[A picture taken from the deck of a ship, stars hanging in the void colored by distant nebulae. Almost out of view is a bit of a space station, "ASAP" can be seen painted in big green letters, with the house of dust's sigil painted below it]
Out of nearlight.
And it feels good.
I've done my best to get a read on the civilizations of the Orion Arm through the omninet, and I've ultimately found that the one true "mystery" that remains is the region known as "Aunic Space," and I am very tempted to take the Asap blink directly to the other end of the arm to understand that which I do not.
I think that would be a waste of everything that lies ahead, though. It's a shorter leap to Rà o Cỏ, so I think I'm making for the rim- but nothing is in stone.
I have no directive from the diplomatic corps to guide me. I am only good at fighting (piloting). Really, this is a too-long way to ask a question. Omninet- what is worth experiencing?
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ok update still alive. maybe puked in the cockpit a little, maybe uploaded the wrong ewar package to a police mech n it melted down n destroyed a city block... but we move
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Yeah. Sure. Okay. This was an interesting rabbit hole [ATC:::approximate] and I'll admit a novel answer to the question of how the UIB, if it exists, manages to operate without all of CentComm knowing.
Still.
It's a little chauvy, [ATC:::UniGal "chauvy". Loaned into many languages galaxy-wide] isn't it? Answering that question with "ah, but a cabal [ATC:::approximate. Original wording references Xenoglossary] of ancient NHPs who have remained secret for thousands of years" feels like the mad dream of some anthrochauvinist pretender.
Depends. Which interpretation? If you were the shadowy puppetmaster [ATC:::approximate] behind the Hercynian crisis, no, but if you're just some collection of augurs [ATC:::literal] chained to the secret real leaders of CentComm, probably. I don't think you're Martian, [ATC:::derogatory] though.
Nah def. There's an argument I'm Mercurian, maybe. Not one I really buy into though. I'm not invested enough in people and their little lives to do the other thing either. I know a girl who is, and I do NOT enjoy her company.
.
.
.
[I'm happy you fuck with me]
Send pics of you dismembering a chassis around some pauvre fou, I want to believe you so bad~
- Callsign: Wyrmling -
Totally.
[SHINE.omf]
-------------------------------------------
It's difficult to parse the footage attached to this message, everything is a blur and the few coherent moments don't make a ton of sense without greater context. There are flashes where frames appear, or ruined pieces of them seem to hang in the air. The background doesn't help much either. Wherever this takes place is dark. A grey cloudy sky hangs over foliage so darkly pigmented as to be entirely black.
Slowing the video down helps, but not much. Everything happens in a flash, the way the world moves is disorienting- enough to cause motion sickness in someone unprepared to see what's on the screen. Only by bringing the footage to an absolute crawl, is it possible to get the gist of what's happening here.
Nobody moves like this.
Nobody can.
In a beat of time where the average pilot can normally make about one decisive movement, the thing in this footage seems to make about five or six. A constant ASURA protocol might be the best comparison to what's happening. That said the persistent rhythm on display is faster than anything a human or demosian pilot can reasonably perceive, much less actually manage with this amount of control and finesse.
Pulse blade carves through a Sherman's leg, it collapses as the fluid motion continues in a forward surge and the first frame's squaddie loses his head, and a harsh turn of the sword and a diagonal cut into the ground splits a third in half- its halves falling on either side of the frame that split it so cleanly. A Tokugawa appears from nowhere, fired by jump jets towards the POV frame, only to be struck at the perfect point of failure between the legs for it to come apart in just the same way as the Sherman strewn about the ground - its torches millimeters from cutting into the bright green frame before being cut faster than it could naturally react. This happens time and time again, each strike is perfect, punching through cockpits or hitting precisely where a frame can't compensate. Each arc of the blade cuts through more than one machine and a fourth of the kills recorded happen after a point where the pilot should be dead as they twist and tilt just enough for each shot and strike to just scrape the side of their machine. There's no urgency, no concern. Everything that approaches the green frame is dispatched in a movement that is somehow both graceful, and perfectly rote.
The colors and emblems on each frame are consistent with the Brigade Legion's "Michigan" unit, who've been conspicuously out of the news recently. Expert pilots with a particularly poor reputation in the rim for brutal tactics, the "bad" cop to the first forward's "good." Still though, Lancers, by any definition of the word. This is apparent in their tactics too. They do everything right, working together, trying to protect one another and covering individual weaknesses, striking at every moment their opponent seems occupied with something else. They move from angles the frame can't cover. They strike with the trained finesse of those whose frames are an extension of themselves. They fire keen shots that would land directly anywhere else, with anyone else. They use every bit of their frames, working with underhanded creativity at every turn.
It just isn't enough. Every smart tactical decision ends the exact same way a poor one would. Every moment of skill put on display comes microseconds before their frame is bisected, their cockpit is punched out, or their reactor is ruptured.
There is no win condition. Not for them.
If the video is brought back to normal speed, and inspected that way- it sounds a little funny. It might take a few moments to glean, but the sound is music. Not in the metaphorical way one might describe the whirr of an engine or the clash of a sword as being "musical," but in the way that each strike the green frame lands is a very deliberate note. Slowing it down again, one would see that each "perfect" strike she lands isn't even that. There are some truly ridiculous movements she makes, that seem to be only for the sake of eliciting a certain kind of sound from the mech she's about to kill, moving in such a way the impracticality means nothing. Everything is perfect, because the pilot decides it will be.
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Yeah. Sure. Okay. This was an interesting rabbit hole [ATC:::approximate] and I'll admit a novel answer to the question of how the UIB, if it exists, manages to operate without all of CentComm knowing.
Still.
It's a little chauvy, [ATC:::UniGal "chauvy". Loaned into many languages galaxy-wide] isn't it? Answering that question with "ah, but a cabal [ATC:::approximate. Original wording references Xenoglossary] of ancient NHPs who have remained secret for thousands of years" feels like the mad dream of some anthrochauvinist pretender.
I haven't been this far from Bo in a very long time, I would be lying if I said I wasn't homesick.
This planet is almost annoyingly peaceful, I'm not even sure why we were needed to escort citoyen out here. At least they seem to be adjusting better than we are. I've caught my comrades slacking seven times today.
Certainly odd to go from seeing Bo's dying seas to seeing waves upon waves of grain. Are the agriculture planets always this empty? Even the spaceport was staffed by only a few people, and it was clear they'd never seen a Kuirasser in person before.
I've spent the past three days just watching the farming subalterns walking up and down the rows harvesting rice.
At least the locals are kind, I don't think I've ever eaten food this fresh before.
// An image is attached showing a valley dotted with small prefab cottages surrounded by stacked terraces of rice paddies. In the foreground is a small windmill seemingly made of scrap parts. //
So are the trees, actually. And it's always snowing. Snow is white though. Color in bodies of water is some shit to do with the mineral content I never cared to look into.
If I wanted to spend time on a planet that feels dead I would rather go back to Bo. At least Bo has more color than being simply monochrome. And I've spent all my life in the Boan tropics, the cold is horrid for my complexion.
OOC: Hey just gonna take a moment here, on the Lancer blog of mine with a non-negligable number of followers, to just make a Wyrmling appreciation post. I see you, I love your fuckin dragon, I appreciate how you're handing people opportunities to post straight fire!
(The footage is grainy, like some found footage horror movie. Probably recovered from a series of destroyed cameras if the cutting to different angles is proof of anything.)
(The ground of an asteroid housing a bruise blacksite shakes to the rhythm of a bombing run by some unseen aircraft. Personel hurry to battle positions, caught unawares but maintaining their composure. They're all professionals, after all. But, that changes quickly and violently.)
(Sound doesn't carry in a vaccuum, but something possesses them all to stop in their tracks for a brief moment even in the eerie silence. A sort of... presence.)
(The wings are the first part of the silhouette that can be made out. What should be scales stretched across skeleton is instead metallic plates and liturgicode-infested print membrane. The thrusters grafted into mechanical appendages spit a trail of perfect flame to carry a daemon towards its prey.)
(It swoops down upon the facilty and chaos ensues. With a gout of hellfire released from its mouth it bathes infantry and chassis alike in molten death. Its strafing run brings arcs of lightning dragging across every nearby surface, and its wicked, superheated talons rip new stripes through buildings, ground, and frames.)
(The body of the great beast almost looks piecemeal. Armored plates fused like scales along a frame alien in its reptilian shape betray ghenghis architecture along with... something older. Something from a worse time. A relict, left behind evil, cannibalized for this new purpose. The same membrane from the wings pulls itself between and over these plates in places. Spines of a similar make form a sharp fin down the neck and back, and a storm dances along them.)
(The creature rampages its way through the facility, leaving death and fire and blood in its wake. It tears through and liquefies the armor of honored soldiers with the ease of a butcher carving flesh. A monstrous grace moves the limbs of a perfect hunter. A predator from myth. A real life goddamn dragon.)
- Callsign: Wyrmling -
No shit, huh?
[The above message gets sent out in reply first, a long pause following]
There is something holy in this. You, Ladon. I, Heracles. Cycles upon cycles removed from the divine, saddled with new labors both. I am not a romantic woman but there is poetry that writes itself.
I would see what you become with great interest, Wyrmling. If you ever want to put your talons to task against a peer, I'll make time for you.
I am disembarking this vessel soon, and all the rim will be at my fingertips.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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Send pics of you dismembering a chassis around some pauvre fou, I want to believe you so bad~
- Callsign: Wyrmling -
Totally.
[SHINE.omf]
-------------------------------------------
It's difficult to parse the footage attached to this message, everything is a blur and the few coherent moments don't make a ton of sense without greater context. There are flashes where frames appear, or ruined pieces of them seem to hang in the air. The background doesn't help much either. Wherever this takes place is dark. A grey cloudy sky hangs over foliage so darkly pigmented as to be entirely black.
Slowing the video down helps, but not much. Everything happens in a flash, the way the world moves is disorienting- enough to cause motion sickness in someone unprepared to see what's on the screen. Only by bringing the footage to an absolute crawl, is it possible to get the gist of what's happening here.
Nobody moves like this.
Nobody can.
In a beat of time where the average pilot can normally make about one decisive movement, the thing in this footage seems to make about five or six. A constant ASURA protocol might be the best comparison to what's happening. That said the persistent rhythm on display is faster than anything a human or demosian pilot can reasonably perceive, much less actually manage with this amount of control and finesse.
Pulse blade carves through a Sherman's leg, it collapses as the fluid motion continues in a forward surge and the first frame's squaddie loses his head, and a harsh turn of the sword and a diagonal cut into the ground splits a third in half- its halves falling on either side of the frame that split it so cleanly. A Tokugawa appears from nowhere, fired by jump jets towards the POV frame, only to be struck at the perfect point of failure between the legs for it to come apart in just the same way as the Sherman strewn about the ground - its torches millimeters from cutting into the bright green frame before being cut faster than it could naturally react. This happens time and time again, each strike is perfect, punching through cockpits or hitting precisely where a frame can't compensate. Each arc of the blade cuts through more than one machine and a fourth of the kills recorded happen after a point where the pilot should be dead as they twist and tilt just enough for each shot and strike to just scrape the side of their machine. There's no urgency, no concern. Everything that approaches the green frame is dispatched in a movement that is somehow both graceful, and perfectly rote.
The colors and emblems on each frame are consistent with the Brigade Legion's "Michigan" unit, who've been conspicuously out of the news recently. Expert pilots with a particularly poor reputation in the rim for brutal tactics, the "bad" cop to the first forward's "good." Still though, Lancers, by any definition of the word. This is apparent in their tactics too. They do everything right, working together, trying to protect one another and covering individual weaknesses, striking at every moment their opponent seems occupied with something else. They move from angles the frame can't cover. They strike with the trained finesse of those whose frames are an extension of themselves. They fire keen shots that would land directly anywhere else, with anyone else. They use every bit of their frames, working with underhanded creativity at every turn.
It just isn't enough. Every smart tactical decision ends the exact same way a poor one would. Every moment of skill put on display comes microseconds before their frame is bisected, their cockpit is punched out, or their reactor is ruptured.
There is no win condition. Not for them.
If the video is brought back to normal speed, and inspected that way- it sounds a little funny. It might take a few moments to glean, but the sound is music. Not in the metaphorical way one might describe the whirr of an engine or the clash of a sword as being "musical," but in the way that each strike the green frame lands is a very deliberate note. Slowing it down again, one would see that each "perfect" strike she lands isn't even that. There are some truly ridiculous movements she makes, that seem to be only for the sake of eliciting a certain kind of sound from the mech she's about to kill, moving in such a way the impracticality means nothing. Everything is perfect, because the pilot decides it will be.