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1
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] Chapter 8: A Thin Black Line
« Latest: by cortex ghost on April 23, 2018, 10:45:27 AM »
Samantha's ears rang with noise, thousands of incomprehensible voices; her eyes were filled with static, as if a hundred overlapping images were projected at the same time.  She shook her head and the noise and sights cleared, solidifying into the black temple of the Dark Mason.  She could feel a strange tugging, pulling her from her center towards the outside.

Stumbling to her feet, Sam made her way to the door of the building.  She could see Isaac and his people, the swords in his hands flickering like a strobe effect, phasing in and out of reality as the Ferro'khin sliced and rebuilt the Rifts around him, healing what could not be healed.  A flicker around Isaac drew her attention, and she could barely make out vast, insectile shapes just on the edge of perception.  They seemed to be... talking...

One of the shapes turns a monstrous visage in her direction.  ADDITIONAL CAPACITY, a dispassionate voice in her head rings.  PARALLEL PROCESSING, another replies, as one of the other shapes, barely visible, moves slightly away from Isaac.  PARATEMPORAL CAPACITY.  USEFUL.  OBSERVE.

2
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« Latest: by Skygalleons on April 22, 2018, 10:30:20 AM »
Bert's Parry

Agility d10 + Swords d10, roll = 16

GM (GM): rolling 2d10
(7+9) = 16
3
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] Chapter 8: A Thin Black Line
« Latest: by Wanderer on April 18, 2018, 06:18:59 PM »
Because I have seen creation. Isaac thought, his words stronger than he ever thought possible, even as he felt more of the threads of life burning away within himself. I have known joys and sorrows beyond number, and touched lives beyond counting. For all that I’ve lost, all I’ve forgotten, I see how precious it is. Do you? Shall I pull this work of art from the jaws of darkness, just to feed it to you?

Isaac coughed, droplets hitting the ground in front of him, before setting his teeth again. What else can my great masters be like, when even gods feared my people; the meekest of your children?
4
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] Chapter 8: A Thin Black Line
« Latest: by RobbyL9 on April 18, 2018, 06:03:23 PM »
Rosie’s/Dalla’s eyes fluttered open as Leon held her.  “Leon?” she said weakly.

Leon was alarmed.  He voice had held a doubled timbre, as if two people were speaking, slightly out of time with one another.  Her eyes focused on him, and he noted that her eyes were now brown, instead of blue.  She shook her head and blinked several times, before moving to stand.  She wobbled a little and leaned on Leon’s arm, touching his face.  “What’s wrong?” she asked, concern coloring her twin voices.  Her eyes widened as she heard herself, and she touched her throat.

“I.. we..”  She began breathing heavily, eyes darting from side to side.  “B-both?!”  She grabbed at Leon, before pushing him away. 

“You should leave me.”  Rosie’s voices were ragged, and she covered her face with her hands.

"Wha-" Leon breathed upon hearing her speak. What had happened? The combination of their beings had resulted in some sort of a dual being. Two spirits in one body? If that were true, what had happened to Dalla's body? And the voices? And everything else? The questions came all at once and shock was plainly apparent on the void captain's face.

After the initial alarm had wore off, Leon took Rosie by her wrists, parting her hands from in front of her face. She resisted at first, but slowly her hands were moved down to her sides as Leon looked into her eyes. They snapped shut and Rosie looked down and away, containing a sob.

Rosie. That was still who Leon saw. Through the vocal oddity and the seeming loss of her beautiful sapphire eyes, Leon nonetheless still saw the woman he fell in love with. "You're alive. For the moment that is all that matters." he told her, gently pulling her closer to meet his gaze "I thought that you had left me forever. I certainly will not leave you now."

(What did Rosie's ring finger look like when it was being moved away from her face? Did she still have the engagement knot?)
5
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« Latest: by cortex ghost on April 18, 2018, 05:10:08 PM »
yeah, absolutely.


(also, I realized that I left Sam's section out.  I'll add that in this evening - sorry Mac!)
6
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« Latest: by RobbyL9 on April 18, 2018, 05:05:06 PM »
That... is. LONG! Want some more actions from the rest of us for in between?
7
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Airship Pirates!
« Latest: by cortex ghost on April 18, 2018, 04:33:32 PM »
Sky, I need a HARD(11) Agility+Swords from you, please (Tavington is attempting a disarm for his first action - his attack is a 1d8+1d12=6+10=16)
8
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] OOC Chat
« Latest: by cortex ghost on April 18, 2018, 03:31:24 PM »
a loooooong post up in BNW.
9
Brave New World / Re: [BNW] Chapter 8: A Thin Black Line
« Latest: by cortex ghost on April 18, 2018, 03:31:00 PM »
Rosie’s/Dalla’s eyes fluttered open as Leon held her.  “Leon?” she said weakly.

Leon was alarmed.  He voice had held a doubled timbre, as if two people were speaking, slightly out of time with one another.  Her eyes focused on him, and he noted that her eyes were now brown, instead of blue.  She shook her head and blinked several times, before moving to stand.  She wobbled a little and leaned on Leon’s arm, touching his face.  “What’s wrong?” she asked, concern coloring her twin voices.  Her eyes widened as she heard herself, and she touched her throat.

“I.. we..”  She began breathing heavily, eyes darting from side to side.  “B-both?!”  She grabbed at Leon, before pushing him away. 

“You should leave me.”  Rosie’s voices were ragged, and she covered her face with her hands. 


Jergen dropped to his knees with a sigh, holding himself up with Caliburn.  Kat would be proud, Caliburn said gently.  You helped save the world, every world, just for her.

“But it doesn’t matter if she’s still gone,” Jergen said, tears dripping down his face. 

Look at Isaac, the sword replied. He believed that his people were gone, and he was the last - yet here they are.  Maybe out in the Multiverse there is some way of undoing what’s been done, without causing the Corruption to come back, he amended.
Jergen looked at the pile of dust where Rendon had been.  “Perhaps,” he said, drying his face and standing once more.  “I’ll always keep looking.”

Suriya held Jack’s arm, but he lifted the memory knife and tossed it away, raising his hands in surrender.  “I know you won’t trust this, Sunny, but lemme say Detective… you was right.   Sometimes you gotta dive so deep in th’Abyss you can’t see nothin’ but then you get that one little spark, far in th’ distance.  I done wrong - there’s more blood on my hands than I care to admit.  But I ain’t like that. He nodded in the direction of the Dark Mason’s still form.

Meanwhile the Mason cradled the orb in her hand, staring at it with weary eyes and slumped shoulders - though it was her younger self that was defeated, the current Mason looked similarly vanquished.   She knelt upon the ground, one palm to her forehead.

"Why?"  The Mason's voice was tremulous.

Suriya pursed her lips and dropped Jack’s arm.  She glanced at Isaac & Jergen, then back at the Mason.  “Mason?” she asked cautiously, moving carefully towards the Time Lord.

“Why couldn’t you…” The Mason sighed, placed the orb carefully in her pocket, and covered her face with both hands.

“Couldn’t what?” Suriya queried, standing as if torn between the Mason and Jack.  There were no rules for handling this kind of situation.  Where one's greatest enemy has also been a steadfast ally: what possible social protocol could exist for navigating this kind of circumstance?  Conflicting emotions passed across Suriya’s face as she stood, rooted to the spot.

"Refute her."  The Mason raised her head, and her voice followed suit, filled with pain and disappointment.  "Why couldn't any of you put forth even a single argument to contradict her?"  The anger in her tone was quiet, yet its mere existence placed everyone on edge, igniting a fear that the fight was not yet over.

"We stopped her."  Suriya calmly stated, hoping to avoid any escalation.

The Mason shook her head.  "No.  No you fought.  All of you disagreed with her and fought her, but none of you refuted her.  None of you said anything that could prove her wrong."  The Mason turned sideways, placing her hand on her face again.


Suriya took the gamble on stepping closer, to within the range that she could sit beside the Mason without directly confronting her.  "She was wrong, and what she planned was wrong."  Suriya quietly stated.


"Yes, yes of course I was!"  Exasperation escaped the bars of her fingers.  "But I just..."  she sighed. "The problem still exists.  The problem she was trying to solve.  No, her plan... my plan would never have succeeded.  I can't fix the multiverse by recreating it.  But I so desperately wished there'd been something, some reason to believe it was fine as is."

“You do the job that is in front of you,” Suriya said, “And then you fix what you can.  Sometimes things are too broken to be fixed, but they often only look that way at first glance.”

The Mason snorted, then turned to look at the detective, her now-white hair sliding over her shoulders and hiding her face.   "Imagine a patient, living in agony, metastatic cancer throughout their body.  Unimaginable pain.  If you kill the doctor that wishes to perform a euthanasia, have you really helped the patient?"  She looked up at towards the ceiling, before turning back to Suriya.  "Is there even a right answer to that question?"

It was Suriya’s turn to look down, at her feet, her sword, anywhere but meeting the Mason’s gaze.  “Regardless - that’s not your decision to make.”

Wordlessly The Mason looked at Suriya, and then stared off again.  "I wonder how many would believe that without the benefit of hindsight.  When things get so bad, how often is any person tempted by the prospect of a fresh start?"

"For some things... maybe.  But not all."  Suriya lightly placed a hand on The Mason's shoulder.  "Often, the easy solution is tempting, but sometimes repairing what we have is the correct course of action."

The Mason leaned against Suriya’s shoulder, wanting to agree but conflicted over what she felt, because of the intense suffering she had felt in... well... everything.  "Repairing.  Do you understand what it would take to repair the Multiverse?”

Suriya kept a poker face her gaze locked with the Mason, silently quirking an eyebrow at her.

The Mason stood up and paced, as though this had long been a frustration in the back of her mind.  "The cascade of infinite possibilities.  Parallel dimensions where every bad outcome for a choice made in good intentions exists.  Countless beings that define their existence as good by ensuring there are others that suffer in comparison.  To combat the unending injustices that constantly eat away at the very soul of the multiverse would be an undertaking of impossible magnitude."

"Well, we’d best get on it then."  Suriya stood up.  "We do the impossible, and hang the odds."

The Mason inhaled deeply, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.  "I'm not talking about fixing one threat.  I'm talking about all threats.  To even begin to address such widespread tragedy I'd need a machine even more powerful than a TARDIS.  Not just an eleventh dimensional construct but a twelfth dimensional one.  Something that has existed for as long as the multiverse has, recording everything so that one day it could all be analyzed.  Even then, I wouldn't live long enough to address all the problems.  I'd need countless helpers, teams of trained individuals that know how to combat these problems without creating new ones."

The Mason placed her hands on her hips, grunting in frustration as she bitterly looked down at the ground.

“Sounds a bit like the Hub’s cells,” Suriya remarked absently.

The whites of her eyes were particularly bright as her gaze widened.  Gradually her head lifted, until her epiphany fueled expression was staring unfocused in to the distance.  "My goodness.  I don't believe it."

Suriya and the others turned their heads to look in the same direction, but there was nothing there.  When they turned back The Mason was pacing once more, but this time with an anxious energy.  "It couldn't be.  I couldn't have.  Could I?"

"Could what?  What are you on about?"  Suriya pressed.

The Mason stopped, looking electric with shock, but her posture gently calmed as she directed her attention to Suriya.  "I... have work to do."

Suriya crossed her arms skeptically.  "And do we need to be worried?"  Her tone carried a matronly quality, and she darted her eyes towards that of the unconscious Mason to drive home her point.

The current Mason looked over at the unmoving figure of her younger self, and then back to Suriya.  In a calm and reassuring tone, "No Sunny.  No you needn't be."

The Mason stepped away, walking stoically towards her younger self as The Mentor stood nearby.  His eyes followed her for a moment, then he looked at Suriya and locked eyes with her.  “It won’t work as she thinks,” he murmured, pitching his voice so that only the detective can hear.  “There is one who can do this, but, as with all worthwhile things, there will be… sacrifices.”  He turned, and she followed his gaze to where Isaac and the other Ferro’khin stood.  Suriya’s eyes widened in understanding.  “Oh no…” she whispered.


Isaac stopped, breathing heavily as his body came down from the quickness.  His arms wanted to drop his weapons, but the blades clung to his hands as if bonded with them.  With effort, he released the swords and sheathed them as the first of the Ferro’khin stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder.  Others came forward then, and placed their hands in an ever widening web of living Ferro’khin.  His people, Isaac realized, sharing their strength with him.  The ashes were unmade, somehow, the leaf reborn in this final darkness. 

The Mentor stepped up to Isaac as well, holding his arm our imperiously. “Come,” he ordered, “Your gods made one more task for you - for all of you,” he added, his eyes sweeping over the assembled Ferro’khin.

The Time Lord led Isaac and the other outside the building, to where the harsh landscape was burned with the twin bright light of the disintigrating TARDIS and the black hole.  The sky above was dotted with brilliant specks, like stars, as the dalek saucers burned and fell into the atmosphere.


  The Mentor produced the flowers, the Tears of Illior, and presented them to Isaac with a small flourish. 

“The multiverse bleeds, Ferro’khin.  Heal it.”

Isaac touched the Mentor’s hand briefly as the flowers were passed to him.  Centuries and millennia of memories washed over him, but always in the forefront was another, sometimes a young man, sometimes an old one; and then several times the Mason in her various incarnations - The Mentor’s name, it seemed, was quite apt when it came to the Mason.

Isaac swallowed and nodded.  “You know what you ask, Great One?” he murmured, before taking the white handled blade in his left hand. 

The Mentor nodded in return.  “Some inkling.”

"You were made to serve.  To live, and serve, and to die, as your masters saw fit."  Hastur’s words came of a sudden to Isaac’s mind.  The King in Yellow must have known, then, that they walked with their own enemy in their midst, in the form of the Mason.  He must have seen that Isaac would die, to use his wound-sharing to heal what remained of the Multiverse.  He tasted bile in his throat at the pain he knew was about to come.

Isaac licked his lips and eyed the flowers.  With a slight shrug, he stuffed them in his mouth and began chewing stolidly, while the air around his swords seemed to hum.  The blades began to sing as Isaac swept it up before him, feeling a Rift where none should be, and his blood sang in response as he called its power forth. 

Isaac could feel all the other behind and around him, but barely, as merely an anchor to his flesh.  The flower’s nectar burned in his veins and stomach, fire feeling like it coursed behind his eyes. 

The swords hummed with power, and Isaac began sweeping them in the complicated form the Old One has taught him so long ago.  Light and dark intertwined as the Rifts began to pull apart, merging and melding, reality changing before him as he pulled the damage into himself.  Isaac felt rather than heard the screams torn from his throat as he began to knit the fabric of reality with his blood. 

A hand suddenly grasped his shoulder.  Mother Rayna.  Another - Calderon.  Carver.  Others whose names he had forgotten or never known, each sharing their blood with him, their power surging into him like a stream.  The pain lessened for a moment, shared among so many - then the force of it redoubled as those closest nearly dropped from the strain.  Isaac’s mind could barely hold focus, but he could feel blood dripping out of the Ferro’khin from eyes and ears, their bodies unable to heal themselves as they healed the Multiverse.

I am Isaac Crass.  I am Ferro’khin.  I was made to live, to serve, and to die.  Isaac repeated the mantra as he knitted time and space into their proper forms, forcing the Corruption into their own space, feeling the pain strengthen each time one of the Ferro’khin dropped from exhaustion.  The fire of the Tears kept his body from disintegrating, but the others were not as lucky -  their hands and feet burned, their bones twisted, flesh weakened from the healing forced upon them.

Realities swirled around him.  He lost himself in an unending stream of time and space, but he could still feel the anchoring pain of the Ferro’khin. At the edge of his awareness was the steady rock of Sam Carter, all of her lives; the self-contained chaos of the Mentor & the Mason, the ripples of them across space and time; Jergen, his thoughts reminding him of the weapon Hastur had given him; Leon and Rosie’s/Dalla’s love, the three of them a tightly interwining ball; and finally Suriya.  He could feel her horror at what Isaac had taken on, her fear of what would happen to him - but beneath it, pride and a stubborn refusal to accept things as they were. 

And then beyond them, his compatriots - Jack.  The only one who who could even possibly comprehend him. Acceptance and grief at the thought of losing Isaac.  Guilt at having helped caused this evil.

Distantly, in the dark shadows beyond, Isaac could feel… Them.  The Old Ones.  The Makers of him and his kind, eyeing the new reality he was shaping… hungrily.

Thoughts came to him, memories.  Suriya, defying Ares.  The Mason, taunting Apophis.  Leon, protecting Rosie from the guns of the One’s guardsmen.  Jergen throwing his shield over Leon’s unprotected back.  Samantha’s vessel striking across the void at vessels so much larger than hers.

More memories - of Athena at the gods’ ball, telling how they had ordered the deaths of the Ferro’khin.  “The Ferro'khin were designed as weapons, for a war that should never be fought.   That weapon was - removed from consideration."  Bad Seeds.  The lion-headed goddess Sekhmet: “Should any of your gods have survived, we would kill them too.”

Yet here they were, at the very end.  Waiting.  Isaac imagined for a moment what would happen if the Old Ones entered this new realm, and the gods, the other gods, found them.  “Any battle between our pantheon and theirs would have devastated entire realms, mortal.”  It would undo all the healing he and the others had done, Isaac realized.  It would end all the worlds just as they were being born.

No.  Isaac’s thought sent a shockwave through the Old Ones.  Never had one of their creations openly defied them like that before (not for more than a moment, at least).  They surged towards the realm he was building and Isaac pushed at them, forced them away from it. 

Why.    The Voice within him demanded.


10
Steampunk Airship: HMS Cordelia / Re: [SAHC] Chapter 7: A Changing Tide
« Latest: by MacTrom on April 16, 2018, 12:25:20 PM »
Code: [Select]
1d10 : 5,  5
 1d8 : 2,  2
   Grand Total=7
Marjerie "Meg" de Ruchan
  Captain HMS Cordelia
  Gauss Gun (2) [+2ds atk, d8w, 1/10 rof, 100']
  Pistols (2) [d6W, ROF 1/3, 40 ft.]
  Foil (d6w)
  Cutlass (d6w)
  Brass Cuirass [2w->0, 2w->s, -1ds AGI]
  PP:  3 5  AP: 10
  LP: 16 W:0 S:4

As the heavy dropped before her, Meg feigned left and then pushed hard right against the man grasping her foil, twisting as she did, first turning toward him and then past as she slide around, rotating clockwise and letting her momentum draw her blade twisting his grip and finding his belly with the tip. As she wheeled past him, blood spurted from his corset, soaking the rest of his uniform. She came up en guarde to face two more Frenchmen. She balance back and parried the next blade before thrusting forward.

Code: [Select]
first attack 1d10 : 10,  10
 1d8 : 5,  5
   Grand Total=15
dmg 1d6 : 4,  4
   Grand Total=4

Code: [Select]
parry 1d10 : 10,  10
 1d6 : 6,  6
   Grand Total=16
Code: [Select]
second attack+2pp 1d10 : 3,  3
 1d4 : 3,  3
 1d4 : 2,  2
   Grand Total=8
dmg 1d6 : 3,  3
   Grand Total=3


[- added damage rolls Mac -]
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