Not posting a full profile here, but I'm using an old character from my time on Animeleague. I've dropped the self-nickname reference, it doesn't fit right any more, and I'll be referring to him as Garou. He's essentially a werewolf / martial artist / elementalist who became enslaved by Gaia, became a force of nature (pure elemental force), and after being "betrayed" and killed he gets brought back to life.
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He greeted consciousness with howling and gnashing teeth. Sinew, muscle, bone all became a mass of frenzied rage. The world around him succumbed to a shattering roar of a fiery cyclone that spit frost-crusted boulders and a river of molten metal. Every element that could be bound and released in fury erupted across the plane, scarring and searing the otherwise unblemished heavenly gates that bore the sigil of the golden kingfisher. The creature’s form swelled in size, towering into infinity, roiling like a storm with ever-crackling intensity. He would tear it all apart, he would make them pay, he would leave no stone unturned. As a wolf he would hunt them, as a monster he would destroy them. Caine would be first, Caine would be last.
At the thought of this prey his mind broke down into a fresh raving, slavering, frothing bellow of unadulterated madness. Jaws clamped and unhinged over and over, inexorably spasming to snap fangs against each other in a grinding that sounded like thunder. His nostrils worked like a tornado of his breath, pumping his lungs full of oxygen so he could let it all out into a feral scream again. Satori’s home was soon nothing more than a smoldering pile of refuse, and the titanic elemental would be away from it before long. The beast took in another shuddering breath, trying to collect himself.
An audible snap of one finger against a thumb echoed across time and space, and it was all undone. There was not even a rolling back of materials - the massive werewolf was simply now in an office whose size was commensurate to his own. No matter how he strained his gaze or craned his neck he could neither look down nor up at the well-appointed desk or comfortable chairs near it. It was as if he could only look across the room as an equal despite his power and ferocity, in spite of his own spiraling emotions. He could only take in all of the kingfisher motifs, the black cushions with gold trim, the silver trinkets sitting atop sheafs of papers. His feet dug into a lush silver carpet, and candles flickered gently to provide them with a warming light.
There was a woman in the room with them, something familiar about the way she smelled and looked, but his eyes were only for the man seated on the other side of the desk, the man who regarded him with an eerie sense of calm confidence. His face was somehow a steady blur, no feature discernible as unique - he had eyes, a nose, a mouth. Now it was from that mouth that words sprang, and at last he recognized Virgil Satori in all his pretentious eloquence.
“I hope you’ve had enough of that for now. We didn’t want to try to stop you, it’s very understandable why you’d be in this state.”
Anger welled up inside him, feeding him more strength. He could cross the desk easily, rip out his throat. Something suddenly felt wrong about that, though. Virgil’s lips curled upward slightly, though there was a rueful catch in his tone when he spoke again.
“Yes, I think you’re beginning to reckon with what’s happened. I am seated where Gaia once was. I’m handling things differently, though.”
A growl rose in his throat, and Satori laughed.
“No, I can believe your skepticism. I won’t compel you, but I can’t undo what’s part of your nature. Crystal put you back together pretty faithfully, after all.”
He snorted, and sharply turned his eyes to where he thought she was. Nothing there. No matter, it was all well and good. He had begun to dwindle in size, muzzle receding into something more manageable. Words rolled off of his own tongue, coming out as barely more than a snarl.
“So you’ve brought me back but you can’t fix me?”
Virgil leaned across the desk suddenly, steepling his fingers in front of him, and the werewolf found himself flinching under the weight of that stern countenance.
“We both know if you are to seek that, you must seek it for yourself.”
The statement hung in the air between them for a few seconds, and at last the ruler of all sat back in his chair with a more languid posture.
“No, I’m here to offer you a job.”
===================================================================
Of course he accepted. The terms were favorable enough, and he would be able to exist again outside of annihilation. Perhaps Satori even knew that he would judge him for how he was handling things,’ and provided that he would wrest himself free from his bindings as had been suggested he would be all too willing to mete out justice if he found the Kingfisher’s work to be lacking.
Now he stood before a mirror, gazing at his ghastly form with the turquoise eyes of a sane man rather than a mad beast. All he could see was a creature whose body had been sculpted into the expression of killing rage. Every muscle, every taloned finger and toe, every sharpened tooth, all the way down to his bristling brown fur was soaked in bloodlust. This was the second time he had died, and the betrayal stung deeper than any of the wounds he had suffered in the battle. He snorted, and the mirror steamed with the expulsion of hot air from him. He focused on the form once more - bipedal, unmistakably canine in facial features - and remembered his name.
The man he once was.
The fur matted, then melted away in a passing of seconds. The snout fully receded. The hulking frame dwindled down. What was left behind was a shadow of that man, nothing more than an echo of an old tale of a dead world. He was well-built, sporting carefully toned muscles that betrayed the lifestyle of an athlete or martial artist, and a tan that spoke of a lifetime outdoors. Atop his head a great mane of brown hair sprouted, and the mouth that frowned back at him did so through a full, thick beard.
He had a name that meant something to some people, but these remaining few were not his friends. The name of that clan of wardens and the name that they had given him rang hollow, and in that moment he realized he had never had a period to grieve what he had lost. Better to cloak that name, then, to give them all the silence they were due. He would honor them in mourning, and take on a simpler title while on his pilgrimage - for now, he would merely be “Garou.”
===================================================================
“Fuck, that’s a mess.”
Garou stood some distance away from Titanis, observing the violent lightning that wove itself around a smog-fogged mountain. Out of amusement he had dressed for hiking in colder climes, bearing a long sleeved red and black checkered flannel shirt, dark blue jeans, and feet shod in heavy brown boots. They were entirely there for show, of course, as he could easily endure extreme temperatures. However, he was not particularly interested in testing his limits on that cloud of chaos. Even from here he could feel the corrupted magic leaking out. This was clearly going to become a bigger problem if left unchecked, and was exactly the kind of work Virgil had “hired” him to do.
Soon he was small and lithe and brown-furred, his clothes caught in the space in between spaces as he dashed on all four paws. The wolf would find the heart of this place, cleanse it, and put it back together. It was one of the first most sacred duties of the warden clan, long before combat became commonplace. There was a feeling of joy that he felt in his chest as he ran towards this goal. It set his steps soaring at a pace that caused the terrain around to pass in little more than a blur. Garou could not help himself and let loose a long, furious howl that ripped through the chambers carved by the wind.
Indeed, it was such a cry that it cut through the very wind itself, and he followed in the wake of it, tongue lolling out, causing enough noise to be confused with a whole pack rather than just the sole.
At the thought of this prey his mind broke down into a fresh raving, slavering, frothing bellow of unadulterated madness. Jaws clamped and unhinged over and over, inexorably spasming to snap fangs against each other in a grinding that sounded like thunder. His nostrils worked like a tornado of his breath, pumping his lungs full of oxygen so he could let it all out into a feral scream again. Satori’s home was soon nothing more than a smoldering pile of refuse, and the titanic elemental would be away from it before long. The beast took in another shuddering breath, trying to collect himself.
An audible snap of one finger against a thumb echoed across time and space, and it was all undone. There was not even a rolling back of materials - the massive werewolf was simply now in an office whose size was commensurate to his own. No matter how he strained his gaze or craned his neck he could neither look down nor up at the well-appointed desk or comfortable chairs near it. It was as if he could only look across the room as an equal despite his power and ferocity, in spite of his own spiraling emotions. He could only take in all of the kingfisher motifs, the black cushions with gold trim, the silver trinkets sitting atop sheafs of papers. His feet dug into a lush silver carpet, and candles flickered gently to provide them with a warming light.
There was a woman in the room with them, something familiar about the way she smelled and looked, but his eyes were only for the man seated on the other side of the desk, the man who regarded him with an eerie sense of calm confidence. His face was somehow a steady blur, no feature discernible as unique - he had eyes, a nose, a mouth. Now it was from that mouth that words sprang, and at last he recognized Virgil Satori in all his pretentious eloquence.
“I hope you’ve had enough of that for now. We didn’t want to try to stop you, it’s very understandable why you’d be in this state.”
Anger welled up inside him, feeding him more strength. He could cross the desk easily, rip out his throat. Something suddenly felt wrong about that, though. Virgil’s lips curled upward slightly, though there was a rueful catch in his tone when he spoke again.
“Yes, I think you’re beginning to reckon with what’s happened. I am seated where Gaia once was. I’m handling things differently, though.”
A growl rose in his throat, and Satori laughed.
“No, I can believe your skepticism. I won’t compel you, but I can’t undo what’s part of your nature. Crystal put you back together pretty faithfully, after all.”
He snorted, and sharply turned his eyes to where he thought she was. Nothing there. No matter, it was all well and good. He had begun to dwindle in size, muzzle receding into something more manageable. Words rolled off of his own tongue, coming out as barely more than a snarl.
“So you’ve brought me back but you can’t fix me?”
Virgil leaned across the desk suddenly, steepling his fingers in front of him, and the werewolf found himself flinching under the weight of that stern countenance.
“We both know if you are to seek that, you must seek it for yourself.”
The statement hung in the air between them for a few seconds, and at last the ruler of all sat back in his chair with a more languid posture.
“No, I’m here to offer you a job.”
===================================================================
Of course he accepted. The terms were favorable enough, and he would be able to exist again outside of annihilation. Perhaps Satori even knew that he would judge him for how he was handling things,’ and provided that he would wrest himself free from his bindings as had been suggested he would be all too willing to mete out justice if he found the Kingfisher’s work to be lacking.
Now he stood before a mirror, gazing at his ghastly form with the turquoise eyes of a sane man rather than a mad beast. All he could see was a creature whose body had been sculpted into the expression of killing rage. Every muscle, every taloned finger and toe, every sharpened tooth, all the way down to his bristling brown fur was soaked in bloodlust. This was the second time he had died, and the betrayal stung deeper than any of the wounds he had suffered in the battle. He snorted, and the mirror steamed with the expulsion of hot air from him. He focused on the form once more - bipedal, unmistakably canine in facial features - and remembered his name.
The man he once was.
The fur matted, then melted away in a passing of seconds. The snout fully receded. The hulking frame dwindled down. What was left behind was a shadow of that man, nothing more than an echo of an old tale of a dead world. He was well-built, sporting carefully toned muscles that betrayed the lifestyle of an athlete or martial artist, and a tan that spoke of a lifetime outdoors. Atop his head a great mane of brown hair sprouted, and the mouth that frowned back at him did so through a full, thick beard.
He had a name that meant something to some people, but these remaining few were not his friends. The name of that clan of wardens and the name that they had given him rang hollow, and in that moment he realized he had never had a period to grieve what he had lost. Better to cloak that name, then, to give them all the silence they were due. He would honor them in mourning, and take on a simpler title while on his pilgrimage - for now, he would merely be “Garou.”
===================================================================
“Fuck, that’s a mess.”
Garou stood some distance away from Titanis, observing the violent lightning that wove itself around a smog-fogged mountain. Out of amusement he had dressed for hiking in colder climes, bearing a long sleeved red and black checkered flannel shirt, dark blue jeans, and feet shod in heavy brown boots. They were entirely there for show, of course, as he could easily endure extreme temperatures. However, he was not particularly interested in testing his limits on that cloud of chaos. Even from here he could feel the corrupted magic leaking out. This was clearly going to become a bigger problem if left unchecked, and was exactly the kind of work Virgil had “hired” him to do.
Soon he was small and lithe and brown-furred, his clothes caught in the space in between spaces as he dashed on all four paws. The wolf would find the heart of this place, cleanse it, and put it back together. It was one of the first most sacred duties of the warden clan, long before combat became commonplace. There was a feeling of joy that he felt in his chest as he ran towards this goal. It set his steps soaring at a pace that caused the terrain around to pass in little more than a blur. Garou could not help himself and let loose a long, furious howl that ripped through the chambers carved by the wind.
Indeed, it was such a cry that it cut through the very wind itself, and he followed in the wake of it, tongue lolling out, causing enough noise to be confused with a whole pack rather than just the sole.
Arena written by Alucroas for a tournament Anshin is running, used here with Anshin's permission.
Titanis
A rich almond-colored smog churned at cyclonic speeds at the base of the mountain range, stripping bark clean off the pine trees. Their trunks were pressed nearly flat against the rock face, their tips forced to point upward toward the peak. The only safe way to climb this mountain was through the narrow passageways carved out by the relentless wind—any alternative meant being battered to death while choking on the poisoned air.
Beyond that first stage of chaos lay the second: a multilayered lightning storm, each stratum generating its own electromagnetic field. Negatively charged electrons repulsed one another in a constant, violent exchange. Visually, it resembled a lattice of interwoven lightning, bright enough to blind. Sonically, each thunderclap was powerful enough to rupture eardrums and draw blood. Skin burned. Bones vibrated. Lungs strained to function as the noxious fumes intensified within the storm.
Sensory confusion soon gave way to something even worse—supernatural madness. Upon surviving the storm, one found themselves standing atop the rim of a massive pit, spreading far and wide into a subterranean temple reminiscent of Hephaestus’ ever-shifting labyrinth. But unlike mythic labyrinths, this one was designed as a prison: a place for titans to wander endlessly without rest, hunted by parasitic leeches the size of redwoods.
Terrain
General: The labyrinth now appeared dilapidated. Its walls, though still standing, had grown weak; some sections had turned to mush, eventually liquefying into portals of swirling darkness. Passing through one of these portals took a full thirty seconds—partially due to the ancient magic that powered the labyrinth decaying over centuries, which also produced the storm that encircled this hellscape. Each portal could be used only once before collapsing in on itself. When it did, the resulting shockwave added further instability and unleashed a disruption field throughout the entire labyrinth, lasting a full minute.
Weapons: The magic powering the labyrinth has begun to decay, causing some of the walls to be easily collapsible. But instead of merely falling into a pile of rubble, the structures turn into spatial portals, which in turn accelerate the destruction of the labyrinth as one has to come out somewhere, and that somewhere is often in the form of a spatial detonation of another section of corridor, creating a two way portal.
Bonus Effects: The collapse of the Labyrinth walls releases excess magical energy that is easily harvestable, but will also attract the leeches to you.
Titanis
A rich almond-colored smog churned at cyclonic speeds at the base of the mountain range, stripping bark clean off the pine trees. Their trunks were pressed nearly flat against the rock face, their tips forced to point upward toward the peak. The only safe way to climb this mountain was through the narrow passageways carved out by the relentless wind—any alternative meant being battered to death while choking on the poisoned air.
Beyond that first stage of chaos lay the second: a multilayered lightning storm, each stratum generating its own electromagnetic field. Negatively charged electrons repulsed one another in a constant, violent exchange. Visually, it resembled a lattice of interwoven lightning, bright enough to blind. Sonically, each thunderclap was powerful enough to rupture eardrums and draw blood. Skin burned. Bones vibrated. Lungs strained to function as the noxious fumes intensified within the storm.
Sensory confusion soon gave way to something even worse—supernatural madness. Upon surviving the storm, one found themselves standing atop the rim of a massive pit, spreading far and wide into a subterranean temple reminiscent of Hephaestus’ ever-shifting labyrinth. But unlike mythic labyrinths, this one was designed as a prison: a place for titans to wander endlessly without rest, hunted by parasitic leeches the size of redwoods.
Terrain
General: The labyrinth now appeared dilapidated. Its walls, though still standing, had grown weak; some sections had turned to mush, eventually liquefying into portals of swirling darkness. Passing through one of these portals took a full thirty seconds—partially due to the ancient magic that powered the labyrinth decaying over centuries, which also produced the storm that encircled this hellscape. Each portal could be used only once before collapsing in on itself. When it did, the resulting shockwave added further instability and unleashed a disruption field throughout the entire labyrinth, lasting a full minute.
Weapons: The magic powering the labyrinth has begun to decay, causing some of the walls to be easily collapsible. But instead of merely falling into a pile of rubble, the structures turn into spatial portals, which in turn accelerate the destruction of the labyrinth as one has to come out somewhere, and that somewhere is often in the form of a spatial detonation of another section of corridor, creating a two way portal.
Bonus Effects: The collapse of the Labyrinth walls releases excess magical energy that is easily harvestable, but will also attract the leeches to you.
Thousands of miles from the massive planet known as Orst a small moon explodes.
The debris is ejected at high velocity, many pieces of which simply shatter into the smallest of fragments, while the larger chunks are sent spinning end over end into the recesses of space. In the stillness that follows a previously unseen vessel crept out from behind the cover of an otherwise barren planet, traversing carefully towards the debris. It bears no distinguishing marks, no proud sigils, and is little more than a thousand yard black ovoid that bristles with jutting rods and shafts that end in grappling claws. As it draws closer to the largest of the moonrocks the extremities of the ship swivel in their mounts and fire their hooks into the whirling junk, the impact sending shudders through it but not with enough force to break it down further. Sturdy chains connect the hooks to the ship itself, and they are drawn taut, holding fast to the moonrock and forcing its gyrations to end. Their prey caught, the ship then reels it in for the waiting work crews who will repurpose it for the Herald’s needs.
Many hours later a collection of meteoroids are hurtling towards Orst, and among their number are the landing pods that carry the agents themselves along with their much-needed gear. The pods are disguised carefully to appear as though they are just solid pieces of rock, though greater efforts still have gone into threading each pod with treated sheets of Mortem metal to not only prevent life signs from being detected within but to impart durability for the sake of the inhabitants.
“Begin operation: Order of the Falling Rocks.”
The disembodied voice is androgynous, and the utterance can only be heard in one of the pods now starting to blaze through Orst’s atmosphere. The pocket within the camouflaged pod is small, barely big enough to fit a body, and is adorned with an array of monitors and tubes. The monitors all light up as the first syllables of the sentence are uttered, and the tubes themselves protrude and punch into the only other object inside that lies atop a full chair: a large, pinkish membrane that pulses with the heartbeats of the man inside of it. They are slow and steady due to the state of hibernation he has been kept in, but as the pod’s tendrils bite into the membrane the pace quickens with the flow of blood and the siphoning of the cocoon itself. A few excruciating minutes pass as the protective sheen is sucked away and life is breathed into Karis, and he awakens with a sharp, wet cough. His dark skin is covered with sweat and his green hair is little more than a wet mop of thick strands. It takes some effort for him to push his heavy lids open, revealing synthetically steel blue eyes. The Herald groggily sweeps his gaze along the shining monitors, observing the data but not comprehending it yet, and it is only thanks to the restraints keeping him in his chair that his bulky limbs do not instinctively stretch out and strike an interior component.
“Fuck. Grell, get these things off of me.”
There is a harshness in his tone that cuts through any fondness of familiarity. The artificial intelligence within his body does not laugh, but when the same strange voice echoes from the pod once more, there is a sign of amusement in how matter of factly it responds.
“Negative, operative T’amor. You are not clear for freedom of movement, we are still making entry.”
Karis says nothing else, scowling as he surveys the displays before him. All of the numbers showed positive readouts: the exterior hull was still intact, the landing site was on target, and the atmosphere was just as breathable as the initial scans of the planet had surmised. He and his team would be landing in a heavily wooded area that would be rich in prospective soft resources. The forge could be set up there temporarily for material conversion, and once the scout had done their work they would move on.
I still can’t believe you’re joining the Rangers. That’s worse than a death sentence.
The former Enforcer’s scowl thickens at the memory, the blocky features of his face becoming contorted in his irritation. The work was going to be dangerous, but the rewards would be great. Enacting the will of the overlord had already been far more perilous than he thought it would be, and he believed that by taking even more risks for something of his own he would finally get what he desired - true power. The officers he had left behind were foolish cowards, lazing around in the bulk of the fleet. The Heralds were the shapers of the armada’s destiny, paving a way for a better future for their people to advance down. Orst in particular was a gem among the stars, full of riches waiting to be plundered.
Still, there was something to be said about the snide comments about the “long-rangers,” and the experimental methods that they used to reach their destinations unnoticed. Blowing up a moon to create a diversionary scattershot to land a group of operatives on the planet seemed like a lot of extra steps. At least the engineering crew had put in a lot of work on carving up and hollowing out the rocks that would be used to house them.
One of the monitors flickered red, then bright orange.
Even as Karis’ head swiveled to look at it, the AI’s voice droned the information inside his skull.
“There’s a minor breach. Sealant is being deployed.”
A few seconds drew themselves out before Karis’ eyes. He began to sweat more. The monitor stayed orange, the data displaying some truly unfortunate news. The sealant had failed, and the hole had grown wide enough to start venting oxygen. If he was lucky he would just asphyxiate before the heat buildup from the orbital drop cooked him alive.
“Grell, give me a solution.”
The Artificial Intelligence inside of you will serve as an assistant with tactical analysis. Keep in mind that it has no real will of its own. Please do not give it a name. It is not a pet.
All of the monitors shut off immediately, a switch flicked by an invisible hand.
“Do not panic, operative T’amor. Regulate your breathing. I will divert all power into cooling the interior, and I urge you to use as little energy as you can.”
The Herald ground his teeth as he clenched his jaws tightly shut, and took a short breath in through his nostrils.
It doesn’t make much sense to keep talking to you under code names and numbers. If you’re going to be in my head all the time, you’re going to be something more than a figment - I’m going to call you Grell.
He had seen the data projected on the orange monitor before it had winked out, and even without the aid of his so-called assistant he could run those numbers just fine by himself. His chances of survival were roughly six percent, and keeping the heat down was mostly going to be for his own comfort before he passed out.
What kind of name is Grell? I’ve read your case file as part of my installation. Your family had not been allowed to keep an animal, the food stocks were too low at the time of your childhood. Your adult living quarters have never been cleared for multiple occupancy, either.
“Don’t let me die. Don’t let me become meat.”
Karis’ eyes were squeezed shut, and a few trickles of moisture descended along his cheeks. Neither one of them were willing to admit if those were tears or not. The AI paused, as if uncertain of how to respond. An idea formed in the Herald’s mind, and he spared a few more breaths to intone it.
“Redeploy the stasis membrane. Override five five four five.”
Case files don’t cover everything. I know I’ve only spoken the basic rites and attended the required ceremonies for promotion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know the Fables. There is a…character named Grell within Myth. Why don’t you look that one up? You’re not just some pet, after all.
The membrane was designed to be recycled into food and fuel for Vitae forging, but aside from those utility purposes the side effects of landing while still in stasis had often shown short term memory loss and organ failure. Denial of those potential resources and the hazard of a damaged operative could compromise the mission. Grell processed the override, but the pod did not spring into action yet. Karis suddenly opened his eyes wide, and his mouth gaped into a furious roar.
“DON’T LET ME DIE!”
I see. Grell was a symbiote designed for the fourth generation that allowed them to survive in deep space when drives were down and gravity was too light for bone density to remain consistent. It was later subsumed into the evolution of the fifth generation. Is that how you see me, operative? Something to aid you and to eventually be consumed by you?
The tubes snaked back out on the AI’s command, pushing past the system’s resistance of the operative’s inadequate passphrase.
That’s not how I see Grell. They lived as one with us, kept us together in the face of desperate times, and became a part of us forever. The new breed could not have existed without Grell, and a hive mind like that does not simply die out. Grell was not a tool. Grell was a people that integrated into our own, like so many have in the past, and we honor it. Even if you are just a computer system, you’re still a part of me now.
Thousands of miles away, a status screen flared to life. A bald man in a pressed silver and gray uniform turned to stare at it, a frown creasing his lips. Getting a report out of sync was never a good sign. It took him only a few moments to absorb the contents of the log, and with each passing moment his brow only furrowed into a deeper knot.
Back on Orst, a series of thuds ushered in the arrival of extraterrestrial interlopers as fiery rocks crashed into a thicket amidst the woods of a wild zone. The Heralds had made landfall, though it remained to be seen how they all fared. The first of the pods to crack the earth began to tremble, then shed its smoldering outer layers to reveal the metal framework beneath. Inside the chamber a lone occupant stirred, hands groping and straining against the walls of a strange mass of biological matter.
The debris is ejected at high velocity, many pieces of which simply shatter into the smallest of fragments, while the larger chunks are sent spinning end over end into the recesses of space. In the stillness that follows a previously unseen vessel crept out from behind the cover of an otherwise barren planet, traversing carefully towards the debris. It bears no distinguishing marks, no proud sigils, and is little more than a thousand yard black ovoid that bristles with jutting rods and shafts that end in grappling claws. As it draws closer to the largest of the moonrocks the extremities of the ship swivel in their mounts and fire their hooks into the whirling junk, the impact sending shudders through it but not with enough force to break it down further. Sturdy chains connect the hooks to the ship itself, and they are drawn taut, holding fast to the moonrock and forcing its gyrations to end. Their prey caught, the ship then reels it in for the waiting work crews who will repurpose it for the Herald’s needs.
Many hours later a collection of meteoroids are hurtling towards Orst, and among their number are the landing pods that carry the agents themselves along with their much-needed gear. The pods are disguised carefully to appear as though they are just solid pieces of rock, though greater efforts still have gone into threading each pod with treated sheets of Mortem metal to not only prevent life signs from being detected within but to impart durability for the sake of the inhabitants.
“Begin operation: Order of the Falling Rocks.”
The disembodied voice is androgynous, and the utterance can only be heard in one of the pods now starting to blaze through Orst’s atmosphere. The pocket within the camouflaged pod is small, barely big enough to fit a body, and is adorned with an array of monitors and tubes. The monitors all light up as the first syllables of the sentence are uttered, and the tubes themselves protrude and punch into the only other object inside that lies atop a full chair: a large, pinkish membrane that pulses with the heartbeats of the man inside of it. They are slow and steady due to the state of hibernation he has been kept in, but as the pod’s tendrils bite into the membrane the pace quickens with the flow of blood and the siphoning of the cocoon itself. A few excruciating minutes pass as the protective sheen is sucked away and life is breathed into Karis, and he awakens with a sharp, wet cough. His dark skin is covered with sweat and his green hair is little more than a wet mop of thick strands. It takes some effort for him to push his heavy lids open, revealing synthetically steel blue eyes. The Herald groggily sweeps his gaze along the shining monitors, observing the data but not comprehending it yet, and it is only thanks to the restraints keeping him in his chair that his bulky limbs do not instinctively stretch out and strike an interior component.
“Fuck. Grell, get these things off of me.”
There is a harshness in his tone that cuts through any fondness of familiarity. The artificial intelligence within his body does not laugh, but when the same strange voice echoes from the pod once more, there is a sign of amusement in how matter of factly it responds.
“Negative, operative T’amor. You are not clear for freedom of movement, we are still making entry.”
Karis says nothing else, scowling as he surveys the displays before him. All of the numbers showed positive readouts: the exterior hull was still intact, the landing site was on target, and the atmosphere was just as breathable as the initial scans of the planet had surmised. He and his team would be landing in a heavily wooded area that would be rich in prospective soft resources. The forge could be set up there temporarily for material conversion, and once the scout had done their work they would move on.
I still can’t believe you’re joining the Rangers. That’s worse than a death sentence.
The former Enforcer’s scowl thickens at the memory, the blocky features of his face becoming contorted in his irritation. The work was going to be dangerous, but the rewards would be great. Enacting the will of the overlord had already been far more perilous than he thought it would be, and he believed that by taking even more risks for something of his own he would finally get what he desired - true power. The officers he had left behind were foolish cowards, lazing around in the bulk of the fleet. The Heralds were the shapers of the armada’s destiny, paving a way for a better future for their people to advance down. Orst in particular was a gem among the stars, full of riches waiting to be plundered.
Still, there was something to be said about the snide comments about the “long-rangers,” and the experimental methods that they used to reach their destinations unnoticed. Blowing up a moon to create a diversionary scattershot to land a group of operatives on the planet seemed like a lot of extra steps. At least the engineering crew had put in a lot of work on carving up and hollowing out the rocks that would be used to house them.
One of the monitors flickered red, then bright orange.
Even as Karis’ head swiveled to look at it, the AI’s voice droned the information inside his skull.
“There’s a minor breach. Sealant is being deployed.”
A few seconds drew themselves out before Karis’ eyes. He began to sweat more. The monitor stayed orange, the data displaying some truly unfortunate news. The sealant had failed, and the hole had grown wide enough to start venting oxygen. If he was lucky he would just asphyxiate before the heat buildup from the orbital drop cooked him alive.
“Grell, give me a solution.”
The Artificial Intelligence inside of you will serve as an assistant with tactical analysis. Keep in mind that it has no real will of its own. Please do not give it a name. It is not a pet.
All of the monitors shut off immediately, a switch flicked by an invisible hand.
“Do not panic, operative T’amor. Regulate your breathing. I will divert all power into cooling the interior, and I urge you to use as little energy as you can.”
The Herald ground his teeth as he clenched his jaws tightly shut, and took a short breath in through his nostrils.
It doesn’t make much sense to keep talking to you under code names and numbers. If you’re going to be in my head all the time, you’re going to be something more than a figment - I’m going to call you Grell.
He had seen the data projected on the orange monitor before it had winked out, and even without the aid of his so-called assistant he could run those numbers just fine by himself. His chances of survival were roughly six percent, and keeping the heat down was mostly going to be for his own comfort before he passed out.
What kind of name is Grell? I’ve read your case file as part of my installation. Your family had not been allowed to keep an animal, the food stocks were too low at the time of your childhood. Your adult living quarters have never been cleared for multiple occupancy, either.
“Don’t let me die. Don’t let me become meat.”
Karis’ eyes were squeezed shut, and a few trickles of moisture descended along his cheeks. Neither one of them were willing to admit if those were tears or not. The AI paused, as if uncertain of how to respond. An idea formed in the Herald’s mind, and he spared a few more breaths to intone it.
“Redeploy the stasis membrane. Override five five four five.”
Case files don’t cover everything. I know I’ve only spoken the basic rites and attended the required ceremonies for promotion, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know the Fables. There is a…character named Grell within Myth. Why don’t you look that one up? You’re not just some pet, after all.
The membrane was designed to be recycled into food and fuel for Vitae forging, but aside from those utility purposes the side effects of landing while still in stasis had often shown short term memory loss and organ failure. Denial of those potential resources and the hazard of a damaged operative could compromise the mission. Grell processed the override, but the pod did not spring into action yet. Karis suddenly opened his eyes wide, and his mouth gaped into a furious roar.
“DON’T LET ME DIE!”
I see. Grell was a symbiote designed for the fourth generation that allowed them to survive in deep space when drives were down and gravity was too light for bone density to remain consistent. It was later subsumed into the evolution of the fifth generation. Is that how you see me, operative? Something to aid you and to eventually be consumed by you?
The tubes snaked back out on the AI’s command, pushing past the system’s resistance of the operative’s inadequate passphrase.
That’s not how I see Grell. They lived as one with us, kept us together in the face of desperate times, and became a part of us forever. The new breed could not have existed without Grell, and a hive mind like that does not simply die out. Grell was not a tool. Grell was a people that integrated into our own, like so many have in the past, and we honor it. Even if you are just a computer system, you’re still a part of me now.
Thousands of miles away, a status screen flared to life. A bald man in a pressed silver and gray uniform turned to stare at it, a frown creasing his lips. Getting a report out of sync was never a good sign. It took him only a few moments to absorb the contents of the log, and with each passing moment his brow only furrowed into a deeper knot.
Back on Orst, a series of thuds ushered in the arrival of extraterrestrial interlopers as fiery rocks crashed into a thicket amidst the woods of a wild zone. The Heralds had made landfall, though it remained to be seen how they all fared. The first of the pods to crack the earth began to tremble, then shed its smoldering outer layers to reveal the metal framework beneath. Inside the chamber a lone occupant stirred, hands groping and straining against the walls of a strange mass of biological matter.
Name: Karis T'amor
Physical Description: Karis is extremely well-built. His mass is kept in check by his desire to remain athletic and mobile. As such, his rippling muscles are not so enormous that he is little more than a sluggish brute, though they are still notably intimidating. Paired with his piercing steel blue gaze, he often does not have to resort to violence immediately to cow citizens into submission. Short green hair clings to the top of his head, almost appearing like a dull jade skullcap when viewed from afar. He has skin that is a deep shade of brown, weathered by time and tribulations alike. His mouth's default expression is a firm line, which his thin lips emphasize, although occasionally a grim smile or decisive frown will turn his lips up or down. The rest of his head is thick, almost blocky, and his jaw is square enough to deflect a punch.
Personality Description: The former Enforcer is shaped by years of cruel experience inflicted both on him and on others. He views the universe with a mix of skepticism and bitterness, barely spending the minimum required time for prayers to Wrryl to remain socially accepted. Outside of his lack of devotion, Karis is characterized by an ambition to escape the monotony of a normalized life, willing to take risks to earn greater fortune and climb the ladder of command. He lacks self-awareness, perhaps a fatal flaw but one that is encouraged by the warriors he lives among. The use of overwhelming force and intimidation are his go-to methods.
Skills, powers and abilities:
More Machine Than Man: Even before he became a Herald, Karis served for many decades as an Enforcer within his home fleet. It was brutal, punishing work - keeping the overlord’s peace required constant vigilance and violence. Injuries and promotions alike required him to enhance his body with the best physical components the fleet could offer. His bones are laced with Vitae metal, his teeth are a durable plastic, and his musculature is genetically modified to be denser and stronger than a normal humanoid’s. All of his organs are more compact, each of them performing at peak levels. Neural wiring has recently been added along with the surgical extraction of unnecessary organs to make way for his newly installed Artificial Intelligence. Both eyes are artificial, fully upgraded with increased range of vision and spectrums of observation.
Artificial Intelligence: Karis has an onboard AI installed, the host of which is housed in his brain but the greater network of it lies in his chest cavity. His extensive cybernetics and enhanced biology has allowed for more space to be carved out for the AI’s integration. The primary function of the AI is analytics, assisting in disseminating information, assisting accuracy, and relaying battle tactics all at lightning speed. It can find weaknesses in an enemy that they did not know existed, and is particularly adept in subversion as described below.
Subversion: The pinnacle of technology is being able to build off the foundation of others, and surpass them in it. A Herald’s mission lies in harnessing the power of a planet against itself. Through repetitive research and innovation they can replicate the technology of an observed species, and mimic cultural traits and icons to make way for infiltration and recruitment.
Character Equipment:
“Glint” Tactical Armor: The Herald’s doctrine requires stealth over force at the onset of their machinations, and as such Karis is only equipped with light armaments and armor rather than the more extraordinary powered armor he would have had access to while still an Enforcer. A full piece of interlocked Mortem plating covers his upper torso, waist, and groin, with connective woven Vitae mesh at the joints that lead to vambraces on his forearms and greaves on his shins. At Karis’ request his armor also has a pair of gauntlets that connect to his vambraces with the same flexible mesh, and the fingertips and knuckles have been specially treated to become hardened. A full helmet connects with the breastplate, shielding the Enforcer’s face and identity behind a dark sheen of a plastic visor.
The armor’s defenses extend beyond just the physical - it also possesses the ability to change color, allowing for low-level camouflage, and shields the bearer from certain extra-sensory levels of detection such as infrared. There are no systems to allow for increased movement, but his helmet does have an advanced filtration system, and there are a number of mechanical tools secured in the pouches and pockets on his person.
Light Rail Pistol: As far as one-handed weapons go, this pistol's size belies the extent of its power. Roughly half a foot long along the barrel, with a rear-loading chamber, this rail pistol is capable of launching a dense slug at high velocity, offering accuracy over long distances as well as armor penetrating power.
Hand Shotgun: When it comes time for a short-range weapon that has the most vicious output possible, this gun is Karis' first choice. A single barrel extends a full two feet forward, with a pistol-style grip, and utilizes a breech loader. There are several different shells that it is capable of firing - a small series of micro-explosives, for example, or ball of mono-filament wire that lashes out at anything in its path.
Shock Mace: A weapon kept from his days as an Enforcer, this four-foot Mortem cudgel excels at doling out blunt force trauma. The rod’s handle is wrapped in rubber to protect the wielder from the electric current that can be channeled through it, coming to a focal point at the flanged head itself.
Mono-filament Whip: a spool of wire that can be stored within one of his vambraces, this is a more recent addition to Karis’ arsenal and is primarily used as a garrotte. However, he can run an electric current through it to force it to hold rigidity or shape, allowing for a greater range of use.
Character History:
Karis was raised to be part of a war machine. His basic curriculum was a vast history of violent conquest, the acquisition of necessary resources at any cost, and obedience to the might of authority. As a child the principles of an inscrutable god never appealed to him, nor did he resonate with the proud traditions of his fleet’s cultural heritage. He saw what his parents achieved through their strength as adults - they were bigger than him, which meant he had to follow their rules. As he grew in size, so did his adherence to one rule above all others: power alone is the only justification you need. If you have that, you can take what you want.
Amongst his people this did not put him at odds with anyone. It was their way to take and take, and not give anything back. They had started with a single world ship and grown into an armada over the years. None of this was through peaceful negotiations. Even the technology they had gained from their predecessors was won through contests and challenges. Their numbers were bolstered by what they consumed, their collections ranging from people to planets to stars.
No, among them Karis was not an outlier. He was bred for this, born into the mold of a cruel, brutish cog. Each passing year saw him pushing himself harder to surpass the limitations of his physical prowess, striving to score higher on academic marks to earn placement within the upper echelons of the fleet’s military. He would become an officer, then climb the ranks to become a general, and then higher still to vie for his own captaincy.
In all this he failed.
While he was an excellent combatant, his aptitude for strategy and innovation was limited. His youth made him reckless at times, and so he fell further and further behind his peers who were more patient and cunning. The overlord still had uses for bruisers like him, thankfully, and though he did not land where he desired he was still able to be given the rank of Enforcer within his own home ship. Karis took to the job with relish: the overlord was the strongest of all, and so to carry out his will gave him a sense of agency. Any who defied curfew, protested food reallocations, shirked work shifts, snuck into facilities, stole weaponry - they would all be beaten, shackled, and imprisoned, or die resisting.
It was a harsh life that took a greater toll on Karis, stripped him of what little empathy he had. It was not enough to sate him, either. There was still more he wanted to take, still more to be had. It was no coincidence that after a time he learned of a program within the fleet that was used to bring new planets into their empire. The bureaucracy of the fleet was not ignorant of what this Enforcer had become. They had monitored him since his first application, watched his actions, and knew that they had cultivated an ideal candidate for the Heralds. He was a loner by nature, not attached to the fleet itself, and was only loyal to their power. He was willing to be a weapon in their name if he would gain from it, and so he was suited to be another kind of instrument.
His induction was brief and simple. There was a planet he would be deployed to, one that was enormous and possessed an array of resources and technology that could be harvested. If he was successful he would be able to keep all that he reaped, and more.
Physical Description: Karis is extremely well-built. His mass is kept in check by his desire to remain athletic and mobile. As such, his rippling muscles are not so enormous that he is little more than a sluggish brute, though they are still notably intimidating. Paired with his piercing steel blue gaze, he often does not have to resort to violence immediately to cow citizens into submission. Short green hair clings to the top of his head, almost appearing like a dull jade skullcap when viewed from afar. He has skin that is a deep shade of brown, weathered by time and tribulations alike. His mouth's default expression is a firm line, which his thin lips emphasize, although occasionally a grim smile or decisive frown will turn his lips up or down. The rest of his head is thick, almost blocky, and his jaw is square enough to deflect a punch.
Personality Description: The former Enforcer is shaped by years of cruel experience inflicted both on him and on others. He views the universe with a mix of skepticism and bitterness, barely spending the minimum required time for prayers to Wrryl to remain socially accepted. Outside of his lack of devotion, Karis is characterized by an ambition to escape the monotony of a normalized life, willing to take risks to earn greater fortune and climb the ladder of command. He lacks self-awareness, perhaps a fatal flaw but one that is encouraged by the warriors he lives among. The use of overwhelming force and intimidation are his go-to methods.
Skills, powers and abilities:
More Machine Than Man: Even before he became a Herald, Karis served for many decades as an Enforcer within his home fleet. It was brutal, punishing work - keeping the overlord’s peace required constant vigilance and violence. Injuries and promotions alike required him to enhance his body with the best physical components the fleet could offer. His bones are laced with Vitae metal, his teeth are a durable plastic, and his musculature is genetically modified to be denser and stronger than a normal humanoid’s. All of his organs are more compact, each of them performing at peak levels. Neural wiring has recently been added along with the surgical extraction of unnecessary organs to make way for his newly installed Artificial Intelligence. Both eyes are artificial, fully upgraded with increased range of vision and spectrums of observation.
Artificial Intelligence: Karis has an onboard AI installed, the host of which is housed in his brain but the greater network of it lies in his chest cavity. His extensive cybernetics and enhanced biology has allowed for more space to be carved out for the AI’s integration. The primary function of the AI is analytics, assisting in disseminating information, assisting accuracy, and relaying battle tactics all at lightning speed. It can find weaknesses in an enemy that they did not know existed, and is particularly adept in subversion as described below.
Subversion: The pinnacle of technology is being able to build off the foundation of others, and surpass them in it. A Herald’s mission lies in harnessing the power of a planet against itself. Through repetitive research and innovation they can replicate the technology of an observed species, and mimic cultural traits and icons to make way for infiltration and recruitment.
Character Equipment:
“Glint” Tactical Armor: The Herald’s doctrine requires stealth over force at the onset of their machinations, and as such Karis is only equipped with light armaments and armor rather than the more extraordinary powered armor he would have had access to while still an Enforcer. A full piece of interlocked Mortem plating covers his upper torso, waist, and groin, with connective woven Vitae mesh at the joints that lead to vambraces on his forearms and greaves on his shins. At Karis’ request his armor also has a pair of gauntlets that connect to his vambraces with the same flexible mesh, and the fingertips and knuckles have been specially treated to become hardened. A full helmet connects with the breastplate, shielding the Enforcer’s face and identity behind a dark sheen of a plastic visor.
The armor’s defenses extend beyond just the physical - it also possesses the ability to change color, allowing for low-level camouflage, and shields the bearer from certain extra-sensory levels of detection such as infrared. There are no systems to allow for increased movement, but his helmet does have an advanced filtration system, and there are a number of mechanical tools secured in the pouches and pockets on his person.
Light Rail Pistol: As far as one-handed weapons go, this pistol's size belies the extent of its power. Roughly half a foot long along the barrel, with a rear-loading chamber, this rail pistol is capable of launching a dense slug at high velocity, offering accuracy over long distances as well as armor penetrating power.
Hand Shotgun: When it comes time for a short-range weapon that has the most vicious output possible, this gun is Karis' first choice. A single barrel extends a full two feet forward, with a pistol-style grip, and utilizes a breech loader. There are several different shells that it is capable of firing - a small series of micro-explosives, for example, or ball of mono-filament wire that lashes out at anything in its path.
Shock Mace: A weapon kept from his days as an Enforcer, this four-foot Mortem cudgel excels at doling out blunt force trauma. The rod’s handle is wrapped in rubber to protect the wielder from the electric current that can be channeled through it, coming to a focal point at the flanged head itself.
Mono-filament Whip: a spool of wire that can be stored within one of his vambraces, this is a more recent addition to Karis’ arsenal and is primarily used as a garrotte. However, he can run an electric current through it to force it to hold rigidity or shape, allowing for a greater range of use.
Character History:
Karis was raised to be part of a war machine. His basic curriculum was a vast history of violent conquest, the acquisition of necessary resources at any cost, and obedience to the might of authority. As a child the principles of an inscrutable god never appealed to him, nor did he resonate with the proud traditions of his fleet’s cultural heritage. He saw what his parents achieved through their strength as adults - they were bigger than him, which meant he had to follow their rules. As he grew in size, so did his adherence to one rule above all others: power alone is the only justification you need. If you have that, you can take what you want.
Amongst his people this did not put him at odds with anyone. It was their way to take and take, and not give anything back. They had started with a single world ship and grown into an armada over the years. None of this was through peaceful negotiations. Even the technology they had gained from their predecessors was won through contests and challenges. Their numbers were bolstered by what they consumed, their collections ranging from people to planets to stars.
No, among them Karis was not an outlier. He was bred for this, born into the mold of a cruel, brutish cog. Each passing year saw him pushing himself harder to surpass the limitations of his physical prowess, striving to score higher on academic marks to earn placement within the upper echelons of the fleet’s military. He would become an officer, then climb the ranks to become a general, and then higher still to vie for his own captaincy.
In all this he failed.
While he was an excellent combatant, his aptitude for strategy and innovation was limited. His youth made him reckless at times, and so he fell further and further behind his peers who were more patient and cunning. The overlord still had uses for bruisers like him, thankfully, and though he did not land where he desired he was still able to be given the rank of Enforcer within his own home ship. Karis took to the job with relish: the overlord was the strongest of all, and so to carry out his will gave him a sense of agency. Any who defied curfew, protested food reallocations, shirked work shifts, snuck into facilities, stole weaponry - they would all be beaten, shackled, and imprisoned, or die resisting.
It was a harsh life that took a greater toll on Karis, stripped him of what little empathy he had. It was not enough to sate him, either. There was still more he wanted to take, still more to be had. It was no coincidence that after a time he learned of a program within the fleet that was used to bring new planets into their empire. The bureaucracy of the fleet was not ignorant of what this Enforcer had become. They had monitored him since his first application, watched his actions, and knew that they had cultivated an ideal candidate for the Heralds. He was a loner by nature, not attached to the fleet itself, and was only loyal to their power. He was willing to be a weapon in their name if he would gain from it, and so he was suited to be another kind of instrument.
His induction was brief and simple. There was a planet he would be deployed to, one that was enormous and possessed an array of resources and technology that could be harvested. If he was successful he would be able to keep all that he reaped, and more.
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