@71452K Well I just finished getting around to watching the second season of Coffin Princess. So I might be a little guilty of having Ichirō Sakaki on the mind haha.
And yes the tentacle are great as long as you teach them about personal space.
@Pariah Cool! Also the hula hooping totoro gif is adorable.
@Treue Well, I mean why have a giant vaguely viking inspired person with goat horns when you can have a giant vaguely viking inspired cyborg with goat horns!
@Pariah Cool! Having more options available is probably better than having no options at all!
Still going to be looking for a few more folks though. But if all goes well, hopefully I will be able to get an OOC up this weekend. I have pretty much all the rest of the lore stuff ready for it, I just need to organize it all into a manner that is better organised and more easily read than the current google docs page. Which kinda looks like some strange eldritch tome at the moment.
@TheUnknowable@HeySeuss@snake153@Lasrever I hope you are all still with us here. But it is about time to get this show on the road! Intro post is now up and running.
Sweet and simple at the start as we have our little prologue here. Group, is meeting up for the first time with each other to get a nice little briefing from the Johnson's contact.
Don't worry the action will start up soon after though as right after the briefing, we will be transitioning immediately into the night of the heist where things are going to really kick off!
EDIT almost forgot sorry!
@Mercenary Lord If you can finish up your CS, I'd still love to have you, but we might just have to brainstorm a way to get you into the action if you come in later rather than sooner. No pressure though!
The eight hour sledgehammer of Shanghai jetlag slammed into Cait O'Dwyer’s head as she woke up in Vesturbær.
It was early in the morning, too early for actual comprehensible thought. Brain scrambling to bring itself to life only managing fitful sparks calling for sustenance. She ignored them as lay sprawled, stomach first, atop the white sheets that still smelled faintly of Yver. A fact which might of registered as noteworthy considering Yver had left for Boston nearly a month ago.
Yver was a quick fuck that had turned into a much better intellectual sparring partner. A dwarf that worked in the highly lucrative, but often mysterious world of marketing. He owned several as what he would describe as “convenient domiciles” in more cities than Cait has killed people. They were free of use for friends and questions of use weren’t in his specialty as long as you cleaned up after yourself.
Cait reluctantly pushed herself into a sitting position. Optical implants adjusted immediately to the early morning light as she groped for her clothes. Soft clicking as body armor fit into place atop of synthetic flesh, if she could have her way she would stop there, but in interest of not drawing too much attention it was followed by more traditional outerwear: a men’s white t-shirt, a dark grey sweatshirt, part of a new Ares’ line logo in darkened orange upon the chest, and a simple pair of worn in jeans.
The apartment has been designed in a rather conventional neo-modern style. Everything besides the dark maple floors was projected in stark whites and grays, even the paintings in the hallway leading from the bedroom to the combined kitchen / living area. She turned on a French sink, to fill a German kettle to bring Icelandic water to a boil. As she waited she eyed the bags of coffee coordinated by color in neat little rows along the cabinet, trying not to think how Yver reached any of it when he stayed there.
Minutes later, she sat at the counter-top, coffee in hand, the briefest of thoughts bringing up a projection of UMBRA. She signed in. There in the sleek black interface highlighted in yellow it stated ONE ACTIVE COMMUNICATION.
She sighed. She’d better get going.
---
“AND in the weather....There will be a blizzard warning in effect starting later this evening”
The monotone drone of the weather service rambled into silence, intermittently interrupted by the occasional clattering of a glass, or rough laugh of one of the men at the bar. The Fljót was a small combination of bar and seafood joint located in the Skildinganes. The interior was decorated extensively to look like the confines of an old whaling ship, portholes and all. In the evening, the tables were pushed away and it became a rather hopping nightclub serving the student crowd from the nearby university, but at the current as the sun still hung in the sky it was relatively empty saved for a sparse few patrons most of which sat the bar.
Cait didn’t like it. As a runner that had worked for as long as she had empty spaces made her skin crawl more than anything, they made her feel vulnerable and yelled of ambushes. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice though. She was supposed to meet the Johnson’s contact here to give them a better briefing of the situation, as well as her partners for the run. They had talked over UMBRA, of course but this would be the first real time meeting them. She wasn’t too excited.
Another axiom she’d learned over the years. “Don’t go relying on teams, they just go and end up getting killed.” The unseen consequences of her line of work - did drek all for your social skills. But it paid well. So that was that.
She checked the time. Took a drag from her second cup of coffee for the day. The others would be arriving soon.
In ancient times, men became gods, laid claim to the stars, and sought to solve the mysteries of the infinite. Yet as they became saviors, they also became their own damnation. For it was not divine intervention, plague, or cataclysms which brought there great and terrible histories to a close. No, in the end it was nothing more than simple hubris. And so their world came down, the threads frayed and their lives shattered. As time has moved onward and wounds thought too grievous have hence healed, much of the world before the Long Silence has been relegated to myth and scripture based on the remnants which remain.
As things are life today is too dangerous to dwell on a past that cannot be understood. So we excavate just enough to help us survive in the world which we must dwell. We know that energies and knowledge are suspended invisibly in the air, that reshaped continents of iron and glass—below, upon, and above the earth—hold vast treasures, and that secret doorways to stars and other dimensions and realms provide power and secrets and death. To call it magic, may just as well be truth for all of our understanding.
Upon the eastern expanse of the reclaimed world lies a loose confederation of city-states collectively called the Holdings. Each of these independently-minded entities has a ruler to call their own, but all are under the watchful gaze of the Priory, the central faith of the reclaimed world. A faith based upon the understanding of the past, treating its technology as divine and the Long Silence; the punishment for its abuses. Its leader, the Archon arguably being one of the most influential, if not thee most influential figure in all of the Holdings.
Yet beyond the Holdings, the world is still a wild and untamed place. What clusters of civilization exist do so as isolated islands avast uncharted lands filled with dangers. Here death lurks around every corner as monsters, the loose remnants of past attempts at creating life, roam the lands unchecked by the protective aura of civilization. Yet where there is danger there is also opportunity for wealth and power. These wild lands are the domains of krewes, teams of adventures for hire paid fair compensation for their work to plunder the ruins of old in search of technology. These brave souls are the lifeblood of existence, their blood allowing for civilization to flow.
"Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic." ~ Arthur C. Clarke
Reforged is a science-fantasy setting set a few thousand years after the hypertech descendants of humanity destroyed themselves. Those left behind dwell admits a sea of what refuse remains from this collapse. Unimaginably huge machines lie beneath the earth, and satellites orbit high above, transmitting a web of data and free energy. Nanotech, artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, teleportation, and superdense polymers which allowed for the reshaping the planet. What this allows is a rather peculiar mixture of low fantasy and science fiction, where knights can just as easily be found jousting one another from within the cockpits of giant robots as they can horses, and wizards command nanomachines and dark energy as they would spells from a scroll. At is core though it is an adventure story with some humor, some horror and lots of friendship, set in a backdrop of a strange and magical world.
What do I get to do?
Players will begin in Mournhold, the most outwardly laying city of the Holdings. Mournhold is a bustling and swiftly growing settlement fueled by the technology that flows through its gates on its way to the rest of the Holdings. Naturally, it's home to many krewes and henceforth many independent and free-spirited individuals some looking to find work with said krews, and others looking to profit on the business of supplying and tending to the needs of these adventures. Yet all is not idyllic here as its proximity to wild lands leaves the city in contest threat of danger from both monster and barbarian looking to plunder its riches. And, of course with such a swiftly growing place systemic corruption on a bureaucratic level is well rampant to say the least on the manner.
You are a member of the Vigil, a reputable and large krewe that operates within Mournhold. Two years ago, the Vigil was commissioned to aid in the defense of the city from an encroaching tribe of barbarians. After ten months of defending supply routes, ambushes, border skirmishes, and a foiled assassination attempt, the barbarians withdrew without ever engaging on the field in open combat. The viscount of Mournhold was impressed with the Vigil's results and has extended the contract to remain in the city as an auxiliary to the city guard. Three weeks ago, a shipping vessel that had been traveling down the Vira river has stopped in Mournhold. Its cargo and crew have been organizing an expedition to travel the rest of its journey towards Ashfoot, a priory excavation site working on excavating the ruins of one of the floating citites which fell during the Long Silence. The caravan leader, Priory Steward Helmer Byerel, has requested the use of a small contingent of the Vigil to escort his troupe the rest of the way. Two dozen of the company were selected for the task. You are among that group.
The Vigil.
Thirty years ago, a small group organized themselves into a Krewe calling themselves the Vigil. In the years since, the Vigil has grown into an international effort of associated krewes led by an elected council. Though the Vigil are generally well trained and supplied, their success can mostly be attributed to business branch - the administrators and representatives responsible for contract negotiations - who are perhaps even more ruthless than those in the field.
The Vigil is not one singular outfit, but rather a conglomeration of dozens of smaller krewes who have submitted themselves to the authority and standards of the Leading Council. The benefits of signing with the Vigil are notoriety, access to requisitions at reduced cost, and the option of pooling together with another Vigil chapter to meet the requirements some of the larger contracts stipulate. That the Vigil typically sends the closest local chapter to fulfill a contract also helps protect the reputation of the organization. Krewes comprised mostly of locals helps mitigate some of the more disagreeable behaviors that foreign mercenaries might exhibit, especially when the land and people they are protecting are not their own.
If all the local companies under the Vigil banner were to assemble, their numbers would surpass five-thousand. This, however, is a theoretical estimation that in reality would be virtually impossible without breaking dozens if not hundreds of ongoing contracts across the Holdings.
The viscount in Mournhold has contracted a retainer of one-hundred Vigil soldiers to remain in the city to aid in training and transitioning military responsibilities to the viscount's footsoldiers.
You are one of those one-hundred.
They who walk the land.
As one might expect humanity in its current form is the main racial group within the Holdings. Yet there are other sentient and not-so sentient creatures that exist in the Reclaimed World, the left over remnants of attempts to create new life either from altered flesh or steel. Acceptance is a hard word to use in a world where racial preconceptions still exist, but there is at the least more cases of mutual beneficial coexistence then there is without, especially now with stronger foundations of the Holdings taking place. In fact it may be more common for sectionalism to be a problem than racism do to the independent nature of the cities the settlements that make up the Holdings.
H U M A N S
Humanity kind most easily be described as a tenacious bunch. They were the gods of the World Before and they will become the gods of the Reclaimed World if they have anything to say about it. The first to start to gather the technologies of the lost ages, it is upon their initial settlements that the great cities of the Holdings are built upon.
C E L L V A
The Cellva are a queer people that tend to favor the isolation of the forest and the jungles than they do the hustle and bustle of the cities. There most striking features of course is there skin which come in many varied shades, colors, textures, and their hair which forms in what can only be described as petals. For the Cellva are in fact plants or at least the blueprint of their creation was based upon plants. It is a common misconception that the Cellva draw their strength from the sun, where in the fact they are more similar to Fungi having to draw nutrients from the dead much like a human, through digestion and eating. While no exact lifespan of the Cellva is known for certain, the oldest of their kind those that survived Long Silence, several thousand years ago at this point, are just now beginning to die of old age.
The Cellva were one of the last races 'birthed' before the Long Silence, but hold their creation in a strange regard. They view their creators which they call the Makers, who they view as distinctive divine entities separate from today's humanity as gods who created them to continue their will was they were stricken down. And it is actually the teachings of the old Cellva faith, which created the fundamental ideology of the Priory and which is why many of its most exalted members are of their blood.
Jotun
The Jotun are a genetically engineered variant of humanity, close enough to resemble them in feature but with a cultural identity distinctive enough to separate themselves. Originally bred as soldiers and manual laborers these tower colossus ranged anywhere from eight to twelve fight in height, they are naturally hairless and both males and females posses a pair of large horns that crest the tops of their heads. Most of Jotun live in wandering barbarian tribes in the World Beyond, those that live in the Holdings are typically descendants of tribes that ended up becoming krewes losing their nomadic ways in exchange for income and an easy source of living doing hard work they were typically accustomed to already.
Jotun culture is one traditional based upon the gaining and lose of honor and power. A fact that many a poor fool has learned when they accuse a Jotun of cheating or lying, a most terrible insult which most be answered only with the death of one who would say such baseless accusations without proof. A Jotun will never back down from a challenge, they will always want to face a threat with force of will rather than deceit, and they are some of the most stalwart companions a person can find. Just for heavens sake don't try and get into a drinking competition with them.
U K A N U Q
More commonly and derogatorily called Snag-Tooths, in their own language Ukanuq means Those of the Claw. The term compress all of the animal kind that was 'raised in sentience by humanity' Before the Long Silence, they were kept as exotic servants, companions and labors. These days, the Ukanuq are seen more as free-loading vagrants and wanderings. The shortest live races with the oldest of their kind living to a meager fifty years, though more often thaan not their lives are cut shorter. Though, they can be varied from fur, to scale, to feather they because of their disenfranchised place in society they tend to group together and all have a sense of unified kinship.
Much of the hatred for them comes from the Uknauq Wars some forty years prior, where the resentment and feelings of anger boiled over into full-blown armed conflict that while having been dealt with rather swiftly, many armed guerrilla groups still roam the wilderness intent to fight on for freedom and their place in the world. This of course leads to life for those that choose to coexist and dwell within the bounds of society as something of a general pain, as the actions of their kind make their lives worse, leading to many of them joining up with the guerrillas which only continues to prolong the problem longer. Like the Jotun many of them find work typically as hired-swords.
C L A N K S
Clanks is a catch all term for one of any race that has replaced part of their body with a robotic replacement. While the use of remnant technology is commonly accepted as it is the foundation for all of civilization, most cultures believe that the flesh is sacred. This comes from no small part due to the Priory's influence whose own beliefs are based on recovered documentation of conflicts with rogue AIs and other synthetics in the past. And so even in a world where robotic limbs are not that hard to come by, a man is much more likely to live with an amputated arm than he is to get a cybernetic replacement. Clanks as it were are even more ostracized than the Uknaqu, thought of as abominations whose souls have been stolen away by devils. Still doesn't stop people from doing it especially those in career paths where having a gatling gun arm might just be considered useful.
Yer a wizard harry.
Drafters are sometimes called mages, wizards, sorcerers, or witches by the people of the Reclaimed World. Some claim to be the representatives of gods or other supernatural agencies. Whatever they’re called, these individuals have come to understand the mysteries of the past to the degree that they seem to perform miracles. They tap into Technology to alter reality or learn things that they couldn’t otherwise know. Drafters come in two distinctive forms which are dependent on how they interact with the technology around them to perform their magic. Those who through various tiny devices that they possess, which seem like magic charms to the uninitiated, “conjure” energy. By accessing the surrounding web of connectivity transmitted across the world, they connect with machines — including the nanites — to change their environment. To become such a person takes years of study, but there is a quicker way. You become a very special kind of Clank. Those who have had their nervous system laced with circuitry, and their body sporting jacks and ports where they plug in modules and other technological bits that provide their capabilities. When they produce effects, they do so through their body’s direct mechanical interface.
There are also of course what are called High Smiths. These alchemists and artificers have spent their entire lives analyze and understanding the underlying mechanism behind recovered technology. Using their knowledge they are capable of jury-rigging seemingly useless odds and ends of recovered technology into fabulous creations. Anyone can split a few wires to make an old battery into a bomb, but a High Smith can make wrecks into cannons and gravity generators into personal deflector shields for the right price of course. Because of the skill and knowledge it takes to perform such feats High Smiths are very rare especially beyond the Holdings and most if not all are of Cellva blood as their long lifespans work mean that spending seventy years submerged in reading old recovered mechanical designs and taking apart salvaged tech isn't too much of a time sink.
@TheUnknowable CS is completely serviceable. No major problems on my part. Personally, I would of made the background a little longer, but that is more of a taste thing so don't worry about it too much, it still manages to get the message across!
Also work has begun on the IC post, so that once our two other friends finish up on their CSs, we can hopefully just jump right in without too much delay!
@Mercenary Lord One or another. The powers they use are similar to magic but distinctly of their own variety. So people end up showing potency for one or the other.
