Well, this was a bit familiar, wasn’t it? Same dance, different partner. Seele fought off the urge to go after Alja, who had thankfully only decided to move to the bar, still in eye-shot. Maybe that was best, a minute to let cooler heads prevail so they didn’t make another scene, especially not in front of who she assumed was the new girl, Artemis. However, regardless of everyone’s stances on the matter, it was still important, and the last thing they needed right now was to spend another day or so splintered.
Sky’s pretty clear today, you know?
Alex showed up, bless his heart, and she gave him an excited little wave. He had an armful of papers, and like most of the group, didn’t look particularly well-rested, which she hoped was just because he’d been up working so late. She winked to him, pointed to the table where she’d set down all of her own work, and then moved closer to the group. On the way, she slid over another drink to Kazuki, to replace the one Graves had taken away.
“Alright, before this escalates any further, let’s just take a moment to breathe, and consider things more carefully. Please? Look, see, like this.” Seele took a big, deep breath and then sighed long and contentedly. “Oomph, does wonders—Anyway. It seems to me that we’ve got all the pieces for a good answer here, we just have to put them together, like a puzzle! Who doesn’t love puzzles? Kazuki and Sif are right, the denizens’ attitudes have…let’s say ‘shifted’. They aren’t, y’know, programs anymore and even if they are, it doesn’t seem like they’re much different from us. Like Benkei said, they’re going to stand up for themselves, but that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re uniting against us, and it certainly doesn’t mean we should unite against them.”
“Pariah is dangerous, I don’t think a single person in Aetheria needs to be reminded of that anymore. Every last one of us has the right to be scared. But the way it seems right now, the only difference between us and the denizens is that they don’t have the ability to defend themselves, and we do. And…I think Alja is right,” she glanced over at the bar where their frosty bruiser sat, and smiled a little. Even if she was a bit disappointed in how things had shaken out, Seele couldn’t help but be a bit proud of her. “We have a responsibility to protect people, and if we choose to hold that responsibility hostage, then…maybe we deserve to be treated like people who take hostages. I don’t think any of us want a bitter stalemate where we all live in fear and people die by the hundreds to the horrors that we’ve seen first-hand. I agree with Benkei, we should be prioritizing the dungeons. If we show the denizens that we’re still willing to do the right thing, I’m willing to bet they will too.”
And you thought it was gonna rain.
Seele realized she’d talked herself out of breath, which was usually a sign that she had, once again, gone on for far too long. “Anyway,” she said, quieter, and made back for the table. “That’s just my two-cents. Two cents never made you rich. By all means, carry on.”
In combat Alja might have been a master of frigidity, but now at least she was much less like a glacier and more like the cozy warmth of a fire. It had been a long time since Seele had hugged someone, or been hugged in kind, but the feeling of protectiveness was quite familiar, if amplified. Given the circumstances, of course, that made perfect sense. Deep down she felt herself hoping that the others were feeling it too, just a little, just enough to keep them together; deeper still, she tried to ignore how selfish that was.
Rael snuck up on them—she could be quiet, for a tank—and Seele got her answer. So it was a dungeon then, that did no favors for her nerves. All that word meant to her now was danger, and death, but that was likely the case for many people. Alja, Rael and Graves were strong though, they’d made it back for a reason. So, suppressing the urge to burst into worry, Seele listened instead.
“I might have met them, yes,” Seele said, trying to mull the names over in her head. She’d met and played with so many people during her time in Pariah it was impossible to remember them all, but there were flickers of recognition in the names Alja gave, especially the last one, Artemis. Whether or not they’d grouped together, she couldn’t recall, but the name carried a bit of weight to it, certainly.
Alja hugged her a bit tighter and gave up an apology, but before she could rebuff it, Graves joined them. Another wave of relief hit her—that was the sewer crew safe. Seele wanted to chide him for the crass language, but stopped short when she caught the look he gave her.
You sleep too much...
She smiled at him instead. Oh well, he’d been through the ringer again after all, so maybe a few curse words weren’t the worst thing in the world. Besides, she was drawn in again when Alja whispered to her. Seele’s brow shot up, and she nodded immediately.
“Of course sweetheart,” she answered as quietly. “You come and get me whenever you’re ready, I’ll be available.”
With that, everything began to meld back to relative normality. High, or at least energetic spirits from most everyone, save for Rael, who was still doing her best in her own way. Benkei was there too, and he’d been roped into things at the tavern last night as well. Kazuki hadn’t arrived yet, and neither had Alex. Their new friend was allegedly inbound, which was exciting. Today, she hoped, would be a good day not just for them, but for Thorinn. The challenges ahead were complex and mighty, but they had good heads on their shoulders, and solid plans in their back pockets.
Missy was losing time, again. It had not been morning before she blinked; she had been kneeling on the floor of her room over a mess of papers, working by the uneasy marriage of moon and candlelight, jolting occasionally whenever she knocked against one of the many empty potion-flasks strewn around her. It had been going well, she made excellent progress, devised a good plan—but she’d lost the time. Her mind was fogged, she’d lapsed in her potions and now her body was feeling the familiar pangs of sleep deprivation—what was it now, six days? Seven? The magic and medicine gluing her together made it hard to be sure.
It was morning now. She crawled across the floor to her bag, and found within it one more phial. Her healer-friend from the other tavern was away—business with friends whose names he knew—but he’d left her this. High-level alchemy, something to quell fatigue, much like his own spells. Ought to work, he said, better than the brighteye-draughts the denizens sold, many of which lay drained and discarded behind her. Should keep her going another day or so. That’s all she needed. She’d sleep after this was done. A few hours. She could handle that much. Just a few little hours to reset herself. Trembling fingers popped the cork, her nose filled with the scent of petrichor.
Seele pushed the door to the Laughing Worg open with her back, arms full with papers folded, rolled, or stuffed into files. She dipped and snaked past the other early-risen patrons with only a few bumped shoulders and chirped “Sorry!”’s. No one seemed to mind. Between the sheets, she caught sight of Alja and gasped, nearly dropping the entirety of her night’s work onto the ground.
“Aljasweetieohmygoshyoureokay!” Seele cried, scrambling over to dump her papers on the table closest to them both, then throwing her arms around the giant of a woman. “You all never came back, and we heard all these rumors—and with the—oh, forget all that, you’re alright! You’re alright, aren’t you? You—”
She cut herself off, partly because she realized she was rambling again, and partly because she'd nearly talked herself out of breath, and needed a moment to ensure she could continue rambling. “I'm sorry, that was so rude of me. You’ve clearly been through a lot, I’m just glad you’re back. You did all make it back, right? Did you see Graves on your way in? I’ll need a word with him when he gets here—a word with everyone actually. There’s this thing with the Drox fraternity that Kazuki, Benkei, Alex and I were looking into, and I sort of took the work home with me last night. Oh, but listen to me, I’m babbling. That can all wait, tell me about the sewer! I have a feeling you ran into more than just a few little rats.”
Mox is an unassuming person, average in height and weight, though a fairly strict and rigorous training regimen has kept her in excellent physical health. It’s rare to find her without a smile on her face, or that same smile in her step, and just about every aspect of her demeanor. She prefers simple, comfortable clothes, but likes branching out to be a bit more fashionable when means allow—which, considering the Gamblers’ records, isn’t all that often.
Psychological Profile
Warm, energetic, with a penchant for harmless fun, Mox is someone who could find sunshine at the bottom of the ocean. Lose big at the card table? Problems with the exoframe? Mission didn’t quite pan out for you? Keep that chin up! You’re only really lost when you admit it to yourself.
Ceaseless optimism might not be the best way to make friends amongst down-and-out mercenaries, but that’s alright—Mox loves a challenge.
Maybe she’s compensating for a dull childhood, or maybe this is just who she was the whole time. Either way, what’s the point of a clean slate if you stay the same, dirty person you always were?
Background Information
Mox was born on the far reaches of the Arcturus system on a planet called Gefallen. Being in the empire’s periphery, one might expect loyalty to be thin, but in fact the opposite was true. It was precisely because Gefallen was neglected that it found itself swarmed by opportunists from both the Sol Union and the North Star League. Trade was bottlenecked by privateers and unsanctioned levies, dissenting guilds and merchants were shot out of the sky, the people lived with steel boots pressed to their necks. Gefallen cried out for aid, and was unanswered; to the people this was the fault of the enemy, not the empire.
Bringing Theden justice to Gefallen and its tormentors was a dream shared by many, but few had the drive and discipline to chase it. Mox, however, had just the right blend of talent and dedication. As a waise-child working menial jobs, it wasn’t as though she had much else to do with her time but study. By the time she was old enough to enlist, her test and sim results laid a myriad of prestigious paths before her. Having always had a twinkle in her eye for folktales of knights in shining armor, she chose to specialize, and set her sights on an elite unit of melee-centric exoframes known as the Nullritter.
As a novice pilot, Mox doubled-down on her efforts. If she wasn’t studying, she was running sims, if she wasn’t running sims, she was in physical training, if she wasn’t doing any of these, she was on assignment or asleep. Repeat ad nauseum for three years until the Minsky Station Massacre gets the cold war boiling. Times have changed, the Chancellor says, the empire must be strong—the emperor, of course, gives her his full and fervorous support. Mox is among the battalion tasked with rooting the enemy out of their hitherto “unnoticed” encampments in the outer worlds.
Mox’s mind fogs. A handful of weeks sees four of the empire’s furthest tributaries utterly sacked by empire forces. Finally, they depart for Gefallen.
In the span of three days, ninety-seven major cities and countless towns and independent settlements are reduced to smoldering ruins. Sol Union and North Star casualties are in the low ten-thousands, civilian casualties remain in estimation. Mox Holiday’s exoframe is discovered two months later in the possession of an independent trader who claims he doesn’t remember who sold it to him.
A few months after that, Vox Fortuna acquires a new pilot with a very brief background.
Bought with the money Mox made selling off the empire’s exoframe after her desertion, the Sonder is just about the last thing she truly owns. The base frame is standard enough, a sleek model from the last gen of Dainslief Heavy’s “Galahad” line, only its armor has been stripped down drastically for the sake of speed and maneuverability. Having piloted and encountered a modest variety of melee-focused exos in her few years of service, Mox has the benefit of knowing exactly what she likes, while also needing to avoid too stark of a resemblance. The result is a unique if sub-optimal series of modifications and additions that she nonetheless managed to acquaint herself with before joining the Gamblers.
Equipment and Armament
The Sonder is built for disabling targets through fast, close-quarters strikes; it wants to get in, stab whatever needs to be stabbed, and then get the hell out. While it excels in smaller-scale skirmishes and melee-engagements, prolonged fights against multiple, well-armed targets are its downfall. Thus, the Sonder works best in and often even requires a team. It’s loadout includes:
PR Reactionary Recharge System: The “Parry-Riposte” energy system serves as the backbone to most of the exoframe’s capabilities, as well as its shield. Upon activation, the PR system sends out a “pulse” of receptive energy which, if timed correctly, can draw energy from another source when contact is made. In essence, this allows for the absorption of lighter-arms-fire and smaller-yield detonations. However, the PR system is merely a pulse and cannot be “held” like most shields, making it useless against sustained volleys of fire, and it can still be easily broken by high-powered weaponry.
Elliptical Engines: Standard to most melee-oriented exoframes, elliptical thrusters prioritize agility and are designed for providing evasive bursts of speed to close distance or maneuver against targeted projectiles. However, they fall short in protracted runs and won’t be winning Mox any marathons.
DH-25 Beam Falchions: A Dainslief Heavy classic, apparently, as the design has gone unchanged for nearly three generations. Simple and to the point, the DH-25 emits a blade of energy similar to the type utilized in projected hardlight shielding. Rather than rely solely on short-life battery packs, Mox has modified the pair to allow powering via direct-connection to the Sonder’s core—which would result in a devastating level of energy-consumption without proper utilization of the PR system. By channeling the PR system through its blades, the Sonder can draw in energy via the heat emitted from slashing through targets, or even clashing blades with other exoframes.
OS-22 Thermo-Damascus Side swords: The only part of the Sonder’s arsenal not reliant on its PR system, the “Old School” side swords are mounted hilt-forward on either shoulder. Hard steel with a single super-heated edge, the side swords cut well, but their edges cool quickly and require sheathing in order to recharge, making them an unideal holdout weapon, but still better than nothing.
Mox is an unassuming person, average in height and weight, though a fairly strict and rigorous training regimen has kept her in excellent physical health. It’s rare to find her without a smile on her face, or that same smile in her step, and just about every aspect of her demeanor. She prefers simple, comfortable clothes, but likes branching out to be a bit more fashionable when means allow—which, considering the Gamblers’ records, isn’t all that often.
Psychological Profile
Warm, energetic, with a penchant for harmless fun, Mox is someone who could find sunshine at the bottom of the ocean. Lose big at the card table? Problems with the exoframe? Mission didn’t quite pan out for you? Keep that chin up! You’re only really lost when you admit it to yourself.
Ceaseless optimism might not be the best way to make friends amongst down-and-out mercenaries, but that’s alright—Mox loves a challenge.
Maybe she’s compensating for a dull childhood, or maybe this is just who she was the whole time. Either way, what’s the point of a clean slate if you stay the same, dirty person you always were?
Background Information
Mox was born on the far reaches of the Arcturus system on a planet called Gefallen. Being in the empire’s periphery, one might expect loyalty to be thin, but in fact the opposite was true. It was precisely because Gefallen was neglected that it found itself swarmed by opportunists from both the Sol Union and the North Star League. Trade was bottlenecked by privateers and unsanctioned levies, dissenting guilds and merchants were shot out of the sky, the people lived with steel boots pressed to their necks. Gefallen cried out for aid, and was unanswered; to the people this was the fault of the enemy, not the empire.
Bringing Theden justice to Gefallen and its tormentors was a dream shared by many, but few had the drive and discipline to chase it. Mox, however, had just the right blend of talent and dedication. As a waise-child working menial jobs, it wasn’t as though she had much else to do with her time but study. By the time she was old enough to enlist, her test and sim results laid a myriad of prestigious paths before her. Having always had a twinkle in her eye for folktales of knights in shining armor, she chose to specialize, and set her sights on an elite unit of melee-centric exoframes known as the Nullritter.
As a novice pilot, Mox doubled-down on her efforts. If she wasn’t studying, she was running sims, if she wasn’t running sims, she was in physical training, if she wasn’t doing any of these, she was on assignment or asleep. Repeat ad nauseum for three years until the Minsky Station Massacre gets the cold war boiling. Times have changed, the Chancellor says, the empire must be strong—the emperor, of course, gives her his full and fervorous support. Mox is among the battalion tasked with rooting the enemy out of their hitherto “unnoticed” encampments in the outer worlds.
Mox’s mind fogs. A handful of weeks sees four of the empire’s furthest tributaries utterly sacked by empire forces. Finally, they depart for Gefallen.
In the span of three days, ninety-seven major cities and countless towns and independent settlements are reduced to smoldering ruins. Sol Union and North Star casualties are in the low ten-thousands, civilian casualties remain in estimation. Mox Holiday’s exoframe is discovered two months later in the possession of an independent trader who claims he doesn’t remember who sold it to him.
A few months after that, Vox Fortuna acquires a new pilot with a very brief background.
Bought with the money Mox made selling off the empire’s exoframe after her desertion, the Sonder is just about the last thing she truly owns. The base frame is standard enough, a sleek model from the last gen of Dainslief Heavy’s “Galahad” line, only its armor has been stripped down drastically for the sake of speed and maneuverability. Having piloted and encountered a modest variety of melee-focused exos in her few years of service, Mox had the benefit of knowing exactly what she liked, while also needing to avoid creating to stark of a resemblance. The result is a unique if sub-optimal series of modifications and additions that she nonetheless managed to acquaint herself with before joining the Gamblers.
Equipment and Armament
The Sonder is built for disabling targets through fast, close-quarters strikes; it wants to get in, stab whatever needs to be stabbed, and then get the hell out. While it excels in smaller-scale skirmishes and melee-engagements, prolonged fights against multiple, well-armed targets are its downfall. Thus, the Sonder works best in and often even requires a team. It’s loadout includes:
PR Reactionary Recharge System: The “Parry-Riposte” energy system serves as the backbone to most of the exoframe’s capabilities, as well as its shield. Upon activation, the PR system sends out a “pulse” of receptive energy which, if timed correctly, can draw energy from another source when contact is made. In essence, this allows for the absorption of lighter-arms-fire and smaller-yield detonations. However, the PR system is merely a pulse and cannot be “held” like most shields, making it useless against sustained volleys of fire, and it can still be easily broken by high-powered weaponry.
Elliptical Engines: Standard to most melee-oriented exoframes, elliptical thrusters prioritize agility and are designed for providing evasive bursts of speed to close distance or maneuver against targeted projectiles. However, they fall short in protracted runs and won’t be winning Mox any marathons.
DH-25 Beam Falchions: A Dainslief Heavy classic, apparently, as the design has gone unchanged for nearly three generations. Simple and to the point, the DH-25 emits a blade of energy similar to the type utilized in projected hardlight shielding. Rather than rely solely on short-life battery packs, Mox has modified the pair to allow powering via direct-connection to the Sonder’s core—which would result in a devastating level of energy-consumption without proper utilization of the PR system. By channeling the PR system through its blades, the Sonder can draw in energy via the heat emitted from slashing through targets, or even clashing blades with other exoframes.
OS-22 Thermo-Damascus Side swords: The only part of the Sonder’s arsenal not reliant on its PR system, the “Old School” side swords are mounted hilt-forward on either shoulder. Hard steel with a single super-heated edge, the side swords cut well, but their edges cool quickly and require sheathing in order to recharge, making them an unideal holdout weapon, but still better than nothing.
Coming from a long line of Vulkan success stories, Tyra knew from a young age that she was destined for the SNDP, and she is not one to fight fate. Rising quickly through the ranks, Tyra was a standout on the research and development team before she was twenty, and had become the former director’s personal assistant only a year later. In the decade since she became director herself, Tyra has been credited with a number of the Vulkan Division’s technological advancements, and has personally designed the arms and armors for two Dragonslayers. Ruthless and cunning, with a healthy disdain for the Sarkaturges, Tyra Girelle has no intention of letting the rival division overtake her own; if she has her way, they won’t even get the chance.
Alaric Lorent got his start in the operating room—on the table. Grafted as a child, Alaric grew up as the Sarkaturges were burgeoning into a proper entity. Its occult edges were gradually sanded down or otherwise hidden away, but the doyens pointedly kept the Vulkan’s stifling formality at arm’s reach. Alaric’s notoriety for the frequency and consistent success of his deployments, especially on hunts the Vulkans deemed “lost causes.” As a soldier, Alaric was largely responsible for showing Sonnelied that the Sarkaturges could be relied upon to protect people, even when no one else could. As doyen, he inherited the division-feud at its bloodiest, and has done everything in his power to not simply keep the Sarkaturges alive, but to push back against the Vulkans as well. In his mind, the old guard has not only lost its edge, but its way as well. Sonnelied deserves better, and he has every intention of being that better.
Few are those who manage to escape a Shicksal storm, fewer still charge into them. The Dragonslayers are Sonnelied’s most revered hunters, and for good reason; there are no finer weapons in the country, perhaps the world. However, firepower and sharp claws are not enough to kill a dragon, the cost is much greater, and never known until it is paid.
Though each Dragonslayer belongs to a division, their ultimate allegiance is to the SNDP Commander, and Sonnelied as a whole. As a result, they answer to their respective directors in a limited capacity, especially when it comes to their deployment, which is often left to their own discretion. Rumors and inter-divisional superstitions surround each Dragonslayer, differing from department to department, sometimes even person to person, but one thing is universal: if a Dragonslayer joins your hunt, something is wrong.
Welcome to Regenlied, a sci-fi/fantasy RP set in a world where humanity is forced to harness science and magic in order to survive. With most of civilization confined to oasis cities amidst vast expanses of barren desert, the days of international conflict are ancient and gone. Now, the Regentier are the truest threat. The horrific creatures from above, the torrent that nearly drowned the world, and may yet still wash it away.
It is the duty of the Sonnelied National Defense Program to protect not only its largest city, but its numerous territories as well. From defensive expeditions, to large-scale hunts; where the Regentier fall, it is said, the SNDP rises. Once a singular entity, in recent decades a schism has formed. The old guards of the Vulkan Division prioritize the research and development of high-powered energy weapons, and are responsible for nearly all of the SNDP’s technological advancements since its foundation. Conversely, the newer Sarkaturges have pioneered the practice of grafting: drawing out humanity’s latent affinity for magic by grafting parts of dead Regentier to their bodies.
As the program’s newest recruits, your characters will discover that, while the Regentier may be the existential danger, they are not the only danger. Sonnehall’s High Command has been ordering joint operations between the divisions, and while the Vulkans and Sarkaturges may be working together, they are nonetheless competing, both for funding, and legitimacy in the eyes of High Command, and the people themselves. Tensions are high, interdivision conflicts are common, subterfuge and sabotage are the lull between the Regentier storms.
Hard falls the rain that scorches the earth.
Seated with the Bay of Kings to its back, and the Aegaen Wall at its face, Sonnehall is the oldest and most well-protected city in the country, perhaps even the world. While the vast stretches of barren plains between oases lead to an unorthodox rule, it is nonetheless absolute. The entirety of the nation’s defense program rests comfortably behind Sonnehall’s walls, and as such, the other cities and settlements must often rely on outriding forces to come to their aid. In most cases they arrive before they’re needed. In others…
Like most cities, Sonnehall is built downwards. Above, buildings rarely extend more than two stories high, and instead run several down, often connecting to one another. Streets and highways mark up the topside, while cavernous plazas and intertwining railways make a web of the undercity.
The Bay of Kings houses Sonnehall’s modest yet well-guarded harbor, and opens up into the brackish waters of the Engel Sea. Beset by beast and pirate alike, it is sailed elseways by only the brave, the foolish, and the greedy. Somewhere within lies the sovereign atoll called Forra, from which trade occasionally makes its way to Sonnehall’s docks. Little is known of the place; its sailors say nothing to the public, and little more to interrogators. In the absence of any recorded hostility, commerce continues.
The Aegaen Wall, older than the city itself, is Sonnehall’s first line of defense. It has not been breached in decades, and what Regentier do approach the wall are usually meager, and dealt with in swift exercises often televised to the public. On the other side of it is the Plain. A simple enough name for a simple enough place: miles upon miles upon yet even more miles of exactly nothing. Hard, dusty earth, sand in some places, rock in others, all of it utterly barren save for the pockets of arable land, which have become the basis for settlements, towns, and even a handful of cities, though nothing quite rivaling Sonnehall’s size.
Further and further out into the Plain, the oases became fewer, smaller. The Reachline, well past the most outflung settlement in Sonnelied, is the point past which there is, as far as anyone knows, nothing. Expeditions have been conducted lasting several months, and each time its members return claiming there is not a single speck of healthy earth to be found. Flat, lifeless, and seemingly endless. Some of the more delirious explorers claim that the sun never set again once they passed the Reach, others say it never rose. Most were unable to say anything.
For better or for worse, this is your home. Now when the storms come, it is your duty to help weather them.
When you ask questions of a storm, it answers in torrents and flashes of lightning. No one knows where the Regentier came from, or why they do what they do—they can’t be asked, they answer in nature’s own fury.
They are old, that much is known. As long as there have been clouds, there have been the beasts that come with them. They are also many, perhaps even endless. No matter how many are slain, more always come; there is always another battle.
Their appearances and abilities vary, and while there are records of recurring species, it is not uncommon for a new beast, or some hideous chimeric evolution to appear. Thankfully, the size and severity of a storm is often a reliable indicator of the power of the monsters within it. Currently, storms are categorized as follows:
Benign 1 A meager storm, bringing soft rains and often little else. The Regentier borne by these clouds are often small, unthreatening—though not unviolent—and easily dispatched by even untrained civilians. They do not tend to last very long.
Benign 2 Longer lasting than its predecessor, but still about as temperate. These are the most common storms, and B2 Regentier present minimal threat when met with a modicum of caution. Rarely, they can evolve into M1 storms, but this can often be predicted, and SNDP hunters can be dispatched in advance.
Malignant 1 M1 storms present the most common danger to Sonnelied, especially to settlements further from Sonnehall. Regentier that come with these storms often have abilities that, while on the lower-scale of power, still pose significant danger to untrained, unarmed civilians. There is also a chance for an M1 storm to evolve into an M2 with little warning.
Malignant 2 Here the danger spikes sharply. Regentier borne by M2 storms are often capable of significant feats of power, and certain “colossal” species may appear. Settlements and small towns in the path of an M2 are advised to evacuate, and meet with the inbound hunters for protection. In the case that the assault fails, civilians are advised not to return to their homes even after the skies have opened, until reinforcements have cleared the area. Rarely, M2 storms can evolve.
Malignant 3 Areas near the formation and especially in the path of M3 storms should evacuate immediately. Regentier of M3 storms are among the strongest and most deadly, and colossal species are much more likely to appear in multiples. In the case that an M3 results from the evolution of an M2, hunters are recommended to retreat until reinforcements arrive, or until the storm has passed, if the remaining Regentier are judged to be manageable.
Schicksal In the event that a storm’s rain turns black, hunters are advised to evacuate immediately.
Dating back to the country’s founding, there have always been individuals brave enough to fight back against the storm. Over the centuries, technology has evolved almost hand-in-hand with research of the Regentier. Modern hunters have access to a wide array of advanced weapons, armors, and vehicles.
However, in recent decades, the SNDP has been split into two competing divisions: the old guard Vulkans, and the newcomers, the Sarkaturges. While both divisions utilize humanity’s latent affinity for magic, their methods are wildly different from each other.
Vulkan Division
With black powder an ancient, unattainable relic, weapons are operated and enhanced via the energized remains of Regentier. As well, by tapping into a person’s latent well of power, they can be used like a battery, allowing them to operate arms and armor that would normally be unfeasible. Vulkan hunters are given access to high-potency energy weapons, as well as power armor, speed-enhancing exo-skeletons, and state-of-the-art prosthetics. They cannot, however, truly access their magical capabilities.
Sarkaturge Division
Having only emerged in the last few decades, the Sarkaturges carry a heavy stigma for turning people into monsters. It is true, of course—at least in a way. Sarkaturges tap into their affinity by grafting pieces of dead Regentier to their bodies, allowing them to perform extraordinary feats typically only achievable by their monstrous donors. The process is notoriously dangerous, with a mortality rate that would have landed any other procedure on the medical blacklists. In some places, that’s exactly where it is; in fact, the only place grafting is done is in the Sarkaturge Division’s wing. It is worth noting that the abilities granted by a graft are not the same as magic, though having a graft does enable one to learn it. Spellcasting is an entirely different and nascent art, with little research and very few practitioners. For the most part, Sarkaturges are limited to the feats granted to them by their grafts.
(In the case of Sarkaturge characters, FC's should be of them pre-grafting.) Name:
Age: (Vulkan applicants are typically age 17-18, while Sarkaturges recruit from 13 but do not send hunters into battle until 16.)
Place of Birth: (If not from Sonnehall, give an idea of how far from city your home is.)
Division:
Background Check: (Brief history of your character, what led them to join the SNDP, and why they chose the division they did.)
Graft / Weapon Specialty: (You are fresh off the operating table. Vulkans will have limited control over their power supply, and thus will begin with less-extreme weapons until they learn to channel properly. Sarkaturges will have minor grafts to start, which will be added to/replaced/enhanced over time.)
Lemons
Supermaxx
Zeus23
Yankee
Raijinslayer
SkyeOfStars
Not a Sayan
VenusSundew
