Maxxob
The Overseer
DragonSlayer57
| Hunter - RP Goals: Get rid of the [Maimed] title and replace the lost arm with a prosthetic arm
The bustling city of Clockhaven stretched beneath a haze of clockwork steam and the hum of scientific machinery. Towering spires of brass and steel glinted in the fading sunlight, their intricate gears visible even from a distance. This was the heart of Widersian innovation—a city where scientific curiosity and progress marched to the rhythm of ticking mechanisms.
Hunter Asphalt, cloaked in the somber shadows of his loss, stood at the door of an unassuming workshop. The plaque above read, "Dr. Gregorius House, Tinkerer Extraordinaire. Expect Attitude." Inside, the dim light of glowing thaumic conduits illuminated cluttered tables strewn with tools, scraps of metal, and partially assembled automata. The air reeked of oil and ozone.
Behind one such table, a man leaned over a schematic. His disheveled hair was streaked with gray, and his sharp blue eyes peered through half-moon spectacles perched precariously on his nose. Without looking up, he rasped, “You’re late. I despise lateness. Not as much as stupidity, but it’s up there.”
Dr. House straightened, tossing the schematic aside. “So, you’re the maimed one. I assume you’re here because you want me to fix you. Well, I don’t work for free, and I definitely don’t work for anyone who can’t survive my terms.”
He gestured toward a cloth-covered object on a nearby table. With a flourish, he yanked the cloth away, revealing a sleek, clockwork prosthetic arm. Its brass surface gleamed, faintly etched with arcane sigils to ensure seamless integration with the wearer’s body. It was a marvel of Widersian ingenuity—a testament to what science alone could achieve.
“Looks pretty, doesn’t it? Don’t let that fool you. This is experimental—untested, unproven. It might make you better, or it might kill you. Either way, it’ll be interesting to watch,” he said with a smirk. “But here’s the catch: I’m not strapping this on you until you prove you’re worth it.”
House slid a small brass panel aside, revealing a mechanism that hummed softly. “The Vanguard is hosting a trial in the Clockwork Gauntlet—a proving ground for our newest inventions. Survive that, and I’ll consider you worthy of this little toy. Fail, and... well, you won’t need the arm anymore, will you?”
A heavy knock at the workshop door interrupted the conversation. A Vanguard representative entered, clad in the faction’s signature clockwork armor. “Hunter Asphalt?” the soldier asked, voice metallic through a steam-filtered mask. “The gauntlet is prepared. Your trial begins at first light.”
House leaned back, grinning. “There you have it. Tick-tock, Mr. Asphalt. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”
The Clockwork Gauntlet loomed in the distance, a vast, labyrinthine arena bristling with moving gears, swinging pendulums, and the faint echoes of clanging machinery. Its spires pierced the night sky, promising danger and glory in equal measure.
Would Hunter rise to the challenge? Or would this proving ground claim yet another would-be contender?
Hunter has the night to prepare and decide his approach. The gauntlet awaits, its mechanisms already in motion, ready to test his resolve.
The bustling city of Clockhaven stretched beneath a haze of clockwork steam and the hum of scientific machinery. Towering spires of brass and steel glinted in the fading sunlight, their intricate gears visible even from a distance. This was the heart of Widersian innovation—a city where scientific curiosity and progress marched to the rhythm of ticking mechanisms.
Hunter Asphalt, cloaked in the somber shadows of his loss, stood at the door of an unassuming workshop. The plaque above read, "Dr. Gregorius House, Tinkerer Extraordinaire. Expect Attitude." Inside, the dim light of glowing thaumic conduits illuminated cluttered tables strewn with tools, scraps of metal, and partially assembled automata. The air reeked of oil and ozone.
Behind one such table, a man leaned over a schematic. His disheveled hair was streaked with gray, and his sharp blue eyes peered through half-moon spectacles perched precariously on his nose. Without looking up, he rasped, “You’re late. I despise lateness. Not as much as stupidity, but it’s up there.”
Dr. House straightened, tossing the schematic aside. “So, you’re the maimed one. I assume you’re here because you want me to fix you. Well, I don’t work for free, and I definitely don’t work for anyone who can’t survive my terms.”
He gestured toward a cloth-covered object on a nearby table. With a flourish, he yanked the cloth away, revealing a sleek, clockwork prosthetic arm. Its brass surface gleamed, faintly etched with arcane sigils to ensure seamless integration with the wearer’s body. It was a marvel of Widersian ingenuity—a testament to what science alone could achieve.
“Looks pretty, doesn’t it? Don’t let that fool you. This is experimental—untested, unproven. It might make you better, or it might kill you. Either way, it’ll be interesting to watch,” he said with a smirk. “But here’s the catch: I’m not strapping this on you until you prove you’re worth it.”
House slid a small brass panel aside, revealing a mechanism that hummed softly. “The Vanguard is hosting a trial in the Clockwork Gauntlet—a proving ground for our newest inventions. Survive that, and I’ll consider you worthy of this little toy. Fail, and... well, you won’t need the arm anymore, will you?”
A heavy knock at the workshop door interrupted the conversation. A Vanguard representative entered, clad in the faction’s signature clockwork armor. “Hunter Asphalt?” the soldier asked, voice metallic through a steam-filtered mask. “The gauntlet is prepared. Your trial begins at first light.”
House leaned back, grinning. “There you have it. Tick-tock, Mr. Asphalt. Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”
The Clockwork Gauntlet loomed in the distance, a vast, labyrinthine arena bristling with moving gears, swinging pendulums, and the faint echoes of clanging machinery. Its spires pierced the night sky, promising danger and glory in equal measure.
Would Hunter rise to the challenge? Or would this proving ground claim yet another would-be contender?
Hunter has the night to prepare and decide his approach. The gauntlet awaits, its mechanisms already in motion, ready to test his resolve.