Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
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Futuristic [DISCONTINUED] Dies Irae: Astral Fulcrum
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Last edited:
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Last edited:
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Last edited:
Pilgrim59
Ardent Advocate of the Ausrufung
Last edited:
ThatWhichShouldBe
Sleeper of Endless Eons Whence Death May Die
koala
™
hellscythe / cadet
fion.
♡coded by uxie♡
Last edited:
ERode
In The Mirror
Location: AICA, Velika Prime, FABELIKA PRAETORI SYSTEM
The Wolf had told him enough about Velika Prime that the excess of the land hadn't surprised him. Monuments of stone and steel, to house the scaleless children who'd be forged into the Empress's hammer. Greenery as far as the eye could see, enough so that it felt like a dream. The air, damp with promise, the Sun, framed like a jewel by clouds from his childhood dreams. He had wished to fly once, before flight was associated with machines of war and landing strategies, before the sky was stained by flame, the earth stained by light, the seas swallowed by in the hole that lead to the heart of his home.
Velika Prime, the capital of an Empire. From the hoverbus, it had been a tapestry, but within the meeting room, it was clearly a stew pot. A scholar that he enjoyed, back when it had been more important to Cassius that he learn rather than trained, wrote of how evolution, the improvements that were made to extend the cycle of life and death, naturally lead all beings towards the form of crabs. That scholar, it seemed, did not look up from his writing machine and see that the dominant species, the space-faring species, were bipedal quadrupeds who didn't even have the evolutionary sense to generate a skeletal structure that would protect the entirety of the organs in their torso. It all lead to a particular, peculiar form.
One that that Rel-Taren had plentiful experience disemboweling.
His tail, slender and spiny, drifted from side to side. His eyes, red as rust, swivelled from one potato-face to another. His fingers, bearing claws that had to be rounded off to comply with student guidelines, tapped a nonsense beat into the air. Plenty of tall, fleshy types present. A couple of more curious individuals, two of them similar, yet wholly different. Most, just humanoids with some trace of the beast their forebearers were. His tongue flicked out, an eye lazily rolling towards a conflict between a soft-faced pure-blood and a dark-skinned brat. It extended to the sorts of shows that he'd expect out of a telecomms unit his brothers had wrested out from the bombed out remains of an encampment. Mindless entertainment that had no bite, regardless of the blood spilled or the proclamations made. Shame that hero's battle-brother didn't vocalize any sound effects; would've made the experience more pleasant.
Or, alternatively...it was a shame that this Aeoun of House Orion, a Velikan humanoid who nevertheless did not appear as one, did not start singing until after that conflict was over and dealt with. A true pity. Rel-Taren's tongue flicked out, baring his fangs in the approximation of the smile the Pig had always asked him to have, and had always regretted afterwards.
Curious individuals, cloaking themselves in the guise of the mighty. Would the pretense persist in their blood? Their flesh? Their organs? Their bones?
Well, the first class was 'Physical Training'. There would be plenty of opportunity there, to see how the inferno had shaped his...classmates.
Teeth settling back beneath his lips, Rel-Taren strode off, making a beeline for the Training Fields and showing no intention of a detour to the changing room first. After all, what was the point of clothing that you couldn't wear for every function? With all the technology that the star-chasers possessed, with all the wealth be pumped into this institute, how could such an oversight be had?
LostHaven
Loser's queue is real and it's coming for you.
Liane D. Venhaus
Warm, viscous blood that caked wavering hands. The deadly melody of gunfire and the war-song of clashing steel. They should have been utterly foreign concepts to her - to any living being, enough to reduce a man to a frightened, shell-shocked husk of their selves. And yet, Liane found herself perfectly comfortably in the bloody revelry, the price of war never more than but an insignificant afterthought that would intrude unto her mind on rare occasions, stimulating her to ponder its nature for only a moment before being pushed away and tossed to the recesses of her mind as irrelevant information.
For the first time, Liane understood what it meant to be a 'weapon', the merciless, unfeeling tool that was supposedly her very nature itself. The brutal, inhuman experiences that were driven into the soldiers at the front lines were probably too much for any sane man to bear, Liane concluded. And yet, the fact that she couldn't find the interest to as much as dwell on these experiences indicated to the homunculus that her psyche was simply different.
"You are far more than the purpose for which you were born."
Words imparted to her by her maker come to mind. His persistent assertion that she had a far greater 'destiny' than a tool. Ultimately, the homunculus could never fully grasp at the meaning behind her maker's words. 'Destiny' was a novel concept to her, an abstract idea crafted by a far less learned civilization in endearing, if fruitless endeavor at assigning a meaning to their existence. Believing without seeing, without cold, undisputed evidence, it baffled Liane to think that people in the modern day still held some inkling of belief in 'fate'. She couldn't fault them, though. If one were to truly break it down to the base, the purpose of all living beings was to be born, propagate, and then to die.
"Our lives are inherently meaningless. And thus, it becomes our nature to find it ourselves."
These were the thoughts ruminating in Liane's head as the scenery in the distance of the hoverbus' windows flash past her eyes. There had been resistance regarding her transfer to the A.I.C.A., mostly in part thanks to the people that had tossed her out to die. Apparently, earning enough distinction to be taken off the dregs of the armed forces and transferred to the newly established, presumably prestigious 'Academy' wasn't in their calculations, but nobody could raise a complaint when higher authority stepped in and pulled the plug on their nonsense. Not that Liane would have objected to either outcome. Regardless, thanks to that whole ordeal, she had been officially given citizenship to Velika Prime. After all, from where she came from, there weren't passports, visas, or citizenship certificates. There wasn't really anyone either, really.
Her thoughts are quickly roused back to the present reality as the hoverbus arrives at their destination, coming to a gentle halt. With a heave, the doors swing open and stairs lower, allowing the cadets to file out through the exit. As Liane silently files out, the girl in front of her stumbles on the last step, and crashes into a taller, far more sturdily built in front of her. The stairs were much taller here. Liane involuntarily overhears the young woman's hastily blurted out excuse as she walks around and past the scene. The stairs of the hoverbus weren't much taller than ten inches, which was quite a standard measurement for the height of a single stair. To stumble on that, the stairs the woman had back home must've been either closer to a flat incline than actual stairs, uncomfortably short to walk on, or she just possessed subpar feet-eye coordination, Liane thought to herself, refraining from blurting her observations out loud.
The welcoming speech was nothing of note. Though, that in itself was noteworthy, Liane supposed. As usual, there were obligatory praises sung to the Empress, and the rest of the information the Grand Director had provided were just as easily found in their orientation letters. To pass the time while the Director droned on, Liane contemplated just what about the Empress that made the entire Empire adore and respect her as such. As far as the homunculus was aware, the title and role was hereditary. What kind of 'honor' was so great that it gave one the right to rule that carried on to one's descendants indefinitely?
As the Grand Director's speech concluded, the quiet Liane prized so much as immediately cut short by a short, presumably petty conflict, spurred by what Liane assumed was somebody asking a girl for her contact a tad too aggressively, then a muscular man hollering his self-introduction obnoxiously loud.
"I am Aeoun of House Orion! It's good to meet you all!"
Her eyes drift to this loud individual, and Liane begins to scrutinize the loud individual. His outward appearance was flawless in every definition of the word; a toned, muscular, picturesque form that rivalled the carvings of artisans, a handsome, unmarred face that was practically the definition of beauty. However, his eyes, that reflected the deep, infinite cosmos tipped Liane off that he was a 'Katasteri', natives of the planet 'Urania'. His flawless form was hence artificial, a reflection of what he wills his appearance to be. If nothing else, he deserved credit for studying the definition of 'handsome' prior to coming here.
With all that said and done, there was little left of interest to Liane. It would do well to organize herself and prepare for the first class, and so, ignoring the vibrant chatter permeating the hall, Liane leaves to find her locker, from which she withdraws a huge crude, bladed implement measuring her entire height in length. It seemed this place was full of strange people, and if there was anything she had learned from prior experiences, it was to never go anywhere unarmed.
Then, she makes her way to the next assembly point whilst attracting as little attention as possible.
Well, as little attention as a girl lugging around a greatsword her equal in size could attract.
A.I.C.A., Velika Prime | Mentions:
ThatWhichShouldBe
koala
ThatWhichShouldBe
koala
Warm, viscous blood that caked wavering hands. The deadly melody of gunfire and the war-song of clashing steel. They should have been utterly foreign concepts to her - to any living being, enough to reduce a man to a frightened, shell-shocked husk of their selves. And yet, Liane found herself perfectly comfortably in the bloody revelry, the price of war never more than but an insignificant afterthought that would intrude unto her mind on rare occasions, stimulating her to ponder its nature for only a moment before being pushed away and tossed to the recesses of her mind as irrelevant information.
For the first time, Liane understood what it meant to be a 'weapon', the merciless, unfeeling tool that was supposedly her very nature itself. The brutal, inhuman experiences that were driven into the soldiers at the front lines were probably too much for any sane man to bear, Liane concluded. And yet, the fact that she couldn't find the interest to as much as dwell on these experiences indicated to the homunculus that her psyche was simply different.
"You are far more than the purpose for which you were born."
Words imparted to her by her maker come to mind. His persistent assertion that she had a far greater 'destiny' than a tool. Ultimately, the homunculus could never fully grasp at the meaning behind her maker's words. 'Destiny' was a novel concept to her, an abstract idea crafted by a far less learned civilization in endearing, if fruitless endeavor at assigning a meaning to their existence. Believing without seeing, without cold, undisputed evidence, it baffled Liane to think that people in the modern day still held some inkling of belief in 'fate'. She couldn't fault them, though. If one were to truly break it down to the base, the purpose of all living beings was to be born, propagate, and then to die.
"Our lives are inherently meaningless. And thus, it becomes our nature to find it ourselves."
These were the thoughts ruminating in Liane's head as the scenery in the distance of the hoverbus' windows flash past her eyes. There had been resistance regarding her transfer to the A.I.C.A., mostly in part thanks to the people that had tossed her out to die. Apparently, earning enough distinction to be taken off the dregs of the armed forces and transferred to the newly established, presumably prestigious 'Academy' wasn't in their calculations, but nobody could raise a complaint when higher authority stepped in and pulled the plug on their nonsense. Not that Liane would have objected to either outcome. Regardless, thanks to that whole ordeal, she had been officially given citizenship to Velika Prime. After all, from where she came from, there weren't passports, visas, or citizenship certificates. There wasn't really anyone either, really.
Her thoughts are quickly roused back to the present reality as the hoverbus arrives at their destination, coming to a gentle halt. With a heave, the doors swing open and stairs lower, allowing the cadets to file out through the exit. As Liane silently files out, the girl in front of her stumbles on the last step, and crashes into a taller, far more sturdily built in front of her. The stairs were much taller here. Liane involuntarily overhears the young woman's hastily blurted out excuse as she walks around and past the scene. The stairs of the hoverbus weren't much taller than ten inches, which was quite a standard measurement for the height of a single stair. To stumble on that, the stairs the woman had back home must've been either closer to a flat incline than actual stairs, uncomfortably short to walk on, or she just possessed subpar feet-eye coordination, Liane thought to herself, refraining from blurting her observations out loud.
The welcoming speech was nothing of note. Though, that in itself was noteworthy, Liane supposed. As usual, there were obligatory praises sung to the Empress, and the rest of the information the Grand Director had provided were just as easily found in their orientation letters. To pass the time while the Director droned on, Liane contemplated just what about the Empress that made the entire Empire adore and respect her as such. As far as the homunculus was aware, the title and role was hereditary. What kind of 'honor' was so great that it gave one the right to rule that carried on to one's descendants indefinitely?
As the Grand Director's speech concluded, the quiet Liane prized so much as immediately cut short by a short, presumably petty conflict, spurred by what Liane assumed was somebody asking a girl for her contact a tad too aggressively, then a muscular man hollering his self-introduction obnoxiously loud.
"I am Aeoun of House Orion! It's good to meet you all!"
Her eyes drift to this loud individual, and Liane begins to scrutinize the loud individual. His outward appearance was flawless in every definition of the word; a toned, muscular, picturesque form that rivalled the carvings of artisans, a handsome, unmarred face that was practically the definition of beauty. However, his eyes, that reflected the deep, infinite cosmos tipped Liane off that he was a 'Katasteri', natives of the planet 'Urania'. His flawless form was hence artificial, a reflection of what he wills his appearance to be. If nothing else, he deserved credit for studying the definition of 'handsome' prior to coming here.
With all that said and done, there was little left of interest to Liane. It would do well to organize herself and prepare for the first class, and so, ignoring the vibrant chatter permeating the hall, Liane leaves to find her locker, from which she withdraws a huge crude, bladed implement measuring her entire height in length. It seemed this place was full of strange people, and if there was anything she had learned from prior experiences, it was to never go anywhere unarmed.
Then, she makes her way to the next assembly point whilst attracting as little attention as possible.
Well, as little attention as a girl lugging around a greatsword her equal in size could attract.
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RedArmyShogun
Runs with Axes
SARINA R. KIRST
~~~~
Status: Active Duty
Location: AICA, Velika Prime, FABELIKA PRAETORI SYSTEM
Interaction: Any
Mobius Armaments: N/A
~~~~
This day like those before it, were something to behold, having finished her basic training in system on her home world of Cenerithian, Sarina was still taken aback by Velika Prime, the stories were just that, stories, Imperial Wealth, a true paradise world. It actually made the stories look tame in some aspects. But the most striking thing of all was the sheer wide open tracts of land that lacked something trying to kill you. There was no dense fog and minus where it was by design, buildings did not need to be atop one another.
As they were processed and led about the course of events a few things stood out to her, first was the arrival at the AICA itself, where one other seemed caught up in the grandure of it all, or her inner thoughts, Sarina waited till the line started to move once more and walked at a brisk pace, only pausing to allow the legionnaire to do his functions. Soon there after she was with the rest heading into an audience hall, when a woman spoke to the group in general, or at least the two males first making their way in. She was smartly dressed in her uniform, while the woman was curious to her, the Cenerithian was quick to snap a salute in passing, as she quietly found herself a seat. She would be talking to this woman again soon if the tag she wore was any indication, if she remained as peaceful and smiling was yet to be seen. Even the most beautiful of roses had thorns.
The briefing was rather cut and dry, with her armband's interface projector showing her much and more, as the head of the project, introduced herself, Doctor Loxley and stated their purpose in brief, most of it was simply stating the name of herself, the project and introducing the two Major's. Major Muirse, that was the woman from before wasn't it? And Major Pakston, he bore the scars won only in years of battle, victor or lucky in defeat. Neither were to be underestimated. From there, one thing stuck out, redoing training was no big issue, and while she knew this was a MOBIUS related project, the fact augmentation was mentioned. With the need to ready them for it, it sounded like this was more than just another unit, so much as the Doctor having planned something more, her talk of being the spear tip aside... Would they all survive?
Eyeing the schedule and the rules of contact, it seemed physical training was first on the list. With the dismissal she consulted where her locker would be and her later room arrangements, not that she brought all that much with her in the first place, and the only people she had a need to talk with, well, her father was upset about her becoming a MOBIUS pilot, and for now she had nothing she could tell him that wouldn't be censored, half-baked or got her into more trouble.
Along the way a scuffle of sorts was to play out, while the girl had bumped into him in her haste to reach the female's locker room, the green haired male's response was well outside regulations. It was then that two other males slightly ahead of her intervened, with one stepping right up to the man. He seemed to be either some foolish idea of a high class noble, or was a masochist for the beating he took. Thinking of intervening herself, it was suddenly over as soon as it had begun. Going for her own locker, a Lizardman went straight out to the field, another woman retrieved a greatsword.
Wait... What?
Pausing to blink at this, Sarina seemed to doubt her eyes as she reached into her own locker for her PT wear, spats and a sports top. With her eyes tracing over the rest, more so the punching bag noble, the green haired assaulter, the clutzy girl, the lizardman, and the absent-minded girl that now had a sword nearly as tall as most of the rest, she started to ponder what in the Empress's name sort of circus she had signed on for. Well, was signed up for. She would have to speak with them all at some point or another. At least they weren't as crowded atop one another like back on Cenerith.
Letting out a sigh and shake of her head, Sarina continues past the two to join a few of the others in the locker room. Hopefully it would be less eventful, and from there to the field.
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Worthlessplebian
Worthless pleb
Steve Jobs
Died of ligma
TheRealAngeloftheStorm
Beyond the Red Gate
Soviet Panda
Red Panda Commanda.
Adric Pakston
The opening ceremony was blessedly simple, all he had to do was be in his dress uniform, medals and pins shining, and stand there. Of course, once the ceremony was over he had to change to something more appropriate for his role as Physical Trainer. A plane grey shirt with military standard camo jeans. All purpose, didn't have to worry to much about it getting dirty for it was easy to clean, the logical choice. The same, however, could not be said about some of the cadets. Then again, they were often of different physiological and sociological upbringing than most of the Farbanian empire, so some leeway had to be given.
However, there were things that he could have zero tolerance for. "Line up!" He barked, waiting just long enough for the last cadet to fall into line before producing a burlap bag. "There will be no weapons unless I say you may use a weapon. And seeing as I don't want worthless milksops breaking multi million dollar equipment, none of you may use a weapon. If the weapon is attached to you, figure out a way to detach it, or I will detach it. I am Major Adric Pakston, your physical trainer. You will refer to me as 'Sir', 'Yes Sir', or 'Sir, yes Sir'. Not all of you will pass this course, and until you do you will be referred to as Cadet. "
As he spoke, he passed the bag to the first cadet in line, glaring at them until they passed the bag down the line. Why any of the students had felt a need to bring any weapon into school was a mystery to him, the bigger one being why they were even allowed in with one. But he had to work with what he was given, and so he wouldn't grumble about it to much. Once the last student in line had the bag, he paced his way down, inspecting the cadets along the line as he did so, and took it from them. There was a small collection of things in there, chief amongst them a large sword almost as tall as him.
"To gauge your physical fitness, you will be running a standard military obstacle course. If I have to explain it to you, I suggest you stop wasting my time and drop out of the course. Begin."
Attachments
koala
™
hellscythe
fion.
♡coded by uxie♡
Last edited:
LazyDaze
Elder Member
EKO "ECHO" GOBBS
STATUS: Active Duty
LOCATION: AICA, Velika Prime, FABELIKA PRAETORI SYSTEM
INTERACTION: Any
MOBIUS ARMAMENTS: N/A
"I need a coin...," Eko thought to himself...out loud. You see, Eko was trying to determine if he was blessed by fate, or cursed by it. Born to an affluent family, but born with underwhelming genes. Sent to fend for himself because of those genes, but able to move beyond the stagnation that people call an honest living. Honing a talent he could be proud of, but using that talent to aid an abet criminals. Being arrested for something he didn't do and thrown in jail only to be freed and forced into the military. At the very least the seats were comfortable so the trip was already an absolute win. Becoming a dog for the military wasn't exactly in the outline of "Operation Prove Your Worth To Society", but he had to admit that this could be the lucky break that he needed. Given, his checkered past Eko could not afford to get caught up in the grandeur of their task. After all, lucky breaks were always followed by a catch and that catch followed by another luck break. he couldn't help but chuckle as he imagined he was being trolled by some goddess obsessed with the absurdity of balance. wonder what the catch would be this time. Eko would spend a majority of the ride twirling a pen through his fingers while reading his favorite book. He would visualize the pen as a gun while performing a plethora of imaginary trick shots. Of course they wouldn't allow him to carry a real weapon given the circumstances of his joining their cause; nevertheless, he was grateful for just the freedom of movement. Somehow, he summoned the strength of 100 men to resist going "pew pew" and making explosion sounds (he would have to rectify that in solitude), only breaking his concentration to give half hearted laughs at the tail end of conversations, or jokes he was not privy to hearing as he sat towards the back. He couldn't help but wonder if he had unlocked an unknown camouflage ability of his race, he didn't really feel like he belonged here. Maybe it was because he had not planned for it, only time would tell.
The bus came to swift stop causing him to fumble his pens forward. Alas, he would forfeit his weapons to the bus as a memento of his freedom since the next stop would surely be hell. With a sigh he followed the rest of his peers to the facility. With nothing better to do than people watch, Eko was beginning to understand the catch to this unbelievably fortuitous circumstance.
"...Hey."
Tall ones, tough ones, green ones, strange ones, scaly ones, cosmic ones...everyone here....
"Th...th.."
The opening ceremony came and went, Eko could barely remember what they said as his mind was occupied with other matters of importance.
"They...they...."
All he had to do was make a good impression, it should be simple. Several people loved him during his misadventures. Buggs the Butcher, Venny the swine, the Dirt Tax Twins, George Slimy Jones, Dent Skull Danny....he had made plenty of friends in the past. All he had to do was smile, be friendly, state that he comes in peace and shoot anyone his new friends didn't like. That said there was one thing he couldn't ignore and it had been plaguing him the entire bus ride even as he fell in line to begin the obstacle course...
" WHY ARE THEY ALL SO HOT? EVEN THE TEACHERS!?"
Even the freaking lizard was a stud! What was this top tier genetic pool of a classroom!? How was Henchman Eko supposed to compete with the likes of these works of art? If he looked like that one guy he would be announcing his arrival too! As a flurry of questions and statements tore through his mind... A blanket of dread draped over the young Marshain with so much weight that he was tempted to turn into a helpless puddle at that very moment. He realized he wasn't just listening to thoughts roaming about his brain. He could actually hear his unusually deep voice reverberating in the facility and back to him...
"I was thinking out loud wasn't I?....I'm still doing it....stop it, Eko....annnnnd now its gone to the third person.....Ahem, hello my name is Eko-.....Imma just...get ready for the physical...thing," Eko said as he would begin the course. Operation first impression was a huge success, or at least he would tell himself that to stay sane. He wished he had his pen.
ERode
In The Mirror
Lizardmen.
Well, it was to be expected that such terms be used. He let it roll off his scales like rain, eyes tracing the scars upon Fionnuala’s face, but before conversation could be continued, their instructor spoke up. An antlered man, muscular and smelling of sick. Rel-Taren’s tongue flicked outwards, tasting the blood and oil, glancing over towards his fellow cadets as they lined up. Ah, so the pale one beside him had brought her sword the entire way. Fun, but…
The burlap sack opened up, passed along.
“Tragedy.” His tail flicked behind him, the serpentine mass slapping the uncommonly still human on the back. “Would benefit from the extra weight.”
With a course like this, so filled with climbing and crawling and jumping, there was no hope that the slender waif, built as if a prisoner left to rot upon rocks, could actually gain any muscle here. Another war-child like himself? If so, miraculous she stayed so appetizing. He cackled as he turned, rolling up the sleeves of his class-regulation uniform. It had been combat training with the Wolf, sharpening technique and theory, tempering barbaric ferocity; his conditioning itself had finished after the sixth year of waging war. The kinks in his muscles, the scars that had not healed properly, had been fixed up over successive surgeries. The food had been filling, making up for those hungry months, the feast-and-famine of outpost raids. He was a lizard amongst giants still, but as for his capabilities? Rel-Taren knew his body well.
And so, there was a desire for a test.
“Aeoun of House Orion.” If there was ever a champion of humanity amongst the cadets, this was the one. No matter that his substance smelled of forgery, his form craft not from consumption. “Care for a race?” Pleasant memories flickered, of chasing Sorenti down amongst the dunes, unzippering their backs with scrap-steel scimitars, crushing their craniums with the detritus of their drones. The bloodrush of a meaningful sprint, contrasting to the banality of mere exercise. “To keep things interesting.”
Well, it was to be expected that such terms be used. He let it roll off his scales like rain, eyes tracing the scars upon Fionnuala’s face, but before conversation could be continued, their instructor spoke up. An antlered man, muscular and smelling of sick. Rel-Taren’s tongue flicked outwards, tasting the blood and oil, glancing over towards his fellow cadets as they lined up. Ah, so the pale one beside him had brought her sword the entire way. Fun, but…
The burlap sack opened up, passed along.
“Tragedy.” His tail flicked behind him, the serpentine mass slapping the uncommonly still human on the back. “Would benefit from the extra weight.”
With a course like this, so filled with climbing and crawling and jumping, there was no hope that the slender waif, built as if a prisoner left to rot upon rocks, could actually gain any muscle here. Another war-child like himself? If so, miraculous she stayed so appetizing. He cackled as he turned, rolling up the sleeves of his class-regulation uniform. It had been combat training with the Wolf, sharpening technique and theory, tempering barbaric ferocity; his conditioning itself had finished after the sixth year of waging war. The kinks in his muscles, the scars that had not healed properly, had been fixed up over successive surgeries. The food had been filling, making up for those hungry months, the feast-and-famine of outpost raids. He was a lizard amongst giants still, but as for his capabilities? Rel-Taren knew his body well.
And so, there was a desire for a test.
“Aeoun of House Orion.” If there was ever a champion of humanity amongst the cadets, this was the one. No matter that his substance smelled of forgery, his form craft not from consumption. “Care for a race?” Pleasant memories flickered, of chasing Sorenti down amongst the dunes, unzippering their backs with scrap-steel scimitars, crushing their craniums with the detritus of their drones. The bloodrush of a meaningful sprint, contrasting to the banality of mere exercise. “To keep things interesting.”
LostHaven
Loser's queue is real and it's coming for you.
Liane D. Venhaus
At times, excellent hearing was quite the heavy burden to bear. Countless, disjointed conversations all clambering atop each other to assault Liane's ears, a Marshian seemingly unable to keep their hormones under control, and the instructor's voice, projected loud enough to silence the static chatter in comparison. The homunculus' eyes quickly settled onto the man that introduced himself as their physical training instructor, though it was not his painfully cliched drill-instructor spiel that captivated the absent-minded woman's attention. She remembered the aged man at the Doctor's speech, standing silently upright, decorated with what Liane easily recognized at the Farbanian Armed Forces uniform, and countless, shining medals.
No, it wasn't his presumably very motivating pep talk - Liane had long tuned out of it - but rather the horns protruding from the man's head that seemed to be the target of Liane's focus. Twisted, worn, the unideal state of the man's antlers could easily be chalked up to signs of aging, but for a being such as herself, that was something else entirely under the skin of a human, the more subtle signs could be identified, even at the distance she was standing. The war veteran's mana flow in that region was unnatural. Twisted, tangled like a knot. A giveaway sign of mana-crystallization. "Curious. He displays signs of mana-sickness. Perhaps this was to be expected?" mumbles the homunculus, to nobody in particular, uncaring for who may overhear her words to herself.
It took the cadet in front of her several pokes to the shoulder to be tugged out of the recesses of her own deep thought. Abruptly interrupted from her daze, Liane finds herself staring at a burlap bag being thrusted in her face. She stares at it for a brief moment, forcing the cadet in front of her to awkwardly wait for her to accept the bag. She does, eventually, and heaves the greatsword, point-down right into the sack, piercing right through the bottom. Thankfully, ceaseless use has, however, aged the blade to enough of an extent that it only pierced a hole through the bottom rather than slicing the back straight open. "Hmm. This contradicts my previous superior's orders," she again mutters to the nothingness as she passed the now damaged bag on. Her captain was a careful man. At the battlefront, foot soldiers were practically ordered to sleep with their weapons, never allowing their blades and firearms out of an arm's reach.
Well, he wasn't around anymore, so she supposed those orders were voided. Besides, she had new superiors now. And if one of them ordered her to drop her weapon, well. She'd comply.
Proceeding with the trend of disallowing Liane silent thought, she would proceed to feel a heavy slap to her back, with the culprit being the lizard-like humanoid to her side, that seemed to be eyeing her like some sort of delectable snack. She does not flinch from the lizardman's act of over-familiarity and breaching of personal space, and Rel-Taren would find the apparent 'human's' back to be surprisingly cold and uncharacteristically rigid, like he had slapped a solid block of ice. His joking remark flies over her head, though, as Liane tilts her head at the lizardman quizzically. "I do not see how an additional four kilograms to my mass would be substantial enough to be 'beneficial'," she states blankly, voice sharp, cold, and devoid of any distinguishable tone. If a larger body mass was so beneficial to her overall state, then her maker would have made that consideration when she had been fabricated.
Soon after, the Lizardman proposes a race to the flamboyant Katasteri. "Hmm. The Xihu’teins are known to be agile enough to dart across desert sand without much resistance. I believe the outcome can be accurately predetermined without the need for such lengthy observation?" she asks, head still tilted at the pale lizard.
ERode
ThatWhichShouldBe
A.I.C.A. | "I do not believe 'taste' was a factor considered in my conception."
At times, excellent hearing was quite the heavy burden to bear. Countless, disjointed conversations all clambering atop each other to assault Liane's ears, a Marshian seemingly unable to keep their hormones under control, and the instructor's voice, projected loud enough to silence the static chatter in comparison. The homunculus' eyes quickly settled onto the man that introduced himself as their physical training instructor, though it was not his painfully cliched drill-instructor spiel that captivated the absent-minded woman's attention. She remembered the aged man at the Doctor's speech, standing silently upright, decorated with what Liane easily recognized at the Farbanian Armed Forces uniform, and countless, shining medals.
No, it wasn't his presumably very motivating pep talk - Liane had long tuned out of it - but rather the horns protruding from the man's head that seemed to be the target of Liane's focus. Twisted, worn, the unideal state of the man's antlers could easily be chalked up to signs of aging, but for a being such as herself, that was something else entirely under the skin of a human, the more subtle signs could be identified, even at the distance she was standing. The war veteran's mana flow in that region was unnatural. Twisted, tangled like a knot. A giveaway sign of mana-crystallization. "Curious. He displays signs of mana-sickness. Perhaps this was to be expected?" mumbles the homunculus, to nobody in particular, uncaring for who may overhear her words to herself.
It took the cadet in front of her several pokes to the shoulder to be tugged out of the recesses of her own deep thought. Abruptly interrupted from her daze, Liane finds herself staring at a burlap bag being thrusted in her face. She stares at it for a brief moment, forcing the cadet in front of her to awkwardly wait for her to accept the bag. She does, eventually, and heaves the greatsword, point-down right into the sack, piercing right through the bottom. Thankfully, ceaseless use has, however, aged the blade to enough of an extent that it only pierced a hole through the bottom rather than slicing the back straight open. "Hmm. This contradicts my previous superior's orders," she again mutters to the nothingness as she passed the now damaged bag on. Her captain was a careful man. At the battlefront, foot soldiers were practically ordered to sleep with their weapons, never allowing their blades and firearms out of an arm's reach.
Well, he wasn't around anymore, so she supposed those orders were voided. Besides, she had new superiors now. And if one of them ordered her to drop her weapon, well. She'd comply.
Proceeding with the trend of disallowing Liane silent thought, she would proceed to feel a heavy slap to her back, with the culprit being the lizard-like humanoid to her side, that seemed to be eyeing her like some sort of delectable snack. She does not flinch from the lizardman's act of over-familiarity and breaching of personal space, and Rel-Taren would find the apparent 'human's' back to be surprisingly cold and uncharacteristically rigid, like he had slapped a solid block of ice. His joking remark flies over her head, though, as Liane tilts her head at the lizardman quizzically. "I do not see how an additional four kilograms to my mass would be substantial enough to be 'beneficial'," she states blankly, voice sharp, cold, and devoid of any distinguishable tone. If a larger body mass was so beneficial to her overall state, then her maker would have made that consideration when she had been fabricated.
Soon after, the Lizardman proposes a race to the flamboyant Katasteri. "Hmm. The Xihu’teins are known to be agile enough to dart across desert sand without much resistance. I believe the outcome can be accurately predetermined without the need for such lengthy observation?" she asks, head still tilted at the pale lizard.
ERode
ThatWhichShouldBe
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Zufaix
The Moosic Man
Velika Prime.... She had been a multitude of times before. The shining jewel of the Empire had been all to familar for her at this point, but things felt...different this time. Memories of the silence of a limo cab had been replaced by a variety of voices blending together with the hum of the hoverbus. The tinted windows, replaced by crystal clear vistas of the city below. The humdrum movements of secretaries and managers all replaced by the erratic and unpredictable persons newly dubbed as her classmates.
This is certainly going to be interesting.
That thought was only reaffirmed in her mind as she took note of the others along for the ride. Nobles, commoners, mercenaries, Lizardmen, Cenerethians, even a Marshian! A veritable smorgasbord of personalities and cultures. Time would tell whether that was a good thing though. For now though, Renee decided to relax. There likely wouldn't be many chances to do so once they arrived at the academy.
Heh, I guess Leon rubbed off on me a bit.
Time passes quickly as the hoverbus passes through the gates to the academy, eventually lulling to a halt. The passengers all begin making their way to the entrance hall, where the opening ceremony is meant to be held. Some have already begun chatting amongst themselves as they walk. Others, Renee included, walked in silence likely caught up in their own thoughts. Though one individual in particular felt it necessary to announce themselves in ostentatious fashion.
"I am Aeoun of House Orion! It's good to meet you all!"
Renee chuckled slightly at this proclamation. It's rare to see such enthusiasm in today's day and age, so it was a breath of fresh air to say the least. On second glance, the man had quiet the interesting form. He certainly had Human features, though any precedent set was immediately thwarted by the starlight reflected in his eyes. Ah, a Katasteri, those eyes are unmistakable though Renee had never met one in person. Were they all as boisterous as this one? A research topic for a later time.
The ceremony came and went without much to speak of. The typical droning speech was present, as was the pomp and circumstance of Empire tradition. Soon all the attendees were sent off to their first classes. Renee checked over the sheet in her hand once more to confirm; Physical Training with Insteuctor Paxton. Renee had read about him through her studies on various military operations, though a lot of information on the specifics had been lost to the public. Renee pondered for a moment before continuing onwards.
A decorated Mobius pilot... definitely a lot to learn from him.
Renee quickly changed into something more athletic and tied her hair back into a ponytail. Her scars were slightly more exposed, though it didn't bother her. Heading back to the locker room ,she did manage to get a better look at some of the other cadets; Namely a white-haired woman lugging around a massive blade. The urge to ask if that was even allowed was all too strong, but Renee held her tongue, better to simply leave it be. Though it was almost impressive how comically large it was. Out of the corner of her vision she also noticed a fashionable woman with blonde hair seemingly having an internal debate with herself. In her hands Renee spotted a... Revolver? That's some seriously old technology. Just then another thought crossed her mind; was she the only one without a weapon? Were they even supposed to bring weapons into the academy? The Cenerethian girl nearby didn't seem to, nor did the Katasteri from earlier.
Heading out into the training field, it seemed she'd find her answer in the form of a burlap sack. Instructor Paxton began going down the lineup, collecting weapons in the process. Renee breathed an internal sigh of relief. Though it was only a brief respite, as soon after instructor shouted the signal to begin the obstacle course in front of them. Renee began moving into formation but failed to catch someone moving from around her side, causing her to accidentally bump into them. It was only a light bump, barely enough to care about in most cases though Renee apologized almost immediately through muscle memory.
"My apologies, I didnt..."
Her words trailed off as her eyes met with a familiar white haired woman. Those violet eyes that all Vranitran knew. Marian Ishtar Marik, the pride and joy of House Marik. Renee paused briefly to consider her words before continuing.
"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting to meet Vranitran nobility here."
Her words carried a slight softness to them, indicative of the slight smile she wore.
"Once again, my apologies. I should introduce myself. Renee Aloensis, pleasure to meet you."
She spoke much more formerly this time. Brief, to the point, no hesitatation; akin to how she was raised. Typically this would be followed by a bow or courtsey, though she chose to leave that part out so as to not stand out, even if it meant foregoing etiquette.
"Let's get back in line... I can already feel Instructor Paxtons eyes boring a hole into the back of my head."
The comedic tone in her voice served to break any tension, but she sincerely hoped he wasn't actually staring her down. Hopefully.
This is certainly going to be interesting.
That thought was only reaffirmed in her mind as she took note of the others along for the ride. Nobles, commoners, mercenaries, Lizardmen, Cenerethians, even a Marshian! A veritable smorgasbord of personalities and cultures. Time would tell whether that was a good thing though. For now though, Renee decided to relax. There likely wouldn't be many chances to do so once they arrived at the academy.
Heh, I guess Leon rubbed off on me a bit.
Time passes quickly as the hoverbus passes through the gates to the academy, eventually lulling to a halt. The passengers all begin making their way to the entrance hall, where the opening ceremony is meant to be held. Some have already begun chatting amongst themselves as they walk. Others, Renee included, walked in silence likely caught up in their own thoughts. Though one individual in particular felt it necessary to announce themselves in ostentatious fashion.
"I am Aeoun of House Orion! It's good to meet you all!"
Renee chuckled slightly at this proclamation. It's rare to see such enthusiasm in today's day and age, so it was a breath of fresh air to say the least. On second glance, the man had quiet the interesting form. He certainly had Human features, though any precedent set was immediately thwarted by the starlight reflected in his eyes. Ah, a Katasteri, those eyes are unmistakable though Renee had never met one in person. Were they all as boisterous as this one? A research topic for a later time.
The ceremony came and went without much to speak of. The typical droning speech was present, as was the pomp and circumstance of Empire tradition. Soon all the attendees were sent off to their first classes. Renee checked over the sheet in her hand once more to confirm; Physical Training with Insteuctor Paxton. Renee had read about him through her studies on various military operations, though a lot of information on the specifics had been lost to the public. Renee pondered for a moment before continuing onwards.
A decorated Mobius pilot... definitely a lot to learn from him.
Renee quickly changed into something more athletic and tied her hair back into a ponytail. Her scars were slightly more exposed, though it didn't bother her. Heading back to the locker room ,she did manage to get a better look at some of the other cadets; Namely a white-haired woman lugging around a massive blade. The urge to ask if that was even allowed was all too strong, but Renee held her tongue, better to simply leave it be. Though it was almost impressive how comically large it was. Out of the corner of her vision she also noticed a fashionable woman with blonde hair seemingly having an internal debate with herself. In her hands Renee spotted a... Revolver? That's some seriously old technology. Just then another thought crossed her mind; was she the only one without a weapon? Were they even supposed to bring weapons into the academy? The Cenerethian girl nearby didn't seem to, nor did the Katasteri from earlier.
Heading out into the training field, it seemed she'd find her answer in the form of a burlap sack. Instructor Paxton began going down the lineup, collecting weapons in the process. Renee breathed an internal sigh of relief. Though it was only a brief respite, as soon after instructor shouted the signal to begin the obstacle course in front of them. Renee began moving into formation but failed to catch someone moving from around her side, causing her to accidentally bump into them. It was only a light bump, barely enough to care about in most cases though Renee apologized almost immediately through muscle memory.
"My apologies, I didnt..."
Her words trailed off as her eyes met with a familiar white haired woman. Those violet eyes that all Vranitran knew. Marian Ishtar Marik, the pride and joy of House Marik. Renee paused briefly to consider her words before continuing.
"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting to meet Vranitran nobility here."
Her words carried a slight softness to them, indicative of the slight smile she wore.
"Once again, my apologies. I should introduce myself. Renee Aloensis, pleasure to meet you."
She spoke much more formerly this time. Brief, to the point, no hesitatation; akin to how she was raised. Typically this would be followed by a bow or courtsey, though she chose to leave that part out so as to not stand out, even if it meant foregoing etiquette.
"Let's get back in line... I can already feel Instructor Paxtons eyes boring a hole into the back of my head."
The comedic tone in her voice served to break any tension, but she sincerely hoped he wasn't actually staring her down. Hopefully.
Midrick
She Konrad on my Curze till I Nighthaunt
Status: Active duty
Location: AICA, Velika Prime, Fabelika Praetori system
Interactions:
LazyDaze
Worthlessplebian
To say that the hoverbus ride to the academy was uneventful would be the understatement of the century. Seated next to the young man reading a book full of technical specifications and detailed explanations of automobile engineering was his brother, one Nikadim Xirilenkia, who currently had his arms crossed over his chest and head lolling backwards, unlike his studious and hardworking brother Rakh, Nika was currently watching the inside of his eyelids in a futile attempt to make the minutes go by faster. The sudden lack of forward momentum signaled that they had finally reached their location after what felt like eons of waiting. Taking a moment to place his hands behind him and stretch out his back, a series of pops sounding off like a firing line. a shorter girl with black hair managed to snag his spot behind Rakh, following them off the hoverbus, Nika couldn't help but chuckle as she missed a step and bumped into his brother from. Sensing an opportunity he approached Rakh's right hand side. "Not even five minutes off the bus, and you've already got women throwing themselves at you." Nika said in Dazhorian with a short bark of laughter and a wink as he passed. Never one to let the chance to incorporate his brother into his jokes, Nika took stock of the other recruits.
Most seemed like snobby nobles who got in because of their last names than because of actual ability, but there were some outliers among the sea of otherwise unassuming and homogeneous faces. one of the aforementioned outliers, who was almost 7 ft. tall and looked more like a marble statue from antiquity instead of a person bellowed a greeting to the others, he saw a girl about a head shorter than him lugging a greatsword around like it was noting more than a than a baseball bat, a reptilian something that looked like he jumped out of a movie screen, and then their instructor introduced himself. Despite the eccentricities or maybe because of them, Nika was actually kind of excited to learn about them, even if the whole 'military academy' thing got old, he would still have plenty of entertainment because of the menagerie that was currently gathered in the courtyard of the academy. Nika was roused from his musings by what he could only describe as rambling behind him, turning his head he saw what appeared to be a completely white humanoid that almost resembled a ghost either thinking out loud, or having a complete mental breakdown. Nika simply cocked an eyebrow with a slight look of concern in his direction before walking back over to his brother while their new instructor gave a brief and rather spartan introduction.
Watching as their instructor walked down the line collecting weapons, Nika slipped into line next to his brother, watching as multiple students placed blades and firearms of all shapes and sizes in the bag, passing the rough burlap sack to his left and tried to look unassuming as possible when Adric walked down the line, inspecting his new trainees. After Pakston passed, Nika craned his neck out slightly to make sure the major was out of earshot. "They really rolled the whole damn circus out looking for pilots, huh?" Nika said as he looked from his brother to obstacle course they would momentarily be running. His experience in jumping rooftops, fences, and other urban obstacles would no doubt come in handy for the little test their instructor had devised. He rolled up his sleeves exposing the multitude of colored markings blending and criss crossing his skin.
RedArmyShogun
Runs with Axes
SARINA R. KIRST
~~~~
Status: Active Duty
Location: AICA, Velika Prime, FABELIKA PRAETORI SYSTEM
Interaction: Fionnuala
koala
(others applicable to one extent or another)Mobius Armaments: N/A
~~~~
As the team finally regrouped and met on the field, Sarina remained within earshot of her locker mate, offering a simple "Indeed." to her earlier remark on the group as a whole. While she would not mind speaking to the woman, now simply was not the time, she would make it up to her later, she seemed decent enough and the scars were something she understood well from her father, he had more than a few that went along with his medals. The question was, were hers born from war, a rough upbringing or some other sort of story? Still it was by luck or chance they found themselves next to the Lizardman. In all honesty, he reminded her of some of the beasts upon Cenerith. His reptilian visage and how he looked at them with the eyes of a predator, if the Empire welcomed him for the here and now, she would not dispute it, but she would not go off guard around him as Fionnuala did. Or Fion or Fi as she preferred to be known by, carried out an extensive conversation with the Lizardman who was known as Rel-Taren.
To no small surprise, the woman ended up being a noble, the Major yelled at them all, another man voiced hi- Wait, was he a man? Now that she could get a good look at everyone, he was also a non-human. And there were a couple more that shown the traits of nobility, as in physical scions of the Imperial Houses. Some of which confirmed as much, soon after. Still, she had expectations and the upringing of her family, the fate of most Cenerithians was to be a soldier, to kill and if need be die to destroy the enemies of Farbania. If the rest wished to be casual with an angry Major looking down upon them, she would not.
And the opportunity was on hand to snatch victory with her own two hands. "Major! SIR YES SIR!" Still she would not be totally unsociable as she glanced over to Fi. She much rather use that name if allowed to address the woman as such. "Sarina Rayven Kirst. Sarina is fine, or even Kirst. Be seeing you Fi."
With that and the challenges issued by the lizard and the nobleman, she snorted in contempt. "Cadet Kirst taking the field!" And with that, the knife eared woman began her sprint with all the fortitude and speed she could. While she doubted, she could outdo them in speed, it would be the balancing and climbing based portions of the course that she could catch up and pass most of those who were here. Of that, she was sure. Still, for one who had not said anything of the sort, she had thrown down the gauntlet herself with this act, or mayhap they would ignore her.
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FiveElemental
The Pastamancer
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Steve Jobs
Died of ligma
ThatWhichShouldBe
Sleeper of Endless Eons Whence Death May Die
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