thin their numbers, then one good sweep to pick off the rest. And if any got through, he could still fall back on his blade. Just like the simulations. A few small fry probably wouldn't even be able to break through the A-EM Field without getting up close and personal anyway.
And yet, that sense of unease in the air only grew as they arrived at their assigned position, and the dust cloud on the horizon started getting closer. Every step his unit took had felt strangely... light. He'd expected gravity on such a big planet to weight him down far more than it actually did... even if its core was probably mostly hollow by now. Just how much had the Aberrant fed to push this world to such a deplorable state? And just how many new troops had they birthed to launch the very attack that his unit was now preparing to receive?
His squad, and only his squad. He'd noticed it as they passed through a forward outpost on their way here -- the way the soldiers he passed by stared up at them, the way their eyes felt set to gouge holes in his unit and its passenger. Again, he thought back to how she'd made her introduction back on the transport, and to the lingering, acrid scent of disgust he could still sense wafting their way from the elite Constellations at the front of the pack. Hell, even without his Anomaly, he probably could have realized it by now. But with it, he'd already long since been able to recognize the familiar weight of their disdain. They were important people -- people with much better things to do than entertain some disappointments who couldn't meet their lofty standards.
It was a pretty low thing to think of one's own supposed allies, but Alto was more or less certain now. If he or his new partner screwed up, there probably wasn't anyone who'd bother trying to help them out. Maybe the old man might at least make a token effort, but even that was a long shot -- his mind was like a frozen lake. It'd be easier to get mercy from an Aberrant than to rouse his sympathy.
No. He wasn't nervous. And he wasn't going to need help, either. Not from that man. Not from anyone. If anything, they'd be the ones thanking him, when all this was said and done.
It was just that the sky ahead was suddenly terribly dark.
It was just that the air he tasted was suddenly terribly cold.
It was just that he had realized that something else was tasting the same air as him, hearing the same way, but thinking different thoughts.
it was silent. IT was deafening.
it was empty. Yet IT filled all emptiness with ITself.
it was reason, cold and pitiless.
And IT was passion, burning and all-consuming.
Was it hunger, or was IT hate? Was IT rage, or was it joy? Was it one taste, one voice -- or was IT many?
There was no simulation in any galaxy that could have prepared him for the enormity of that which he felt staring back at him -- staring through him, upon that horizon. Yet before his resolve could crumble beneath that hideous strength, another sound rejoined the discord, and with it came clarity.
It was the shrill ping of countless radar contacts, and a dozen target locks.
Far too many to be counted. Far too few to be seen. Far too heavy to be endured. Far too fleeting to be known.
No, no. it could never be known. IT could never be understood.
But iT could be destroyed.
Alto's hands clenched around the controls, and his thumb jammed down upon the launch trigger. Upon the Corvo's back, its missile pods unfolded, sending a shower of a dozen missiles scattering into the air, arcing upward, then plunging down into a broad arc of crimson flames. A moment later, a low electric hiss turned to a shrill whine as he dragged his crosshair all along that arc and held down the trigger. Infinity's gaze narrowed upon him, and he answered its provocations in booming thunder and defiant light. The bass thunderclap of the magnetic accelerators joined the thrumming shrill aria of the combusting air and exploding plasma in destructive euphony.
"Eight-Ball, paving the way! How's that for a red carpet?"
It was only for a moment, but a moment was surely all that those elites would need. Amidst the shimmering heat haze and the red-hot rubble, a path had been gouged straight down the middle of the enemy's front line -- a path into which Rigel and Antares vanished a moment later, leaving the rest of the squad to hold their ground, conserve their ammo... and stem the red tide which rapidly closed ranks to fill the gap he had momentarily created.
"I hope you all brought earplugs," Alto said quietly, his gritted teeth slowly remembering the shape of their customary grin. "Because the show's only just begun!"
He laughed -- and somewhere in the back of his ears, someone was laughing with him. Laughing with a mad joy that should have set his soul on edge. And yet, the euphoria beside him proved more familiar than the chaos ahead of him. He could feel it swirling around him, dancing with the adrenaline boiling up in his own veins.
Right. He wasn't nervous. He had never been nervous!
He was just excited!
Another wave. Another shot, thumbing the trigger and sending pulses of searing violet across the tide of red. Carapaces melted, limbs fractured and crumbled, bodies squirmed and writhed, trying to drag themselves clear of the VESPER's scorching rays, only to fall before the firing line. The first canister still had 47% of its fuel left -- another two, maybe three shots if he used it carefully. With five more to go, how many would he fell before the Constellations finished their own bloody work and put this horde to rout?
Yet just as he was beginning to grow complacent, from the glassed wreck of the front lines, a hateful visage burst forth, diving into the defenders' ranks with reckless abandon. Alto scarcely had time to line up his shot before it was already too close to fire, forcing him to pull it again for fear of incinerating his own comrades.
"Warning: Target identified as Bishop-class, designation 'Spearman.' Corvo's voice chimed in, accompanied by the acrid taste of fear from those on the ground in front of the beast -- reminding him of a fact he'd almost forgotten in the heat of the moment.
His weapons would have no effect on that thing. But if he did nothing, then the troops on the ground were about to get slaughtered! Unless --!
A metallic scraping, like nails on a chalkboard, echoed within his unit's hull, and a moment later, a blur of red tore across his vision. He scarcely even registered the word his otherwise nonverbal partner had said before her intentions had already made themselves apparent.
He couldn't hurt that thing... but she could. And the horde behind it, which might otherwise have hurt her...
That was a different story.
"Roger! I'll cover for you, Aissi!"
Jamming the throttle forward and yanking the joystick to the left, he felt himself suddenly become lighter as the Corvo's finned wing binders shifted, and the Craft system sparked to life. Repelled by a flickering canopy of azure light, gravity and air gave way, and the grey colossus lurched forward, skating sharply across the ground to circle out away from the enemy that had breached their lines, driving himself outward along the farthest edge of the left flank.
It was a position that, in just a few moments, would be completely cut off from the rest of the squadron, if the Spearman wasn't dealt with soon. But it was also a position where he could fire his shots right down the full length of the enemy's advancing front line!
Just a few seconds. One more shot would decimate the ranks of those trying to follow after the Bishop, then he'd have to fall back to the safety of the trenches. But if it gave that experimental girl the opening she needed to shore up their ranks and keep the line from falling... His Corvo could handle that much, right?
He sighted his shot. He thumbed the switch. The output raised, the aperture narrowed. The accelerators whined as their coils burned brighter -- as every last ounce of gas left in the canister catalyzed into a raging storm.
If anyone was particularly impressed by his assertive introduction, Alto didn't get the chance to taste it before the prevailing mood in the room switched to one of savory respect for the old veteran in charge of the operation, followed by a sweet-and-sour confusion towards the lady who came after him. It wasn't like Alto was unfamiliar with the almost cultish devotion with which old blueblood families cherished their histories, but even by the standards of those he'd had the misfortune to meet during his own high-class upbringing, that lady had way too many names.
There were a few more after that -- some Constellations he'd never heard of, as well as a fellow rookie pilot who seemed even more nervous than the giant girl had been under the gaze of their superiors. He resisted the urge to send her a little sympathy as well, but at least gave her a bright grin as she sat back down.
"Don't let 'em get to you," He said quietly. "That lot doesn't pay attention to anyone who's not a member of their shiny sword club anyhow."
Not sympathy, but on second thought, he allowed himself to share a bit of assurance. She had nothing to worry about, after all -- he'd be watching her back.
Either way, none of the others on the ship made quite as memorable a first impression as the first Constellation had. His curiosity flickered back to how she had introduced herself, and the implications thereof -- but since he didn't like any of the answers he came up with to sate that curiosity, he once again pushed it back for the time being.
There wasn't time for such speculation, anyway. He could feel the rumbling of the floor beneath him as the thrusters intensified, slowing their until-then rapid descent. The growing tension in the air confirmed his suspicions as the veterans among their ranks all felt it too, and set about their preparations.
Well, they didn't need to tell him twice. The moment he got the go-ahead, he hopped up from his seat and rushed to the back of the ship, scampering right up the boarding ladder before his Corvo's cockpit had even finished opening. Tossing himself through the half-open canopy, he tugged it shut behind him and tossed himself down into the pilot's chair, as all around him, projected screens began to flicker to life over the blank metal of the cockpit, as the machine around him seemed to fade and give way to the hangar outside, leaving him suspended at the center of the panoramic display as screens and readouts began to pop into being all around him.
If Alto had his way, he'd have already spent the entire ride in here instead of out in the bay socializing with his supposed betters -- these Connies had no respect for just how long it took to do a full pre-flight check, and do it properly.
...Granted, he'd already done it once before they even loaded his unit onto the transport. And so had the good Doctor before that. But what if they'd missed something? This was his first real action -- if something malfunctioned now it could be a permanent stain on his career!
Wracking his brains, he followed the steps as quickly as he could remember them. Fuel check. Green. Battery check. Green. Power on. Secondary systems check -- all green. Weapons check -- fully loaded and fully operational. Finally, the Craft system. First he'd have to toggle it on, test the stabilizers, and then --
A measured mechanical voice cut through the thread of his concentration like a hot knife through butter, and he almost jumped to hear it.
"Statement: Magni-Craft system is already fully charged and operating within expected parameters. Addendum: You have observed this diagnostic file three times already. Further testing is redundant, Operator."
"Ghh -- I knew that, Corvo! He insisted -- though his supposed knowledge didn't stop him from hastily closing the file the moment his Support Interface began to question him on it. "I was just... checking something."
"Suggestion: Would it not be more pertinent to check who our assigned partner is? Reminder: We are under orders to support the Constellations, and to do so without endangering either this unit or the Operator. Conclusion: Operating in tandem with a Constellation is critical to the success of our mission."
Alto groaned. The last thing he wanted was to have his first mission be to play taxi for some glamorous elite -- but then again, he also wasn't particularly keen on being lectured for insubordination... and just going by the numbers, they only had three mechs and twice as many Constellations. Logically speaking, someone was going to have to carry the precious Connies, and unfortunately, between his unit's mobility and its long range, his Corvo was rather well suited to play that role in a pinch.
"...Fine. Open up comms with the squad. I'll... deal with it, I guess." He sighed, then cleared his throat. The viewscreen in front of him flashed as, in the corner of his vision, a readout appeared displaying a list of signals. Anything beyond short range comms was a tall order, but at least like this he'd be able to see who was talking... assuming he could read such a small window in the heat of battle, anyway.
"This is Eight-Ball, reporting in. I don't have any extra seats, but I can offer the best view in the house if any of our VIPs has a taste for fireworks. Any takers?"
The rapidly-approaching landscape displayed on the viewscreen was by now a quite familiar view.
For almost the last month, Alto had been stuck at the back of the fleet, watching the grey overtake the planet below. All that time spent waiting, watching, and wishing they'd just give the damn order already. How many more tests did they need to run before the techheads would be satisfied? He'd already memorized the operational handbook backwards and forwards, and probably could have piloted the gunmetal gray colossus parked across from him in his sleep. He knew its armaments and their usage by heart -- and so, he knew the difference they might have made at stemming the unstoppable tide into which they were only now descending.
And so really, it wasn't that he was scared.
He wasn't.
He was just angry.
He told himself as much again, shifting in his seat for what felt like the dozenth time in as many seconds. His whole body felt electrified, as though every muscle had suddenly gone taut with nervous energy, and the feelings in the air in the cabin surrounding him told him that at least some of the ship's occupants felt the same. Seriously, how long could atmospheric entry even take? Since they were this close, shouldn't he be mounting up and running preliminary checks? What if the enemy attacked while they were still descending? Not that he was scared, mind you -- he just wanted to be ready to take the first shot if they did.
Must have been nice to have other things to worry about.
He shot a glance across the cabin to the Constellations seated in the opposite row of drop seats. Eorman. Solignus. He'd heard those names all too many times before. Big shots. He'd never much liked being in such esteemed company -- even when the esteemed individuals in question didn't clearly hate each other even more than they resented being stuck babysitting a bunch of newbies.
Though, that didn't quite seem to be the source of "Max"'s almost tangible sense of disgust, given the particular attentions he was directing to somebody seated a couple seats over -- though unfortunately, Alto wasn't tall enough to see past the large man seated between them as to who she was or why he was picking on her specifically. Not that it was any of his business, anyway.
Guess regardless of if you were a pilot or a Connie, the newbies always had it rough. His heart went out to whoever the unfortunate newcomer in question was -- quite literally, as almost without thinking he found himself tasting his own sympathy in the air, warm and bittersweet. He hastily checked himself, diverting his thoughts away from the outside world and centering himself once more to make sure his Anomaly didn't go noticed by the vitriolic Antares.
While he had been testing the waters, so to speak, though, he had noticed a certain... preoccupation with the way Antares had phrased his statement. Though he was fairly certain his Corvo was supposed to be the only machine getting field tested today, there had been something accusatory in the words he didn't much like. Maybe the man had it out for him after all? But then why was he so focused on the girl when he said it? Damn, if only he could see better what was going on -- hearing it, or even hearing it, could only do him so much good without actually seeing who they were talking to.
He scooted a few times in his seat, half-hopping to try and peek over the head of the girl sitting next to him -- with little success. Either way, it wasn't as if the mysterious newcomer was the only interesting thing to look at, so eventually, he cut his losses and moved his focus onto the next object of his attention.
He didn't recognize most of the Constellations on the ship at a glance. They were all very special and shiny and important, to be sure -- their names told him as much. Told him they were too important, in fact, to risk associating with. But one in particular, he knew all too well. That famous martyr whose planet bled to death before he himself did... Just what exactly was a man like that doing here, playing overseer to a ship full of grunts, long after he should have retired?
...Well, it wasn't hard to hazard a guess why someone like that would take up the sword again and find his way to Alora, at least. Alto checked himself before his sympathy could express itself again, not wanting to make the same mistake twice, particularly when it would mean drawing the eye of a man whose very presence made the air taste like lead -- heavy and cold. He knew that feeling all too well, and he'd come much too far to subject himself willingly to it again.
So, since two of his superiors had made themselves in one way or another quite undesirable to talk to -- and since both of them now seemed to be conversing with each other anyway -- that just left one more. The bare-chested Eorman was surrounded with a sense of forceful exuberance that reminded Alto of one of the Warrant Officers helping out as an instructor back at the academy. The guy had always been too fond of his own voice, and of forcing other people to raise theirs -- but he'd also let them get away with a lot on inspection days, so Alto couldn't help but remember him fondly.
Well, speaking of raising voices, it looked like it was time for everyone to sound off. The other newbie was first, thankfully, and with how quiet her voice was, he would have expected someone short and nervous -- not that he was projecting, mind you, that's just the first thing that came to mind. But when she did actually rise from her seat, he found his gaze going up... and up... and up.
Long metallic legs, ending in serrated points that seemed to skate across the ground in an all-too-strangely-familiar manner. Then, as if that wasn't enough, massive blades sprouting from her back that were almost as long as she was tall. Really, it was hard to tell where her cybernetics ended and her flesh began -- so much so that he almost didn't even process the way she introduced herself.
Wait, so the equipment that Antares had mentioned wasn't his Corvo, but rather...
Nah. There was no way. Right? Right. Surely he'd misunderstood something somewhere along the line. I mean, how would that even work? Anyway, there wasn't even time to think about it, since it was already his turn to sound off. Rising up from his own seat, clearing his throat, and, in the wake of the gargantuan Constellation who had gone before him, maybe trying to stand just a little taller than usual, he eagerly, if a bit uneasily, announced himself.
"Ehem. Apprentice Pilot and KHI Pilot-Designate, Alto Valenti, callsign 'Eight-Ball.' Just point me at anything you need gone, and my Corvo'll see it dusted!"
B A S I C I N F O [Name]Alto Valenti [Callsign]Eight-Ball [Gender]Male [Age]19 [Rank and Designation]Apprentice Pilot, Designated Test Pilot for K.H.I. [Place of Birth]Kabral III
[Official Statement]"My reason for fighting? Well, I mean, somebody's got to do it. Might as well be me, right? If I can't be the one wielding the sword, then the least I can do is clear the way for those who can. Haha. So yeah, that's...
Will he see this? No, no, of course not. Right. Right. Forget I asked."
C O M B A T A B I L I T Y [Mech Model]FTF-280x Corvo II-V [Type]Limited-Production Multirole Fighter/Artillery [Size]15.2 Meters/Approx. 50 Feet [Unladen Weight]28.3 Metric Tons [Max Weight]42.7 Metric Tons [Core]Epsilon-Class [Armaments]
KHI-44x-VSHPR "VESPER" ||The Corvo II-V's primary armament is the experimental "VESPER" Variable-Speed Heavy Plasma Rifle, purpose-built for the unit in partnership with Kabral Heavy Industries. With a total length of 16 meters, even exceeding the unit's own height, it is a formidable weapon with a yield comparable to a destroyer's main cannon.
As its designation implies, the weapon's primary feature is its flexibility. Top-loaded with a magazine of compressed gas canisters, it then uses its own internal reactor to charge and superheat this exotic fuel into a form of highly volatile plasma, which it then releases in steady streams for as long as the trigger is held down. In this mode, its most common use case is sweeping the beam across one or more targets to deal damage over a wide range.
Additionally, however, it is also capable of condensing this plasma into a singular mass, feeding extra energy directly from the Corvo II-V's reactor to supercharge and then magnetically accelerate one devastating shot into particularly tough enemies. In this configuration, the bolt it fires not only travels to its target near-instantaneously, but becomes capable of melting through the carapaces of even the most hardy Aberrant foe -- then disintegrating them with a massive explosion.
Unfortunately, firing the VESPER for maximum effect also depletes the currently active gas canister completely, requiring immediate reloading. Furthermore, throughout its testing and development, the weapon has suffered from insufficient cooling, often melting its heat sinks and barrel irreparably over the course of a single sortie. Some models even exploded outright, or caused reactor leaks in the unit that carried them. Due to the costs inherent to their production, and their less-than-stellar long-term performance, neither the VESPER, nor the improved Corvo II variant meant to wield it, ever saw mass production -- but a few models did see service in the frontier regions.
FTF-T28-MM "Tri-Talon" Multi-Missile Rack ||One of several modular back-mounted weapons packs designed for the Corvo-series chassis, the Tri-Talon carries a total of eighteen radar-guided missiles per pod, and can fire up to six of them in a single salvo. These missiles are as fast as they are accurate, and can additionally be armed on a delay, allowing them to be guided around potential obstacles before they begin seeking a target, making them supremely useful for chasing entrenched enemies out of cover and striking from unanticipated angles. However, the warheads' actual destructive power is somewhat lacking, meaning their utility is far greater against small, mobile adversaries that would be tricky to hit with the Corvo II's main gun than it is against larger, more heavily armored targets. These pods, additionally, can be purged from the unit once empty, reducing its weight so as to increase its speed.
FTF-S110-BB "Espada" Beam Blade ||The Corvo II's last resort is a one-handed beam sword stored in a charging rack underneath its left wrist. While not in use, its focusing emitter can be used to fire small-but-rapid laser blasts, serving as a sidearm or CIWS should the unit be pressured. Additionally, it can be released seamlessly from the charging rack into the unit's hand with a quick flick of the wrist, allowing the Corvo II to rapidly respond to threats that enter melee range. The beam blade, though small, concentrates an immense amount of energy into its edge, allowing it to cleave straight through even Aberrant armor in just one or two strikes. However, since the Corvo II lacks any other close-range countermeasures, this weapon is more meant to allow it to go down fighting when cornered than anything else, and it is not advised for pilots to seek to employ it regularly.
"Magni-Craft" A-EM Propulsion System ||Another proprietary technology of Kabral Heavy Industries added to the Corvo II-V to test viability for mass-production, the Magni-Craft system was an unintended breakthrough discovered during a failed project attempting to replicate Aberrant barriers. By drawing anomalous material from the unit's Aberrant core and shaping it with electromagnetic currents, a lattice structure can be formed around the unit equipped with the system. This structure, while unable to replicate the power of a true Aberrant barrier, nevertheless exerts a constant, steady repulsive force which can furthermore be focused or amplified by modulating the current flowing through it.
The most obvious use of this technology is to disrupt incoming energy-based attacks, or to slow physical projectiles and reduce their impact force. However, as researchers on the project soon discovered, the A-EM Fields produced by this system are a means not only of defense, but also propulsion. By projecting an A-EM Field beneath the unit, the Magni-Craft system serves to counteract the force of gravity, allowing the unit it is equipped to skate near-weightlessly atop a frictionless force-field instead of the ground itself. And, should the unit need to enter the air, the field can be momentarily expanded to violently repulse the ground, launching the machine airborne before stabilizing once again to slow its descent to a safe and controllable speed.
This system gives the Corvo II-V a great deal of mobility without sacrificing size or armor in exchange. However, it is also heavily fuel intensive, limiting its operational times compared to more conventional machines. This deficiency has been partially compensated for by attaching an external fuel tank containing a reserve of the exotic materials needed to create an A-EM Field, but this, in turn, increases the unit's weight and reduces its speed -- though it can be purged once emptied.
Additionally, the system is dependent on a network of emitters and stabilizers mounted all along the unit's frame, many of which are affixed to modular hardpoints not specifically designed to accommodate or protect them, as more customized fittings could not be procured due to budgetary constraints during the unit's brief production run. Due to this somewhat sloppy "proof of concept" placement, as the unit sustains damage, these stabilizers may fail, resulting in reduced A-EM Field integrity. The more hits the unit takes, the slower and the more fragile it will become, giving it a somewhat deserved reputation for falling apart all at once when things start going wrong.
[Anomaly]Telempathic Communication [Origin]Limit
[Phenomena] The Valenti family is known for its powerful psionic Anomalies, derived from an unstable union between Symtropantos and Eorman branch family members in their distant Ancestry.
Alto, however, only possesses a very weak offshoot of these abilities -- one which grants the user a form of extrasensory perception. This ESP is tuned specifically to the thoughts and feelings of those around the user -- particularly those directed towards Alto himself. Rather than words, general attitudes and sensations are conveyed with a great degree of fidelity, though some of the context pertaining to them can also be imparted if the person in question focuses on a specific memory, thought, or image while he is reading them. The more willing the subject to open up to him, the easier it is to form a psionic bridge connecting their two minds, increasing the accuracy with which he is able to understand their feelings, experiences, and wishes.
This connection can also work both ways, allowing Alto to exert his own psionic pressure on those around him, conveying his emotions, memories, or short thoughts to others who are nearby. Likewise, this ability works more effectively the more willing his target is to receive him.
Aside from giving him a great deal of natural charisma and a knack for pleasing and comforting others, Alto's ability does have a few, albeit limited uses in combat. For example, he can track the general positions of his allies and their general mental states even in the heat of battle, giving him above-average situational awareness. Sensing a comrade's alarm might tip him off to an imminent danger, while their anger or desperation might draw him to provide support where it's needed without even being asked. In particularly tense situations, an enemy's killing intent can give their attacks away just in time for him to evade them, making the difference between life and death.
[Limitation] While Alto's ability is flexible, and comes at little cost to himself, it isn't without its drawbacks. As it exists outside of the five traditional senses, oftentimes attempting to transmit complex concepts will result in information overflow -- synesthesia bleeding into his other senses, losing some of the information entirely. Rather than peering through someone's memories, for example, he's more likely to just get flashes of specific sights, sounds, tastes, smells, or tactile sensations, disconnected from one another and deprived from the overall context.
And, while he can more or less control when his ability activates rather than just having it on all the time, it sometimes fires off without any conscious input from him -- particularly in moments of great stress, powerful emotion, and high tension. This can make it somewhat unreliable when he's under pressure, as he finds it much more difficult to control his Anomaly well enough to search for or focus on one specific thing in such cases -- and can additionally cause his own distress to be inadvertently shared with those around him.
Finally, due to the alien nature of their senses and thought patterns, his ability is extremely ineffective when employed against the Aberrant. Any successes he might have at sensing their presence or their killing intent are usually more dumb luck than the result of any conscious effort on his part -- and, in fact, attempting to actively focus his perceptions upon them can oftentimes result in a great deal of psychic strain, causing headaches, nausea, confusion, and even running the risk of making him pass out. Whatever thoughts might comprise it, the Aberrant mind is a terrible thing to read.
Notable Contacts
[Name] Ricardo Valenti
[Relation to Subject] Father
[Analysis] You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in the galactic frontier regions who hasn't at least once heard the name Ricardo Valenti. One of few Singularity-Class Constellations in the entire UAS, he's renowned not only for his skill with his AB Lance, but also for his purported oracular ability to see even distant possible futures and chart a path to achieving them with his Anomaly -- though how much of this is truth and how much is his own exaggerated legend is a topic of frequent debate.
Regardless of how much of it is true, his tale has been told time and time again. In a time where humanity was suffering defeat after defeat, heroes were in short supply. Certain liberties were taken, perhaps, and certain responsibilities were piled on the shoulders of a tired man who had known only fighting since the days of his youth. He'd fled one home, found another, and then lost everyone who defended it with him.
Yet still he remained.
Ricardo is not necessarily a cold man, but he's not a friendly man either. His eyes are too sharp, his heart too small. His dark humor and sardonic temperament are rather typical for a Kabralan, and his discipline, devotion to his people, and dedication to his duty are likewise as exemplary as one might expect. He's the kind of man who would shed no tears over a comrade's death, but would spill a sea of blood to avenge them -- cool-headed, proud, and resolute.
He is impartial in his treatment of others, dealing as bluntly with his own kin as he does with his subordinates. Not one to show affection or to openly express his feelings on any matter, it's no wonder his more emotionally sensitive son and he never saw eye to eye.
Presently, he's serving as a representative for the Frontier regions on the UAS council, in particular helping to guide and direct the deployment of defensive forces along the Frontier. His performance in this role has been, at worst, unremarkable -- he's successfully minimized losses while largely maintaining the status quo... for now. However, there are many on the council who dislike him for his rather meteoric rise of prominence, and who are all too eager to see him fall. As such, the position occupied both by him and the defensive forces under his command is precarious, and prone to changing should even the slightest mishap befall him...
[Name] Dr. Nicole Renata
[Relation to Subject] Kabral Heavy Industries Liaison, Attache to V-Type Test Pilot Alto Valenti
[Analysis] When the refugees from Calidar first found Kabral III, the colonial cities upon its surface were abandoned, but not uninhabited.
As part of their efforts to draw tourists and immigrants to their new colony, SEM-Corp had commissioned a rather luxurious custom line of clones from the famed RENATUS Combine, hoping to employ them as concierges, aides, escorts, and domestic servants to VIPs in the luxury residences built atop the colony's hanging sky cities. As such, they were designed not only to be beautiful to look at, but also to possess an abnormally high level of mental acuity for a menial servant model. They would, after all, have been expected to serve as living encyclopedias of everything a guest would need to know -- and yet, they were also meant to be perfectly and unquestioningly obedient to those designated as their masters.
But those masters never arrived. And so, these costly mail-order maidens were left locked away in cryogenic slumber, set aside in one of the many lawsuits surrounding the colony's dissolution until countless appeals could be made to decide whose property, precisely, they now were. Needless to say, when the sector was evacuated on account of the emergent Aberrant menace, these insignificant issues were set aside and, eventually, forgotten.
Until the Calidar exodus came and woke them up.
Most of the RENATUS women ended up living lives of no consequence, and most likewise died in short order. Some were all-too-eagerly taken as concubines of the soldiers protecting the planet. Others were tasked with helping to crew and maintain the orbital defense platforms, and perished during the first wave of the Aberrant attack. A few were tasked with assisting in the manufacture of weapons and armaments as part of a joint initiative with military engineers from the exodus fleet, but by and large also are reported to have perished when a Knight-class Aberrant bombed one of the planet's primary weapons factories.
It is a deeply ironic and unpleasant fact to consider, that they possessed the intellect to be fully aware of themselves -- of their sentience, of the rights and dignity afforded to other such sentient beings, and, of course, of the souls they themselves lacked, which separated them from those "others." And yet, in spite of that awareness, they could not escape their programming -- all they could do was show their brightest smiles, meekly nod, and obey the orders they received, though it cost them their lives, their happiness, and their dignity.
Poor, innocent dolls -- the lot of them.
Of course, none of that has anything to do with the eccentric KHI liaison, Dr. Nicole Renata. A rising star among the corporation's ranks, she's gone from working on a factory line to designing product lines of her own, and is even rumored to have had a hand in the invention of several of the company's proprietary technologies. Needless to say, as one of the minds behind the new V-Type Corvo units, she's taking a direct role in analyzing the operational data from their early-stage deployments.
Her behavior is notoriously inscrutable, with her every waking moment fueled almost entirely by caffeine and other minor stimulants. She displays a flagrant disregard for authority and decorum in almost all forms, addressing everyone with equal familiarity and irreverence -- barging into conversations whenever she feels like, and tuning out the world to lose herself in her studies whenever she doesn't. The only thing she takes seriously is her work -- and if she wasn't so damned good at it, doubtless no one would be willing to put up with her many idiosyncrasies.
She gets along just fine with her unit's test pilot, though, treating Alto -- much to his chagrin -- as something of a kindred spirit, or perhaps a younger brother. She's all too willing to humor his high pride, and take pride in his low humor, teaching him newer, even worse puns to inflict upon his comrades during her free time. She still gets mad at him if he misuses her precious prototype, though.
Although her identification papers were tragically lost during the fall of Calidar and her subsequent flight from it, numerous KHI executives have stepped forward and vouched for her identity -- in no small part thanks to her insightful contributions to some of their most cutting edge designs. A resourceful academic and a living lexicon of scientific data, there have certainly been those detractors citing her resemblance to the now-deceased RENATUS clones, and some disproportionate fuss made over some unsightly burns from a broken cigarette lighter that just so happen to cover the patch of skin on her wrist where such a clone's barcode tattoo would be.
But those theories are, of course, ridiculous, and have long since been debunked. They're nothing more than the vitriolic babbling of those jealous of the young prodigy's many landmark achievements in the field of Aberrant studies, and the repurposing of their biology into technologies which can benefit the war effort. After all, even had one of the RENATUS women survived, she never would have been able to lie about her origins, let alone destroy her own identification number. Her programming would surely prevent it. After all, no matter how clever or strong-willed a menial clone might be, they're still subject to their core precepts.
Obey your betters. Go above and beyond what is asked of you, and always give 110% to your job. The company's prosperity is your prosperity. No matter how hard it gets, don't forget to smile.
...Well, at least one of them was good advice.
The serious ones only die tired and unhappy, so might as well at least pretend you're enjoying yourself, right? All the more so when this fleeting, insignificant life is the only time you have...
[Name] Sabine Dassault-Delacroix
[Relation to Subject] Service Acquaintance and Rival
[Analysis] One of the few actively serving pilots Alto would consider himself acquainted with outside of those who went through basic with him and his drill instructors, Sabine happened to be traveling along with a Dassault supply convoy that Alto was briefly attached to as an escort. Nothing in particular came of the mission, with no hostile contacts sighted anywhere along the convoy's route, but over the course of the journey, the two of them became more or less friends... which is to say, Sabine taunted the rookie Alto relentlessly about his lack of real experience, and Alto channeled his frustration from the experience into doing his darnedest to scrap her in practice simulations when he wasn't out on maneuvers. If you asked him, he'd probably say that he won more than he lost, but if you asked her, she'd probably say that his unit's specs were higher and if it weren't for that, his performance wouldn't have been worth writing home about.
Either way, their spirited competition aside, the two did get along decently well, and he'd be the first to admit she's a good pilot. After all, if she wasn't, she wouldn't be worth viewing as a rival -- now would she?
Profile
[Surface-level Impression] The first thing one is likely to notice about Alto Valenti is his exhuberant, sunny demeanor. Seldom seen without a cocky grin on his face, even when he's desperately trying to hide it while called to stand at attention, he's friendly, excitable, and, while occasionally awkward, generally a rather personable individual... provided you don't mind the occasional groanworthy pun, anyway.
The second thing one is likely to notice, on the other hand, is his reckless ambition. He doesn't exactly try to hide his aspirations of heroism or his at least somewhat justified pride in his skills, sure -- but it's a bit alarming how readily he puts those goals before his own well-being. Perhaps he thinks he's invincible, or perhaps he just doesn't know any better, but either way, while he's not necessarily a hazard to others, the same doesn't really hold true for himself. Constant supervision is advised.
[Personal History] It might seem strange that a young master, raised in luxury, would throw away that life, his pride, and his entire fortune in pursuit of childish dreams. Born the son of a war hero, yet inheriting only a meager fraction of that famous power, Alto was just strong enough to sense the gulf between him and the father he so admired. That disappointment -- no, that *pity* -- was where it all began.
Then, the disgust of his fiance -- a Core-Worlder from a wealthy family he met only once, yet whose disdain might have crushed him at a glance. Was he really to live the rest of his life in the company of a woman who thought him a bumpkin and a useless imbecile, just so that her wealth might pay for the war his father continued to fight even now?
Staring down the barrel of a future in which he would remain just as insignificant as he always had been, Alto blinked. Instead of boarding the shuttle that would have taken him towards that future, he slipped away -- found passage on a different ship, and vanished into the celestial night. He only once looked back as his homeworld slipped away into the darkness of space -- then never looked back again.
It wasn't easy going. He did odd jobs, scrounged and scavenged, even begged just to survive. He questioned himself once or twice, but the pride within him was hurt less by the lowly state to which he had fallen than it was by the thought of returning home in disgrace. And then, at his lowest moment, he met a recruiter who saw that pride for what it was -- saw how to exploit it.
An unspoken agreement was formed. Alto faked his age, and the recruiter turned the other way -- a little lie that would fill his quota just a little sooner. Perhaps the man had been hoping that a boy gifted with an Anomaly would perform well enough to earn him a bonus -- though if he was, these hopes would go unfulfilled.
Alto's performance in training was a mixed bag. He demonstrated a great deal of situational awareness, lightning-quick reflexes, and a tremendous natural knack for piloting -- but also a reckless disregard for protocol, caution, and patience that cost him dearly in mock battles and simulations. Some of these faults were overlooked on account of his talent, others he managed to rein in just well enough to pass muster. But if basic training had taught him humility, it was a lesson swiftly undercut by the offer he received upon first donning the rank of apprentice.
An exclusive offer from Kabral Heavy Industries -- the premier manufacturer of weapons and war machines on his homeworld -- was placed before him, and he signed the waiver without so much as glancing at the fine print. A glamorous, elite position as a test pilot, getting first crack at weapons and tech nobody else had ever used in combat before was bait far too juicy for him to even consider passing up -- without ever even thinking of the risks that might be involved.
Even this status proved insufficient to whet his appetite for adventure, however. Half a year of running basic field tests and mock combat operations in the safety of core space felt hardly any different from the sim-skirmishes back in basic. But when, mid-transit, his unit happened to receive a distress signal from the nearby planet Alora, Alto at long last felt his fortunes changing. As he climbed eagerly into his cockpit, ready to beat the alien menace and save the day, the once-disgraceful young master found new dreams slipping into his mind -- ambitions he had scarcely dared to entertain ever since he had first become aware of his own inadequacy.
He might not have been able to become a Constellation like his father, but he could still become a hero.
Home World
[Planet Description]
Kabral III is a large, barren world around twice the size of Earth, girdled by a thick belt of interstellar detritus and debris, and tidally locked in orbit around a Red Dwarf. Rich in minerals from centuries of constant asteroid impacts upon its surface, it was prospected and claimed shortly after its discovery 162 years ago by the Solari Exoplanet Mining Corporation.
Hoping to jump-start a colonial boom and reap the profits of the planet's lucrative natural resources, a great deal of investments were made and several expansive settlements were established. These ranged from luxurious floating resorts suspended above the day-night line where company managers and employee families could live in comfort to extensive subterranean mining cities on the night-side below. However, far from the influx of eager employees they had hoped for, the Kabral colony saw only a few thousand immigrants in its opening years.
Desperate to earn back their unwise initial investment, SEM-Corp instead turned to cloning and indentured service contracts as a way to populate their failing colonial venture. These attempts, however, ran afoul of a litany of human rights and labor mismanagement lawsuits following leaks revealing the staggering mortality rates among the first batch of disposable workers sent to the colony, leaving many of the planet's underground cities almost entirely unoccupied. "A ghost colony," one contemporary news source called it -- while less favorable outlets called it "a deathtrap." So it was that after numerous settlements, sanctions, and a disastrous government inquest, SEM-Corp was forced to declare bankruptcy and, in the years that followed, began to liquidate their colonial holdings. The Kabral III colony had its funding cut, and those few who still lived there gradually left the planet, seeking their fortunes elsewhere.
Though initially, several other companies expressed interest in purchasing the derelict colony, those efforts were soon abandoned when the Aberrant invaded. Countless frontier worlds fell into ruin, and Kabral III was entirely cut off from humanity for decades, abandoned as a tactically insignificant liability in the face of a vastly superior foe.
Systems were lost. Systems were won. The war waged on, unabated. Lines were drawn to contain the enemy, and subsequently broken through. And, in the disastrous aftermath of one such battle, the tattered remnants of an exodus fleet from the doomed neighboring Calidar colony made a blind jump through an unknown wormhole to escape their pursuers... and found the Kabral system just as it had been, still untouched by the Aberrant scourge.
Its star's light too weak, its planets too sparse and desolate, the horde had not bothered to divert their course to gobble up such a measly and insignificant sector when there were far more bountiful colonies spread out before them, all but defenseless against their wrath. And so it was that the Kabral colony's failure to thrive became its single greatest lucky break, as the fleet now found themselves in possession of an entire planet, fully furnished and developed, as though in preparation for their arrival. And, what was more important, they found that among the many ore veins SEM-corp had found there, there was a certain abundant mineral that they had dismissed as waste, but which was now more valuable than anything else in the galaxy.
The floating pleasure-cities above the equatorial line were converted to defense platforms. Unused worker drones were retrofitted into machines of war. Old foundries were fired once again, and almost a dozen Anti-Barrier swords were produced for use by the Constellations of the Exodus fleet, and those among the refugees who they chose in this time of crisis to study under them.
When the Aberrant finally found them there, they doubtless expected easy prey.
They were wrong.
The swarm's initial scouting force was completely destroyed in orbit over Kabral III. Realizing the extent of the planet's defenses, the Princess leading the attack changed its tactics, embedding itself in the outermost exoplanet of the Kabral system, no doubt attempting to birth a more powerful swarm that could overwhelm the defenders regardless of their entrenchment. However, the creature failed to account for one critical possibility -- that the planet might be defended by a large group of Constellations.
Perhaps it was simple logic, reasoning that with the colony entirely cut off from the rest of humanity, they'd have no logistical means of obtaining such invaluable reinforcements. Or, perhaps, having faced nothing but easy victories for the last several years, the hive mind simply grew complacent. Regardless, once they knew the princess' location, the defenders came up with a bold plan. They broke from their defensive lines and launched an attack on the infested Kabral V, utilizing the main fleet as a distraction while the Constellations snuck into the hive along with an elite strike team, launching a devastating deep strike that succeeded in assassinating the Princess and decapitating her army.
But just when victory seemed assured, a new Aberrant entered the system, responding to the princess' dying screams. After all, it might have been taken by surprise -- but it still had more than enough time to notify its kind of what it had seen.
A dozen AB weapons and their users. Isolated. Undefended. An opportunity to deal a devastating blow to humanity's forces -- losses from which they might never recover.
And so, in the moment of their triumph, the heroes of Kabral were beset by a new enemy, as a Crownsguard descended upon them, and their hopes of an easy and decisive victory were dashed. Made up as they were largely of fresh recruits, and taken almost completely by surprise while they were still exhausted from their battle against the hive, most of the Constellations didn't last more than a few seconds. It was only through the sacrifice of the squad's commander, a seasoned Red Giant, that the Crownsguard's barrier was cracked for a moment -- but, in a break of luck, a moment was all it took.
With the hive's coordination disrupted by the death of their princess, the fleet had been able to regroup and rout the enemy's space forces -- and, in pursuing them, just so happened to be in the perfect position to take the shot when the opportunity arose. Transfixed by an orbital bombardment, the Crownsguard was left crippled and unable to restore its defenses -- and in that moment of weakness, the last survivor of Kabral's valiant defenders struck it down.
Of the noble dozen who ventured forth into battle that day, forever immortalized as the Twelve Knights of Kabral, only one survived -- one who had, perhaps, foreseen that this great sacrifice was the only way victory could be won. But when the dust of battle settled, the impossible had been achieved. The swarm had been broken, its princess slain, and her invincible guardian toppled -- its heart pierced by the spear of of the great Ricardo Valenti.
Kabral III is, in the modern day, known as the bulwark and unofficial capital system of the Frontier regions. With the death of the princess besieging it, the entire swarm collapsed, allowing the neighboring systems to regroup, and drive the Aberrant from their sectors. A new defensive line was established, and, when the news of what had occurred on Kabral came to light, the system was immediately heavily fortified, and operations undertaken to find and extract every last ounce of Anti-Barrier material from the planet's mines.
This alone wouldn't have been enough to turn Kabral into the commercial powerhouse that it is today. However, as news of the miraculous victory of the Twelve Knights spread across the galaxies, it became a rallying cry for patriots everywhere. Support for Kabral became a way of showing one's devotion to the cause of humanity universally, and entrepreneurs rode this wave of good publicity to draw investors to contribute to the development of the "unbreakable fortress" that had so soundly beaten the loathsome invaders.
Propaganda films were made. Monuments were established. Tourist attractions set up. Immigration boomed, and a few very lucky former subsidiaries of SEM-Corp found themselves unexpectedly holding the deed to all of it. These remnants banded together with the brave minds behind the defensive network erected during the first siege and with several other local enterprises merging to form a new industrial giant -- one that would honor the blood spilled to defend Kabral's red soil by harvesting every last scrap of material beneath it, and turning it into weapons fit to slaughter the Aberrants to the last. Thus was born Kabral Heavy Industries, a military-industrial powerhouse whose bold and deadly designs would take the Frontier by storm.
[Culture] The culture of Kabral III is thus, in short, steeped in two things: militarism and patriotism. Hero worship is in the blood of every last man, woman, and child born there, who grow up surrounded by reminders of all that was sacrificed by their forebears to stop the horde in its tracks, and of their own duties to defend humanity from similar threats at any cost. They venerate their Twelve Knights with almost religious fervor, and, ironically for a colony that has spent almost its entire history cut off from the rest of humanity, feel an immense camaraderie with peoples from all other worlds and galaxies. No matter how different the cultures of any visitors to Kabral, a tourist will almost never be shunned, but met with almost fanatical acceptance and curiosity. The Kabralians will bend over backwards to welcome anyone as a brother, honoring them no matter how strange or foreign their customs might be -- just so long as that stranger is willing and able to hold a weapon and tear the bugs limb from limb, they'll fit right in.
[Warrior Family] Tracing their ancestry only distantly back to branches of more distinguished clans, the Valenti family was basically unheard of until Ricardo Valenti's unprecedented rise from complete obscurity to Singularity-class, his creation as Lord of Kabral and Protector of the Frontier, and his appointment in this capacity to the UAS Council. While he is held in high regard as something of a folk hero, among established warrior houses and the blue-blooded oligarchs of the Milky Way, both he and his family are seen as upstarts, undeserving of the high status afforded to him. While he might have a seat on the council, he has yet to earn the dignity and respect afforded a proper master.
B A S I C I N F O [Name]Alto Valenti [Callsign]Eight-Ball [Gender]Male [Age]19 [Rank and Designation]Apprentice Pilot, Designated Test Pilot for K.H.I. [Place of Birth]Kabral III
[Official Statement]"My reason for fighting? Well, I mean, somebody's got to do it. Might as well be me, right? If I can't be the one wielding the sword, then the least I can do is clear the way for those who can. Haha. So yeah, that's...
Will he see this? No, no, of course not. Right. Right. Forget I asked."
C O M B A T A B I L I T Y [Mech Model]FTF-280x Corvo II-V [Type]Limited-Production Multirole Fighter/Artillery [Size]15.2 Meters/Approx. 50 Feet [Unladen Weight]28.3 Metric Tons [Max Weight]42.7 Metric Tons [Core]Epsilon-Class [Armaments]
KHI-44x-VSHPR "VESPER" ||The Corvo II-V's primary armament is the experimental "VESPER" Variable-Speed Heavy Plasma Rifle, purpose-built for the unit in partnership with Kabral Heavy Industries. With a total length of 16 meters, even exceeding the unit's own height, it is a formidable weapon with a yield comparable to a destroyer's main cannon.
As its designation implies, the weapon's primary feature is its flexibility. Top-loaded with a magazine of compressed gas canisters, it then uses its own internal reactor to charge and superheat this exotic fuel into a form of highly volatile plasma, which it then releases in steady streams for as long as the trigger is held down. In this mode, its most common use case is sweeping the beam across one or more targets to deal damage over a wide range.
Additionally, however, it is also capable of condensing this plasma into a singular mass, feeding extra energy directly from the Corvo II-V's reactor to supercharge and then magnetically accelerate one devastating shot into particularly tough enemies. In this configuration, the bolt it fires not only travels to its target near-instantaneously, but becomes capable of melting through the carapaces of even the most hardy Aberrant foe -- then disintegrating them with a massive explosion.
Unfortunately, firing the VESPER for maximum effect also depletes the currently active gas canister completely, requiring immediate reloading. Furthermore, throughout its testing and development, the weapon has suffered from insufficient cooling, often melting its heat sinks and barrel irreparably over the course of a single sortie. Some models even exploded outright, or caused reactor leaks in the unit that carried them. Due to the costs inherent to their production, and their less-than-stellar long-term performance, neither the VESPER, nor the improved Corvo II variant meant to wield it, ever saw mass production -- but a few models did see service in the frontier regions.
FTF-T28-MM "Tri-Talon" Multi-Missile Rack ||One of several modular back-mounted weapons packs designed for the Corvo-series chassis, the Tri-Talon carries a total of nine radar-guided missiles per pod, and can fire up to three of them at a time. These missiles are as fast as they are accurate, and can additionally be armed on a delay, allowing them to be guided around potential obstacles before they begin seeking a target, making them supremely useful for chasing entrenched enemies out of cover and striking from unanticipated angles. However, the warheads' actual destructive power is somewhat lacking, meaning their utility is far greater against small, mobile adversaries that would be tricky to hit with the Corvo II's main gun than it is against larger, more heavily armored targets. These pods, additionally, can be purged from the unit once empty, reducing its weight so as to increase its speed.
FTF-S110-BB "Espada" Beam Blade ||The Corvo II's last resort is a one-handed beam sword stored in a charging rack underneath its left wrist. While not in use, its focusing emitter can be used to fire small-but-rapid laser blasts, serving as a sidearm or CIWS should the unit be pressured. Additionally, it can be released seamlessly from the charging rack into the unit's hand with a quick flick of the wrist, allowing the Corvo II to rapidly respond to threats that enter melee range. The beam blade, though small, concentrates an immense amount of energy into its edge, allowing it to cleave straight through even Aberrant armor in just one or two strikes. However, since the Corvo II lacks any other close-range countermeasures, this weapon is more meant to allow it to go down fighting when cornered than anything else, and it is not advised for pilots to seek to employ it regularly.
"Magni-Craft" A-EM Propulsion System ||Another proprietary technology of Kabral Heavy Industries added to the Corvo II-V to test viability for mass-production, the Magni-Craft system was an unintended breakthrough discovered during a failed project attempting to replicate Aberrant barriers. By drawing anomalous material from the unit's Aberrant core and shaping it with electromagnetic currents, a lattice structure can be formed around the unit equipped with the system. This structure, while unable to replicate the power of a true Aberrant barrier, nevertheless exerts a constant, steady repulsive force which can furthermore be focused or amplified by modulating the current flowing through it.
The most obvious use of this technology is to disrupt incoming energy-based attacks, or to slow physical projectiles and reduce their impact force. However, as researchers on the project soon discovered, the A-EM Fields produced by this system are a means not only of defense, but also propulsion. By projecting an A-EM Field beneath the unit, the Magni-Craft system serves to counteract the force of gravity, allowing the unit it is equipped to skate near-weightlessly atop a frictionless force-field instead of the ground itself. And, should the unit need to enter the air, the field can be momentarily expanded to violently repulse the ground, launching the machine airborne before stabilizing once again to slow its descent to a safe and controllable speed.
This system gives the Corvo II-V a great deal of mobility without sacrificing size or armor in exchange. However, it is also heavily fuel intensive, limiting its operational times compared to more conventional machines. This deficiency has been partially compensated for by attaching an external fuel tank containing a reserve of the exotic materials needed to create an A-EM Field, but this, in turn, increases the unit's weight and reduces its speed -- though it can be purged once emptied.
Additionally, the system is dependent on a network of emitters and stabilizers mounted all along the unit's frame, many of which are affixed to modular hardpoints not specifically designed to accommodate or protect them, as more customized fittings could not be procured due to budgetary constraints during the unit's brief production run. Due to this somewhat sloppy "proof of concept" placement, as the unit sustains damage, these stabilizers may fail, resulting in reduced A-EM Field integrity. The more hits the unit takes, the slower and the more fragile it will become, giving it a somewhat deserved reputation for falling apart all at once when things start going wrong.
[Anomaly]Telempathic Communication [Origin]Limit
[Phenomena] The Valenti family is known for its powerful psionic Anomalies, derived from an unstable union between Symtropantos and Eorman branch family members in their distant Ancestry.
Alto, however, only possesses a very weak offshoot of these abilities -- one which grants the user a form of extrasensory perception. This ESP is tuned specifically to the thoughts and feelings of those around the user -- particularly those directed towards Alto himself. Rather than words, general attitudes and sensations are conveyed with a great degree of fidelity, thought some of the context pertaining to them can also be imparted if the person in question focuses on a specific memory, thought, or image while he is reading them. The more willing the subject to open up to him, the easier it is to form a psionic bridge connecting their two minds, increasing the accuracy with which he is able to understand their feelings, experiences, and wishes.
This connection can also work both ways, allowing Alto to exert his own psionic pressure on those around him, conveying his emotions, memories, or short thoughts to others who are nearby. Likewise, this ability works more effectively the more willing his target is to receive him.
Aside from giving him a great deal of natural charisma and a knack for pleasing and comforting others, Alto's ability does have a few, albeit limited uses in combat. For example, he can track the general positions of his allies and their general mental states even in the heat of battle, giving him above-average situational awareness. Sensing a comrade's alarm might tip him off to an imminent danger, while their anger or desperation might draw him to provide support where it's needed without even being asked. In particularly tense situations, an enemy's killing intent can give their attacks away just in time for him to evade them, making the difference between life and death.
[Limitation] While Alto's ability is flexible, and comes at little cost to himself, it isn't without its drawbacks. As it exists outside of the five traditional senses, oftentimes attempting to transmit complex concepts will result in information overflow -- synesthesia bleeding into his other senses, losing some of the information entirely. Rather than peering through someone's memories, for example, he's more likely to just get flashes of specific sights, sounds, tastes, smells, or tactile sensations, disconnected from one another and deprived from the overall context.
And, while he can more or less control when his ability activates rather than just having it on all the time, it sometimes fires off without any conscious input from him -- particularly in moments of great stress, powerful emotion, and high tension. This can make it somewhat unreliable when he's under pressure, as he finds it much more difficult to control his Anomaly well enough to search for or focus on one specific thing in such cases -- and can additionally cause his own distress to be inadvertently shared with those around him.
Finally, due to the alien nature of their senses and thought patterns, his ability is extremely ineffective when employed against the Aberrant. Any successes he might have at sensing their presence or their killing intent are usually more dumb luck than the result of any conscious effort on his part -- and, in fact, attempting to actively focus his perceptions upon them can oftentimes result in a great deal of psychic strain, causing headaches, nausea, confusion, and even running the risk of making him pass out. Whatever thoughts might comprise it, the Aberrant mind is a terrible thing to read.
Notable Contacts
[Name] Ricardo Valenti
[Relation to Subject] Father
[Analysis] You'd be hard pressed to find anyone in the galactic frontier regions who hasn't at least once heard the name Ricardo Valenti. One of few Singularity-Class Constellations in the entire UAS, he's renowned not only for his skill with his AB Lance, but also for his purported oracular ability to see even distant possible futures and chart a path to achieving them with his Anomaly -- though how much of this is truth and how much is his own exaggerated legend is a topic of frequent debate.
Regardless of how much of it is true, his tale has been told time and time again. In a time where humanity was suffering defeat after defeat, heroes were in short supply. Certain liberties were taken, perhaps, and certain responsibilities were piled on the shoulders of a tired man who had known only fighting since the days of his youth. He'd fled one home, found another, and then lost everyone who defended it with him.
Yet still he remained.
Ricardo is not necessarily a cold man, but he's not a friendly man either. His eyes are too sharp, his heart too small. His dark humor and sardonic temperament are rather typical for a Kabralan, and his discipline, devotion to his people, and dedication to his duty are likewise as exemplary as one might expect. He's the kind of man who would shed no tears over a comrade's death, but would spill a sea of blood to avenge them -- cool-headed, proud, and resolute.
He is impartial in his treatment of others, dealing as bluntly with his own kin as he does with his subordinates. Not one to show affection or to openly express his feelings on any matter, it's no wonder his more emotionally sensitive son and he never saw eye to eye.
Presently, he's serving as a representative for the Frontier regions on the UAS council, in particular helping to guide and direct the deployment of defensive forces along the Frontier. His performance in this role has been, at worst, unremarkable -- he's successfully minimized losses while largely maintaining the status quo... for now. However, there are many on the council who dislike him for his rather meteoric rise of prominence, and who are all too eager to see him fall. As such, the position occupied both by him and the defensive forces under his command is precarious, and prone to changing should even the slightest mishap befall him...
[Name] Dr. Nicole Renata
[Relation to Subject] Kabral Heavy Industries Liaison, Attache to V-Type Test Pilot Alto Valenti
[Analysis] When the refugees from Calidar first found Kabral III, the colonial cities upon its surface were abandoned, but not uninhabited.
As part of their efforts to draw tourists and immigrants to their new colony, SEM Corp had commissioned a rather luxurious custom line of clones from the famed RENATUS Combine, hoping to employ them as concierges, aides, escorts, and domestic servants to VIPs in the luxury residences built atop the colony's hanging sky cities. As such, they were designed not only to be beautiful to look at, but also to possess an abnormally high level of mental acuity for a menial servant model. They would, after all, have been expected to serve as living encyclopedias of everything a guest would need to know -- and yet, they were also meant to be perfectly and unquestioningly obedient to those designated as their masters.
But those masters never arrived. And so, these costly mail-order maidens were left locked away in cryogenic slumber, set aside in one of the many lawsuits surrounding the colony's dissolution until countless appeals could be made to decide whose property, precisely, they now were. Needless to say, when the sector was evacuated on account of the emergent Aberrant menace, these insignificant issues were set aside and, eventually, forgotten.
Until the Calidar exodus came and woke them up.
Most of the RENATUS women ended up living lives of no consequence, and most likewise died in short order. Some were all-too-eagerly taken as concubines of the soldiers protecting the planet. Others were tasked with helping to crew and maintain the orbital defense platforms, and perished during the first wave of the Aberrant attack. A few were tasked with assisting in the manufacture of weapons and armaments as part of a joint initiative with military engineers from the exodus fleet, but by and large also are reported to have perished when a Knight-class Aberrant bombed one of the planet's primary weapons factories.
It is a deeply ironic and unpleasant fact to consider, that they possessed the intellect to be fully aware of themselves -- of their sentience, of the rights and dignity afforded to other such sentient beings, and, of course, of the souls they themselves lacked, which separated them from those "others." And yet, in spite of that awareness, they could not escape their programming -- all they could do was show their brightest smiles, meekly nod, and obey the orders they received, though it cost them their lives, their happiness, and their dignity.
Poor, innocent dolls -- the lot of them.
Of course, none of that has anything to do with the eccentric KHI liaison, Dr. Nicole Renata. A rising star among the corporation's ranks, she's gone from working on a factory line to designing product lines of her own, and is even rumored to have had a hand in the invention of several of the company's proprietary technologies. Needless to say, as one of the minds behind the new V-Type Corvo units, she's taking a direct role in analyzing the operational data from their early-stage deployments.
Her behavior is notoriously inscrutable, with her every waking moment fueled almost entirely by caffeine and other minor stimulants. She displays a flagrant disregard for authority and decorum in almost all forms, addressing everyone with equal familiarity and irreverence -- barging into conversations whenever she feels like, and tuning out the world to lose herself in her studies whenever she doesn't. The only thing she takes seriously is her work -- and if she wasn't so damned good at it, doubtless no one would be willing to put up with her many idiosyncrasies.
She gets along just fine with her unit's test pilot, though, treating Alto -- much to his chagrin -- as something of a kindred spirit, or perhaps a younger brother. She's all too willing to humor his high pride, and take pride in his low humor, teaching him newer, even worse puns to inflict upon his comrades during her free time. She still gets mad at him if he misuses her precious prototype, though.
Although her identification papers were tragically lost during the fall of Calidar and her subsequent flight from it, numerous KHI executives have stepped forward and vouched for her identity -- in no small part thanks to her insightful contributions to some of their most cutting edge designs. A resourceful academic and a living lexicon of scientific data, there have certainly been those detractors citing her resemblance to the now-deceased RENATUS clones, and some disproportionate fuss made over some unsightly burns from a broken cigarette lighter that just so happen to cover the patch of skin on her wrist where such a clone's barcode tattoo would be.
But those theories are, of course, ridiculous, and have long since been debunked. They're nothing more than the vitriolic babbling of those jealous of the young prodigy's many landmark achievements in the field of Aberrant studies, and the repurposing of their biology into technologies which can benefit the war effort. After all, even had one of the RENATUS women survived, she never would have been able to lie about her origins, let alone destroy her own identification number. Her programming would surely prevent it. After all, no matter how clever or strong-willed a menial clone might be, they're still subject to their core precepts.
Obey your betters. Go above and beyond what is asked of you, and always give 110% to your job. The company's prosperity is your prosperity. No matter how hard it gets, don't forget to smile.
...Well, at least one of them was good advice.
The serious ones only die tired and unhappy, so might as well at least pretend you're enjoying yourself, right? All the more so when this fleeting, insignificant life is the only time you have...
Profile
[Surface-level Impression] The first thing one is likely to notice about Alto Valenti is his exhuberant, sunny demeanor. Seldom seen without a cocky grin on his face, even when he's desperately trying to hide it while called to stand at attention, he's friendly, excitable, and, while occasionally awkward, generally a rather personable individual... provided you don't mind the occasional groanworthy pun, anyway.
The second thing one is likely to notice, on the other hand, is his reckless ambition. He doesn't exactly try to hide his aspirations of heroism or his at least somewhat justified pride in his skills, sure -- but it's a bit alarming how readily he puts those goals before his own well-being. Perhaps he thinks he's invincible, or perhaps he just doesn't know any better, but either way, while he's not necessarily a hazard to others, the same doesn't really hold true for himself. Constant supervision is advised.
[Personal History] It might seem strange that a young master, raised in luxury, would throw away that life, his pride, and his entire fortune in pursuit of childish dreams. Born the son of a war hero, yet inheriting only a meager fraction of that famous power, Alto was just strong enough to sense the gulf between him and the father he so admired. That disappointment -- no, that *pity* -- was where it all began.
Then, the disgust of his fiance -- a Core-Worlder from a wealthy family he met only once, yet whose disdain might have crushed him at a glance. Was he really to live the rest of his life in the company of a woman who thought him a bumpkin and a useless imbecile, just so that her wealth might pay for the war his father continued to fight even now?
Staring down the barrel of a future in which he would remain just as insignificant as he always had been, Alto blinked. Instead of boarding the shuttle that would have taken him towards that future, he slipped away -- found passage on a different ship, and vanished into the celestial night. He only once looked back as his homeworld slipped away into the darkness of space -- then never looked back again.
It wasn't easy going. He did odd jobs, scrounged and scavenged, even begged just to survive. He questioned himself once or twice, but the pride within him was hurt less by the lowly state to which he had fallen than it was by the thought of returning home in disgrace. And then, at his lowest moment, he met a recruiter who saw that pride for what it was -- saw how to exploit it.
An unspoken agreement was formed. Alto faked his age, and the recruiter turned the other way -- a little lie that would fill his quota just a little sooner. Perhaps the man had been hoping that a boy gifted with an Anomaly would perform well enough to earn him a bonus -- though if he was, these hopes would go unfulfilled.
Alto's performance in training was a mixed bag. He demonstrated a great deal of situational awareness, lightning-quick reflexes, and a tremendous natural knack for piloting -- but also a reckless disregard for protocol, caution, and patience that cost him dearly in mock battles and simulations. Some of these faults were overlooked on account of his talent, others he managed to rein in just well enough to pass muster. But if basic training had taught him humility, it was a lesson swiftly undercut by the offer he received upon first donning the rank of apprentice.
An exclusive offer from Kabral Heavy Industries -- the premier manufacturer of weapons and war machines on his homeworld -- was placed before him, and he signed the waiver without so much as glancing at the fine print. A glamorous, elite position as a test pilot, getting first crack at weapons and tech nobody else had ever used in combat before was bait far too juicy for him to even consider passing up -- without ever even thinking of the risks that might be involved.
Even this status proved insufficient to whet his appetite for adventure, however. Half a year of running basic field tests and mock combat operations in the safety of core space felt hardly any different from the sim-skirmishes back in basic. But when, mid-transit, his unit happened to receive a distress signal from the nearby planet Alora, Alto at long last felt his fortunes changing. As he climbed eagerly into his cockpit, ready to beat the alien menace and save the day, the once-disgraceful young master found new dreams slipping into his mind -- ambitions he had scarcely dared to entertain ever since he had first become aware of his own inadequacy.
He might not have been able to become a Constellation like his father, but he could still become a hero.
Home World
[Planet Description]
Kabral III is a large, barren world around twice the size of Earth, girdled by a thick belt of interstellar detritus and debris, and tidally locked in orbit around a Red Dwarf. Rich in minerals from centuries of constant asteroid impacts upon its surface, it was prospected and claimed shortly after its discovery 162 years ago by the Solari Exoplanet Mining Corporation.
Hoping to jump-start a colonial boom and reap the profits of the planet's lucrative natural resources, a great deal of investments were made and several expansive settlements were established. These ranged from luxurious floating resorts suspended above the day-night line where company managers and employee families could live in comfort to extensive subterranean mining cities on the night-side below. However, far from the influx of eager employees they had hoped for, the Kabral colony saw only a few thousand immigrants in its opening years.
Desperate to earn back their unwise initial investment, SEM-Corp instead turned to cloning and indentured service contracts as a way to populate their failing colonial venture. These attempts, however, ran afoul of a litany of human rights and labor mismanagement lawsuits following leaks revealing the staggering mortality rates among the first batch of disposable workers sent to the colony, leaving many of the planet's underground cities almost entirely unoccupied. "A ghost colony," one contemporary news source called it -- while less favorable outlets called it "a deathtrap." So it was that after numerous settlements, sanctions, and a disastrous government inquest, SEM-Corp was forced to declare bankruptcy and, in the years that followed, began to liquidate their colonial holdings. The Kabral III colony had its funding cut, and those few who still lived there gradually left the planet, seeking their fortunes elsewhere.
Though initially, several other companies expressed interest in purchasing the derelict colony, those efforts were soon abandoned when the Aberrant invaded. Countless frontier worlds fell into ruin, and Kabral III was entirely cut off from humanity for decades, abandoned as a tactically insignificant liability in the face of a vastly superior foe.
Systems were lost. Systems were won. The war waged on, unabated. Lines were drawn to contain the enemy, and subsequently broken through. And, in the disastrous aftermath of one such battle, the tattered remnants of an exodus fleet from the doomed neighboring Calidar colony made a blind jump through an unknown wormhole to escape their pursuers... and found the Kabral system just as it had been, still untouched by the Aberrant scourge.
Its star's light too weak, its planets too sparse and desolate, the horde had not bothered to divert their course to gobble up such a measly and insignificant sector when there were far more bountiful colonies spread out before them, all but defenseless against their wrath. And so it was that the Kabral colony's failure to thrive became its single greatest lucky break, as the fleet now found themselves in possession of an entire planet, fully furnished and developed, as though in preparation for their arrival. And, what was more important, they found that among the many ore veins SEM-corp had found there, there was a certain abundant mineral that they had dismissed as waste, but which was now more valuable than anything else in the galaxy.
The floating pleasure-cities above the equatorial line were converted to defense platforms. Unused worker drones were retrofitted into machines of war. Old foundries were fired once again, and almost a dozen Anti-Barrier swords were produced for use by the Constellations of the Exodus fleet, and those among the refugees who they chose in this time of crisis to study under them.
When the Aberrant finally found them there, they doubtless expected easy prey.
They were wrong.
The swarm's initial scouting force was completely destroyed in orbit over Kabral III. Realizing the extent of the planet's defenses, the Princess leading the attack changed its tactics, embedding itself in the outermost exoplanet of the Kabral system, no doubt attempting to birth a more powerful swarm that could overwhelm the defenders regardless of their entrenchment. However, the creature failed to account for one critical possibility -- that the planet might be defended by a large group of Constellations.
Perhaps it was simple logic, reasoning that with the colony entirely cut off from the rest of humanity, they'd have no logistical means of obtaining such invaluable reinforcements. Or, perhaps, having faced nothing but easy victories for the last several years, the hive mind simply grew complacent. Regardless, once they knew the princess' location, the defenders came up with a bold plan. They broke from their defensive lines and launched an attack on the infested Kabral V, utilizing the main fleet as a distraction while the Constellations snuck into the hive along with an elite strike team, launching a devastating deep strike that succeeded in assassinating the Princess and decapitating her army.
But just when victory seemed assured, a new Aberrant entered the system, responding to the princess' dying screams. After all, it might have been taken by surprise -- but it still had more than enough time to notify its kind of what it had seen.
A dozen AB weapons and their users. Isolated. Undefended. An opportunity to deal a devastating blow to humanity's forces -- losses from which they might never recover.
And so, in the moment of their triumph, the heroes of Kabral were beset by a new enemy, as a Crownsguard descended upon them, and their hopes of an easy and decisive victory were dashed. Made up as they were largely of fresh recruits, and taken almost completely by surprise while they were still exhausted from their battle against the hive, most of the Constellations didn't last more than a few seconds. It was only through the sacrifice of the squad's commander, a seasoned Red Giant, that the Crownsguard's barrier was cracked for a moment -- but, in a break of luck, a moment was all it took.
With the hive's coordination disrupted by the death of their princess, the fleet had been able to regroup and rout the enemy's space forces -- and, in pursuing them, just so happened to be in the perfect position to take the shot when the opportunity arose. Transfixed by an orbital bombardment, the Crownsguard was left crippled and unable to restore its defenses -- and in that moment of weakness, the last survivor of Kabral's valiant defenders struck it down.
Of the noble dozen who ventured forth into battle that day, forever immortalized as the Twelve Knights of Kabral, only one survived -- one who had, perhaps, foreseen that this great sacrifice was the only way victory could be won. But when the dust of battle settled, the impossible had been achieved. The swarm had been broken, its princess slain, and her invincible guardian toppled -- its heart pierced by the spear of of the great Ricardo Valenti.
Kabral III is, in the modern day, known as the bulwark and unofficial capital system of the Frontier regions. With the death of the princess besieging it, the entire swarm collapsed, allowing the neighboring systems to regroup, and drive the Aberrant from their sectors. A new defensive line was established, and, when the news of what had occurred on Kabral came to light, the system was immediately heavily fortified, and operations undertaken to find and extract every last ounce of Anti-Barrier material from the planet's mines.
This alone wouldn't have been enough to turn Kabral into the commercial powerhouse that it is today. However, as news of the miraculous victory of the Twelve Knights spread across the galaxies, it became a rallying cry for patriots everywhere. Support for Kabral became a way of showing one's devotion to the cause of humanity universally, and entrepreneurs rode this wave of good publicity to draw investors to contribute to the development of the "unbreakable fortress" that had so soundly beaten the loathsome invaders.
Propaganda films were made. Monuments were established. Tourist attractions set up. Immigration boomed, and a few very lucky former subsidiaries of SEM-Corp found themselves unexpectedly holding the deed to all of it. These remnants banded together with the brave minds behind the defensive network erected during the first siege and with several other local enterprises merging to form a new industrial giant -- one that would honor the blood spilled to defend Kabral's red soil by harvesting every last scrap of material beneath it, and turning it into weapons fit to slaughter the Aberrants to the last. Thus was born Kabral Heavy Industries, a military-industrial powerhouse whose bold and deadly designs would take the Frontier by storm.
[Culture] The culture of Kabral III is thus, in short, steeped in two things: militarism and patriotism. Hero worship is in the blood of every last man, woman, and child born there, who grow up surrounded by reminders of all that was sacrificed by their forebears to stop the horde in its tracks, and of their own duties to defend humanity from similar threats at any cost. They venerate their Twelve Knights with almost religious fervor, and, ironically for a colony that has spent almost its entire history cut off from the rest of humanity, feel an immense camaraderie with peoples from all other worlds and galaxies. No matter how different the cultures of any visitors to Kabral, a tourist will almost never be shunned, but met with almost fanatical acceptance and curiosity. The Kabralians will bend over backwards to welcome anyone as a brother, honoring them no matter how strange or foreign their customs might be -- just so long as that stranger is willing and able to hold a weapon and tear the bugs limb from limb, they'll fit right in.
[Warrior Family] Tracing their ancestry only distantly back to branches of more distinguished clans, the Valenti family was basically unheard of until Ricardo Valenti's unprecedented rise from complete obscurity to Singularity-class, his creation as Lord of Kabral and Protector of the Frontier, and his appointment in this capacity to the UAS Council. While he is held in high regard as something of a folk hero, among established warrior houses and the blue-blooded oligarchs of the Milky Way, both he and his family are seen as upstarts, undeserving of the high status afforded to him. While he might have a seat on the council, he has yet to earn the dignity and respect afforded a proper master.
Thinking I'd bring in a rookie pilot whose idealized image of the "heroes defending humanity" doesn't quite match up with the reality of the near-hopeless war. Still a ray of sunshine regardless of the bleakness of the world around him. Probably overly friendly and informal, partly in spite of his high-class upbringing, partly because of it. Will likely call his squadmates "Buddy," especially if it annoys them. I don't make the rules.
“I've always liked the feeling of looking down from a high place. The wide world all spread out below me, so small and insignificant. It's all just so...
...So far out of reach.”
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
Weapon of Choice Pure Magic. Specifically, Yomi's specialty is using Manifestation magic to conjure up projections of various different armament types, switching fluidly between them as they break. She's not particularly skilled with any one kind of weapon, but makes up for this deficiency with her adaptability and potential for confusing mix-ups. The complexity of these projections does, however, limit her magic exclusively to a very short range, depriving her of one of the main advantages of playing as a pure caster.
Playstyle & Attitude - Crafter main who dabbles in exploration and sidequest content. - Her favorite pasttimes are inventing new ways to use her magic and making fun things for herself. She's primarily practiced her tailoring and cooking skills in order to craft a variety of cute outfits to wear and tasty treats to snack on. - Insatiably curious. Wants to know where that tunnel goes or what that button does. Will push it to find out. Do not let her. - Knows where the party finder option is, but gets anxiety whenever she thinks about using it. - Her inventory is full of valuable and potent consumables she's crafted, but she'll sooner die than use them. What if she needs them more later? - Used to be better at faking a smile. - She's fine, okay? - Basically just very tired emotionally.
M I Y O K O H I R A S A K A: S M I L I N G L I K E A N I D I O T M I Y O K O H I R A S A K A: S M I L I N G L I K E A N I D I O T
Miyoko Hirasaka was a girl with a bright mind and a brilliant smile.
Gifted from a young age, Miyoko's interests always lay with her art. While her classmates were diligently taking notes, she would scribble sketches in the margins of her notebooks. It was fine, right? All this was easy for her, after all -- until it wasn't. She wasn't even sure when it happened, or how, or why. She'd done so much while barely even trying -- she was smarter than this!
So, she kept on trying, and kept on smiling. This was just a little rough patch. Things would work themselves out eventually. Somehow or another, she managed to make it through the rest of high school without repeating a year -- but what awaited her at the end of the road was a future devoid of prospects. Unable to earn a decent scholarship, and with her family's finances already in a rather sorry state, Miyoko couldn't even consider going to college.
But that was alright. She had two younger siblings coming after her. As their older sister, it was her duty to help pave their way. So, she kept on smiling, and looked for some way even someone like her could do just that.
She found it in her art. Fresh out of high school, Miyo debuted as a virtual streamer. Using an avatar she drew up and animated by herself -- a cute and colorful little bird girl she regarded as her personal masterpiece -- she started out independent, taking drawing requests from her viewers, giving artistic pointers, and showcasing her creative process. It was slow going at first, but little by little she found herself a following. Her smile had become something contagious -- something that could give joy to others going through hard times.
Something that could be bought and sold. Miyo found herself scouted by a famous talent agency, and smiled like she had never smiled before. This was her chance! Finally, she would make it big! It would just take a little bit more work here and there. Some small investments here to buy new recording equipment, a few extra expenses there to commission some music so she could try her hand at song covers, or to buy newly released games she could stream to get attention -- once she had more viewers, the agency would surely reimburse her.
Miyo smiled, even when she tripped in one of her virtual live events and became the butt of her senpais' jokes. She smiled, even when her computer's hard drive crashed and she had to spend the last of her savings to replace her PC. She smiled, even when her managers wouldn't answer her e-mails asking them to cover part of the costs.
And once her smile had no more value, they fired her. She lost the rights to her character -- all her creations -- her very name.
As if she'd forgotten how to do anything else, she kept on smiling right up until the end, like an idiot. While she had been smiling, the world had gone and left her behind. So, with nothing else left, she decided to leave the world behind too.
Y O M I: T H E F A L L E N I D O L Y O M I: T H E F A L L E N I D O L
Enter Yomi. Born from a mishmash of the traits short and scruffy little Miyoko has always wished she had, and reminiscence over the appearance of the avatar she had come to regard as a second self, she's a halfhearted attempt to be everything the real Miyoko isn't.
Yet contrary to what one might expect given her player's self-destructive dedication to the game and desperate desire to mean something to someone -- anyone, really -- Yomi is a character with very little presence within the world of Pariah Online. Spending most of her time doing sidequests, gathering materials, crafting items, experimenting with magic, and flying aimlessly from place to place, she has no particularly notable accomplishments to her name. She's never been a part of a guild, nor has she participated prominently in either raiding or the PVP scene -- since either of those venues would require interacting with and depending upon other players to some extent or another -- and, worse, being depended on herself. Unreliable as she is, she'd rather avoid such things at any cost, and spare herself the ridicule.
That's not to say she's entirely unknown, however. One cannot soar the skies upon blazing black wings and expect to go entirely unnoticed. She's several times been spotted by more gravitationally-challenged players, and every now and again gets her picture posted on some ingame discussion thread or another, asking whether she's a player at all or some kind of hidden boss. But eventually, they either lose track of her or lose interest, and, in the absence of any new sightings, she once again fades into obscurity.
Which is just the way she likes it, really. So long as she has a goal to occupy her thoughts, there's no time to feel depressed or lonely. She doesn't have to worry about how she'll have to face her family tomorrow, or what people might think of her. Instead, she can spend her dreams mastering magic, seeing fantastical sights, and doing sidequests where there's no real risk of failure, and she's free to experiment with whatever spells strike her fancy.
Vital Flare: A seldom-used and rather risky form of Fire Enhancement Magic allows Yomi to power her spells up by adding her own blood and life force into the mix. Unlike similar forms of blood-draining, she doesn't need to cut herself open or cause herself direct harm in order to activate this effect. Instead, a portion of her blood is directly transmuted and added to the output of the next fire spell she casts. The effect of this skill additionally changes depending on the amount of life force she has left. If she's already injured, provided she hasn't had her life drained directly in the process, she can still use this skill on blood she's already spilled, costing less health to use and producing an even greater effect. Yomi is at her strongest when she's on the very brink of death, allowing this skill to amplify her flames exponentially at almost no extra cost.
Mortal Flow: Compensating for her aggressive expenditure of her own vitality to fuel her spells, Yomi in turn employs Dark Enhancement magic to recuperate these losses whenever she defeats a foe. Using this ability, she can heal her own wounds and replenish lost blood and life force in proportion to the amount of damage she dealt to any target breathing its last. However, this ability only works against living targets, and only if Yomi was the one to score the killing blow.
Yomi's Shatterflame: A unique spell invented by Yomi herself to serve as the linchpin of her build, made by combining two preexisting Manifestation spells: Shadow Shell and Blazing Bulwark.
In order to function, Shatterflame takes advantage of a particular quirk of Pariah Online's elemental magic system. Specifically, Yomi noticed that Darkness spells often exert brute physical force as part of their effects, despite having no technical mass or substance themselves. For example, Shadow Shell is meant to serve as either a form of extra armor for an ally or a prison for a foe, encasing its target and repelling anything that tries to force its way in or out. The more defined the shadows in the area it's created in, the stronger the force output of the shell.
Blazing Bulwark, meanwhile, causes an explosion to burst outward from the point of impact when the object it's cast on is struck, meant to be overlaid over a more physical shield as a fiery retaliation when blocking an attack, or cast on empty space as a trap, sort of like a land mine. When cast, it emits a momentary flash of light, followed by a lingering halo of embers as a visual tell to warn keen observers that the spell is active, as a form of competitive balancing by the game's developers.
But by placing Blazing Bulwark on thin air, Yomi can then immediately follow it up by casting a Shadow Shell around it, specifically using the shadows cast outward from the initial flash of flame, dramatically increasing the potency of the resulting construct and turning Blazing Bulwark's primary disadvantage into a strength. What's more, since the "object" contained inside the Shadow Shell has no actual physical mass, she's free to reshape the shell however she sees fit, just so long as she leaves a hollow cavity inside to contain its flaming core.
Through this method, Yomi can thus create solid constructs which then explode violently once broken, and which she can conjure into a variety of different forms, ranging from simple shields to ultra-thin planes of weightless magic that direct Shadow Shell's repulsive force entirely outward along their edges, allowing them to cut like a sword or pierce like a spear -- then break off inside a target and explode for massive damage.
While this spell could likely be replicated by other characters with the right magical domains, it's actually a great deal harder to use than one might think. Restructuring the constructs produced by the spell requires envisioning the desired form with an extreme level of clarity, and a great deal of trial and error besides. Make the shell too wide, and the cutting force won't be sufficient to pierce a target. Too thin, and it'll lose integrity and break apart just from swinging it. The fact that she's managed to make this ability even work at all is testament to her dedication -- and the fact that she's managed to make it effective is testament to her extraordinary creativity.
Wings of Yomi: But even this advanced feat of magical engineering pales in comparison to Yomi's magnum opus. By extensively modifying her existing Shatterflame spell into an even more detailed and complex shape, she turned its shadowy exterior from an empty shell into an intricate and flexible set of appendages, mimicking the wings of a large bird in both form and function, and attaching themselves to her body just below her shoulderblades. Redirecting the repulsion formula outward along the full breadth of the wing's exterior allows the wings to apply lift when flapped downward, while their insubstantial and weightless nature means they don't hinder her movements at all, in spite of their massive size. By thus effectively cheating the laws of aerodynamics, she is thus able to achieve a limited degree of self-propelled flight.
Then, in the interests of increasing her mobility (and not blowing herself up should the wings end up damaged), she replaced the fire spell forming the core with a less volatile one, allowing her to instead release small amounts of fire in a steady stream from specific joints along each wing, like maneuvering thrusters on a spacecraft. As the fire within burns out, she replenishes it from her own life force as needed, allowing her not only explosive momentary bursts of acceleration, but also sustained maneuverability over the course of a drawn-out dogfight.
Although she's capable of conjuring the wings and dismissing them at will, to do so is inefficient, since banishing them wastes all the flames still remaining within them -- meaning once she calls them up, she'll often simply leave them manifested until they're destroyed, burn out, or crumble away.
The Angel in the Marble: Lacking both the range to control the battlefield from a distance and the actual combat experience to overwhelm her enemies in close-quarters through pure skill, Yomi has chosen a different path. First and foremost, her greatest talent is her imagination. Rather than building her playstyle around her physical capabilities, her reflexes, or any particular knack for fighting, she has instead developed her build entirely around precisely designing, shaping, and creating projections of what's inside her head. Between her artistic background, her dedication to perfecting her work, and her own extraordinary innate creativity, she's managed to achieve levels of both detail and function unrivaled by almost any other player in the game, both with regards to the items she crafts and the spells she has created.
Full-Speed Dancer: This isn't to say that Yomi lacks finesse when it comes to combat, however. While learning dance choreography as an idol never quite came naturally to her, the hours she put in practicing have given her a fairly good sense for how to move her body -- particularly unrestricted as she is in Pariah by things such as inflexibility or a life spent mostly indoors. Even without the aid of her wings, she's capable of quite gracefully avoiding most attacks that come her way; and with them, she's more or less able to dart into and out of range of her targets with relative impunity, dishing out quick and destructive hits without fear of reprisal.
Grin and Bear It: She dodges what she can, and does her best to block what she can't. As for what she can't block, well... Perhaps she's an unusually brave sort, or perhaps she just values her life a little bit less than the average person. Regardless, whether it's suicidal overconfidence, some kind of deeply held conviction, or simple apathy, Yomi is notoriously bad at acknowledging her limits. If there's a reason to fight, she'll be the last to flee or lay down her weapons -- no matter how much she's beaten down in the process.
Jack of All Trades, Master of None: Despite her unorthodox choice of build and set of skills, Yomi's most defining trait, for good or for ill, is her lack of specialization.
Between her personal mobility and numerous defensive options, it's rather hard to land decisive blows on her -- but the complexity of all her signature magic reduces its viable range. Consequently, she lacks the means to directly protect others without endangering herself in their place, making her a rather poor fit for the role of main tank.
Likewise, while she can restore her own health by draining life from those struck by her various projections, and can craft various consumables for use by others in a pinch, she lacks the capacity to serve as a proper healer or support.
And, while she can dish out a respectable amount of damage at close range with her explosive melee attacks, her constructs are too flimsy to trade blows head on with a physically powerful opponent without breaking prematurely, forcing her to instead resort to a somewhat half-baked hit-and-run fighting style that is ill-suited to being a front-line DPS.
Overall, her flexibility allows her to get surprisingly good results even when playing all by herself, and it's not as if she'd be a bad addition to most parties -- socialization issues notwithstanding. But on the other hand, nothing she brings to the table is particularly outstanding either, aside from her unique ability to fly -- and a more dedicated and focused build could in most other cases accomplish at least just as much as she can, while risking far less.
T A K A M I N E M I K U M O T A K A M I N E M I K U M O
“There's no need for any further introduction. Show me your resolve, and my sword will answer.”
_______________________________________________
Demographic
Full Name - Takamine Mikumo (高嶺 美雲) Nicknames - Her family and the old ladies in her neighborhood often call her "Miku-chan." Age - 17 Gender - Female Year - Second Year Club Position - Fukusho - Vice-Captain
Personality
Stern and Silent Mikumo is not a person who makes a good first impression. With a perpetually harsh gaze and blunt words, she has little tolerance for or capacity to make small talk. She's a girl who always has a goal in mind, and will always take the most direct route to achieving it. But while this does make her an effective instructor and organizer, it makes her a very poor conversationalist.
Hard Work Always Works Mikumo might be rather bad at thinking outside the box, but though her methods lack subtlety, her dedication is second to none. If there's a problem she can't solve, she'll study it until it makes sense to her. If there's an opponent she can't defeat, she'll train until she can. Her answer to any and all problems is to simply redouble her focus and her efforts, and to throw herself up against them with grit and gusto.
Wounded Pride Though Mikumo's own reputation precedes her, it pales in comparison to that of her father and elder brother -- figures to whom she has been compared one way or the other for most of her life. Though she admires them greatly, that doesn't change the way it stings when she's referred to as "Takamine Mikoto's little sister" or "Takamine Masashi's daughter" -- nor can she entirely escape the lingering feeling of inadequacy that that's all she'll ever be seen as.
Beneath the Ice Though her frigid demeanor and taciturn personality scare away many of those who might otherwise seek to befriend her, truth be told she's not deliberately cold so much as socially inept. Her frankness often gives cause for unintended offense, while her own self-consciousness causes her to avoid overt displays of emotion or interest that might be seen as unbecoming of her image. And, making matters worse, her lack of awareness causes her to either misread or completely fail to notice social cues that would warn her away from such behavior. But underneath it all, she's actually a surprisingly sweet and caring girl... if only she could just learn to relax a little.
Kendo Style
As one who has studied the art of Kendo since she was old enough to hold a sword, and who has benefited from the generational experience of her family in their long history as professional Kendoka, it comes as no surprise that Mikumo is quite skilled for her age. Although unlike her more prodigious brother she only holds the rank of second Dan, she makes up for this gap in the overall breadth of her knowledge with a firm mastery of the fundamentals.
Possessed of lightning-quick reflexes and a keenly analytical eye, she is well-suited to predicting the intentions of her opponents, and countering them with a wide array of simple-yet-effective techniques. Her swordsmanship is neither flashy nor subtle, but rather exactly as swift and direct as her own unwavering personality would lead one to believe. She turns her opponent's blade, then immediately retaliates with her own, pressing the attack for as long as her momentum remains unbroken. Or, should she be unable to remain on the offensive, she's equally capable of adjusting to a more passive posture, weathering the opponent's blows without offering up any openings for them to capitalize on, and simply enduring until they make a mistake.
Adaptability is thus, first and foremost, her greatest advantage, allowing her to take a wide range of different tactics and integrate them harmoniously into her own style, shoring up gaps in her own knowledge and weak points in her strategy, while picking and choosing the right stance and the right move for any given matchup.
...The problem is not her abilities or aptitudes, then -- it's her willingness (or lack thereof) to make use of what should be her greatest strength. Hardened by a lifelong inferiority complex, her mindset is far too rigid to accept that some tactics and techniques are ill-suited for her physique, build, and relative proficiency. She's far too preoccupied with trying to do things "right" -- or, more precisely, with trying to do things the way Mikoto would.
Because of this, she's not satisfied with victories earned through simple endurance. Mikumo wants to overwhelm her opponents, advancing decisively and proactively to meet and overcome them in a head-to-head contest of strength. Because of this, she's dead-set on mastering a highly aggressive Jodan strategy of relentless aggression, pressuring the opponent with overhead strikes even when she might be better served by winding around the opponent's sword instead of clashing with it directly. But while she has height, she lacks the same brute strength as her brother possesses -- and that is a gap she will likely never be able to close. Perhaps in this manner, too, she is doomed to forever languish in her brother's shadow -- so blinded by his radiance that she never thinks to notice the glimmer of talent that she alone possesses...
Other Information
Part of the reason why Mikumo was so quickly scouted for and so highly placed within Akimitsu Academy's Kendo team, despite only recently having transferred to the school, is that she has cultivated a certain reputation due to her performance in tournaments back in Junior High. It's uncertain where the name originates from, but apparently, she was known previously as the "Sleeping Dragon of Harugaoka Junior High." She seems to rather strongly dislike this sobriquet, and has repeatedly asked people to stop calling her by it, but that only seems to have solidified the name in the hearts and minds of her new schoolmates. Though, it's questionable whether this is because people actually believe in her much-exaggerated reputation, or simply because some of her male admirers greatly enjoy seeing her flustered by it.
Her dialogue Hexacode color is #B90050.
Physical Description
Ever since her transfer at the start of the second year, the girl named Takamine Mikumo has taken Akimitsu Academy by storm.
Well, that's probably an exaggeration. But be that as it may, it's admittedly rather difficult to ignore someone so visually striking. Standing at a height of 171 cm/5'7", she stands almost a head taller than most of her female classmates, and can even look down on some of the boys. Coupled with her long, sometimes-neat, sometimes-wild mane of ink black hair, piercing wine-red gaze, and her clear, commanding voice, one almost can't help but take note of her natural charisma.
Her figure plays more than just a small part as well, of course -- it's a secret only to her that most of the academy's male population finds her rather easy on the eyes. The only flaw in her otherwise tremendous physical appeal comes in her lack of expressiveness. When her face's entire visible emotional range lies somewhere between vacant disinterest, stoic resolution, and the occasional scowl of frustration or scorn, it's a little hard to do more than just observe her from afar. After all, she's a lot less pretty when it's you she's glaring at.
But bold souls will ever and always struggle and strive in the face of great challenges, and accordingly, there is a rumor that has been circulated among the male student body. Anyone who can make the ice queen of the Kendo Club smile will be blessed. Your acne will clear up, your sleep schedule will resolve itself, your grades will improve, your lost cat will come home, and you shall be graced with miraculous good fortune until the end of your days... probably.
Personal Story
The noble art of Kendo has been passed down the Takamine family line for generations.
Tracing their lineage proudly back to an old samurai family, each successive heir of the family has gone on to raise their name to still loftier heights. Her grandfather founded a prominent dojo which her family still runs to this day, while her father achieved national honors in the sport and now serves as a Kendo instructor to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. And her brother, though only one year older than Mikumo herself, has already proven himself a prodigy in the art of the sword, earning the rank of first Dan by unanimous vote almost the moment he became old enough to undertake the examination for it, second Dan exactly one year after, and third Dan two years after that, held back only by how quickly his teachers would allow him to undertake testing.
In any other household, Mikumo's own skills would likely have stood out more. However, there is a sharp line between "talent" and "genius" -- and she, unfortunately, falls short of that line. As her brother's progression outstripped her further and further, then, how could she not feel as though she was wasting her father's time with her incessant questions and failures to grasp what Mikoto had mastered so easily? With no other peers to compare herself to, the young Mikumo's view of her own competence became warped -- and the fact that despite her shortcomings, her father still took the time to try to instruct her only made her more painfully aware of this perceived inadequacy.
She likely would have set aside the sport entirely, had she been forced to continue any longer in such a manner. But in Junior High, things changed. Following as she did in the footsteps of her esteemed elder brother, the Kendo club's hero, it was impossible to shake the expectations of her new classmates -- classmates who almost immediately offered her a place on the team.
She could have said no. Maybe she should have. But Mikumo's wounded pride had yet to heal, and the expectant eyes of her classmates soothed her sense of inadequacy. And much to her surprise, she was anything but inadequate. Before she knew it, she was recognized as the second coming of their club's hero, in deed as well as in name, filling in for her brother as team captain once he graduated to High School and advanced to national-level competition. For the first time since she had set out as a child to learn the art, she felt... pride?
...A pride that was doomed to be short-lived. For although she, in her third year, stood where her brother once had, basking in the acclaim that had so long eluded her, there were no shortage of those who occupied what had once been her own place. Admiration turned to resentment, as the approval which other talented clubmates desired was instead heaped solely upon her, their prodigious young captain. And just like that, the place she thought she had finally found was gone, as her classmates turned to spreading rumors and mockery behind her back, and the club she had helped lead to victory fell apart around her.
Her parents tried to salvage the situation as best they could. Her father, hoping her love of the sport would not be soured by this bad experience, tried to arrange for her admission to the same high school as Mikoto. He must have surely hoped that in such an environment, she would be surrounded by equals who would respect her skills and accomplishments, and that Mikoto would be able to protect her from any doubts or insults leveled by those who refused to.
But mo matter how benevolent her father and brother's intentions might have been, the last thing she wanted was to go back to meekly dwelling in Mikoto's shadow. She wanted to strive, to accomplish, and to excel on her own terms. So it was that after only a year at her first high school, she talked her mother into letting her stay with her grandparents, and transfer to a different school closer to their home -- one with a Kendo team only slightly less prestigious than the one which her brother now captained, and on which she herself had so briefly competed.
Only this time, she would not be following in Mikoto's footsteps. She would enter the school as just another Kendoka, seeking to draw no attention to her name or to her troubled history with the sport -- succeeding or failing solely on her own merits, and hers alone.
T A K A M I N E M I K U M O T A K A M I N E M I K U M O
“There's no need for any further introduction. Show me your resolve, and my sword will answer.”
_______________________________________________
Demographic
Full Name - Takamine Mikumo (高嶺 美雲) Nicknames - Her family and the old ladies in her neighborhood often call her "Miku-chan." Age - 17 Gender - Female Year - Second Year Club Position - Fukusho - Vice-Captain
Personality
Stern and Silent Mikumo is not a person who makes a good first impression. With a perpetually harsh gaze and blunt words, she has little tolerance for or capacity to make small talk. She's a girl who always has a goal in mind, and will always take the most direct route to achieving it. But while this does make her an effective instructor and organizer, it makes her a very poor conversationalist.
Hard Work Always Works Mikumo might be rather bad at thinking outside the box, but though her methods lack subtlety, her dedication is second to none. If there's a problem she can't solve, she'll study it until it makes sense to her. If there's an opponent she can't defeat, she'll train until she can. Her answer to any and all problems is to simply redouble her focus and her efforts, and to throw herself up against them with grit and gusto.
Wounded Pride Though Mikumo's own reputation precedes her, it pales in comparison to that of her father and elder brother -- figures to whom she has been compared one way or the other for most of her life. Though she admires them greatly, that doesn't change the way it stings when she's referred to as "Takamine Mikoto's little sister" or "Takamine Masashi's daughter" -- nor can she entirely escape the lingering feeling of inadequacy that that's all she'll ever be seen as.
Beneath the Ice Though her frigid demeanor and taciturn personality scare away many of those who might otherwise seek to befriend her, truth be told she's not deliberately cold so much as socially inept. Her frankness often gives cause for unintended offense, while her own self-consciousness causes her to avoid overt displays of emotion or interest that might be seen as unbecoming of her image. And, making matters worse, her lack of awareness causes her to either misread or completely fail to notice social cues that would warn her away from such behavior. But underneath it all, she's actually a surprisingly sweet and caring girl... if only she could just learn to relax a little.
Kendo Style
As one who has studied the art of Kendo since she was old enough to hold a sword, and who has benefited from the generational experience of her family in their long history as professional Kendoka, it comes as no surprise that Mikumo is quite skilled for her age. Although unlike her more prodigious brother she only holds the rank of second Dan, she makes up for this gap in the overall breadth of her knowledge with a firm mastery of the fundamentals.
Possessed of lightning-quick reflexes and a keenly analytical eye, she is well-suited to predicting the intentions of her opponents, and countering them with a wide array of simple-yet-effective techniques. Her swordsmanship is neither flashy nor subtle, but rather exactly as swift and direct as her own unwavering personality would lead one to believe. She turns her opponent's blade, then immediately retaliates with her own, pressing the attack for as long as her momentum remains unbroken. Or, should she be unable to remain on the offensive, she's equally capable of adjusting to a more passive posture, weathering the opponent's blows without offering up any openings for them to capitalize on, and simply enduring until they make a mistake.
Adaptability is thus, first and foremost, her greatest advantage, allowing her to take a wide range of different tactics and integrate them harmoniously into her own style, shoring up gaps in her own knowledge and weak points in her strategy, while picking and choosing the right stance and the right move for any given matchup.
...The problem is not her abilities or aptitudes, then -- it's her willingness (or lack thereof) to make use of what should be her greatest strength. Hardened by a lifelong inferiority complex, her mindset is far too rigid to accept that some tactics and techniques are ill-suited for her physique, build, and relative proficiency. She's far too preoccupied with trying to do things "right" -- or, more precisely, with trying to do things the way Mikoto would.
Because of this, she's not satisfied with victories earned through simple endurance. Mikumo wants to overwhelm her opponents, advancing decisively and proactively to meet and overcome them in a head-to-head contest of strength. Because of this, she's dead-set on mastering a highly aggressive Jodan strategy of relentless aggression, pressuring the opponent with overhead strikes even when she might be better served by winding around the opponent's sword instead of clashing with it directly. But while she has height, she lacks the same brute strength as her brother possesses -- and that is a gap she will likely never be able to close. Perhaps in this manner, too, she is doomed to forever languish in her brother's shadow -- so blinded by his radiance that she never thinks to notice the glimmer of talent that she alone possesses...
Other Information
Part of the reason why Mikumo was so quickly scouted for and so highly placed within Akimitsu Academy's Kendo team, despite only recently having transferred to the school, is that she has cultivated a certain reputation due to her performance in tournaments back in Junior High. It's uncertain where the name originates from, but apparently, she was known previously as the "Sleeping Dragon of Harugaoka Junior High." She seems to rather strongly dislike this sobriquet, and has repeatedly asked people to stop calling her by it, but that only seems to have solidified the name in the hearts and minds of her new schoolmates. Though, it's questionable whether this is because people actually believe in her much-exaggerated reputation, or simply because some of her male admirers greatly enjoy seeing her flustered by it.
Her dialogue Hexacode color is #B90050.
Physical Description
Ever since her transfer at the start of the second year, the girl named Takamine Mikumo has taken Akimitsu Academy by storm.
Well, that's probably an exaggeration. But be that as it may, it's admittedly rather difficult to ignore someone so visually striking. Standing at a height of 171 cm/5'7", she stands almost a head taller than most of her female classmates, and can even look down on some of the boys. Coupled with her long, sometimes-neat, sometimes-wild mane of ink black hair, piercing wine-red gaze, and her clear, commanding voice, one almost can't help but take note of her natural charisma.
Her figure plays more than just a small part as well, of course -- it's a secret only to her that most of the academy's male population finds her rather easy on the eyes. The only flaw in her otherwise tremendous physical appeal comes in her lack of expressiveness. When her face's entire visible emotional range lies somewhere between vacant disinterest, stoic resolution, and the occasional scowl of frustration or scorn, it's a little hard to do more than just observe her from afar. After all, she's a lot less pretty when it's you she's glaring at.
But bold souls will ever and always struggle and strive in the face of great challenges, and accordingly, there is a rumor that has been circulated among the male student body. Anyone who can make the ice queen of the Kendo Club smile will be blessed. Your acne will clear up, your sleep schedule will resolve itself, your grades will improve, your lost cat will come home, and you shall be graced with miraculous good fortune until the end of your days... probably.
Personal Story
The noble art of Kendo has been passed down the Takamine family line for generations.
Tracing their lineage proudly back to an old samurai family, each successive heir of the family has gone on to raise their name to still loftier heights. Her grandfather founded a prominent dojo which her family still runs to this day, while her father achieved national honors in the sport and now serves as a Kendo instructor to the Tokyo Metropolitan Police Department. And her brother, though only one year older than Mikumo herself, has already proven himself a prodigy in the art of the sword, earning the rank of first Dan by unanimous vote almost the moment he became old enough to undertake the examination for it, second Dan exactly one year after, and third Dan two years after that, held back only by how quickly his teachers would allow him to undertake testing.
In any other household, Mikumo's own skills would likely have stood out more. However, there is a sharp line between "talent" and "genius" -- and she, unfortunately, falls short of that line. As her brother's progression outstripped her further and further, then, how could she not feel as though she was wasting her father's time with her incessant questions and failures to grasp what Mikoto had mastered so easily? With no other peers to compare herself to, the young Mikumo's view of her own competence became warped -- and the fact that despite her shortcomings, her father still took the time to try to instruct her only made her more painfully aware of this perceived inadequacy.
She likely would have set aside the sport entirely, had she been forced to continue any longer in such a manner. But in Junior High, things changed. Following as she did in the footsteps of her esteemed elder brother, the Kendo club's hero, it was impossible to shake the expectations of her new classmates -- classmates who almost immediately offered her a place on the team.
She could have said no. Maybe she should have. But Mikumo's wounded pride had yet to heal, and the expectant eyes of her classmates soothed her sense of inadequacy. And much to her surprise, she was anything but inadequate. Before she knew it, she was recognized as the second coming of their club's hero, in deed as well as in name, filling in for her brother as team captain once he graduated to High School and advanced to national-level competition. For the first time since she had set out as a child to learn the art, she felt... pride?
...A pride that was doomed to be short-lived. For although she, in her third year, stood where her brother once had, basking in the acclaim that had so long eluded her, there were no shortage of those who occupied what had once been her own place. Admiration turned to resentment, as the approval which other talented clubmates desired was instead heaped solely upon her, their prodigious young captain. And just like that, the place she thought she had finally found was gone, as her classmates turned to spreading rumors and mockery behind her back, and the club she had helped lead to victory fell apart around her.
Her parents tried to salvage the situation as best they could. Her father, hoping her love of the sport would not be soured by this bad experience, tried to arrange for her admission to the same high school as Mikoto. He must have surely hoped that in such an environment, she would be surrounded by equals who would respect her skills and accomplishments, and that Mikoto would be able to protect her from any doubts or insults leveled by those who refused to.
But mo matter how benevolent her father and brother's intentions might have been, the last thing she wanted was to go back to meekly dwelling in Mikoto's shadow. She wanted to strive, to accomplish, and to excel on her own terms. So it was that after only a year at her first high school, she talked her mother into letting her stay with her grandparents, and transfer to a different school closer to their home -- one with a Kendo team only slightly less prestigious than the one which her brother now captained, and on which she herself had so briefly competed.
Only this time, she would not be following in Mikoto's footsteps. She would enter the school as just another Kendoka, seeking to draw no attention to her name or to her troubled history with the sport -- succeeding or failing solely on her own merits, and hers alone.
[url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZUcpVmEHuk]Oh, hi. Thanks for checking in.[/url]
I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now [s]and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading[/s]. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at [s]entirely excessive[/s] length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.
Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!
...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!
Nyanpasu~.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noopener" href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FZUcpVmEHuk">Oh, hi. Thanks for checking in.</a><br><br>I'm an exceedingly enthusiastic roleplayer who's been writing for about ten years now <span class="bb-s">and yet still hasn't managed to produce any kind of solo piece of writing worth reading</span>. I like to consider myself a good writer, but that's kind of a matter of opinion, as many would argue that my tendency to ramble on at <span class="bb-s">entirely excessive</span> length about things is boring rather than interesting. I'm also incredibly OCD about formatting, so if you're wondering why my bios look so fancy, that's why. It's just something I do because... reasons, I guess.<br><br>Anyway, as you've probably noticed from my avatars and RP choices, I'm more than a bit of a fan of anime and manga, but also enjoy movies, video games, the occasional comic book... the list goes on. For you see, I am not a mere dork - I am the one spoken of in legends, the one whose dorkiness transcends all forms and boundaries. I am... the Legendary... OMNI-DORK!<br><br>...Anyway, thanks for dropping in to check on my profile! Hope to RP with you sometime!<br><br>Nyanpasu~.</div>
Lemons
Cyadical
Damycles
Supermaxx
Izurich
pkken
Noctis
Yankee
Asura
