Make Something To Break Something.

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*NeverOutPunned
Posts: 44
Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am

Posted by *NeverOutPunned »


“So your saying it would be too heavy?” “Fine, I can make it lighter, but its going to be expensive.” “Yes, well, I'm paying for it.” “Of-course, you'll get paid for your end if it falls through but I seem to recall you being in it for science?” And that secured the assistance of the orc, her most persistent companion at the forge and decidedly more vocal then her ammunition press, which she had replaced enough parts on to put her name on the side. This next project was going to be far more simple mechanically then the gauntlet and probably just as heavy in rune-work as the bullets but far more intense in resources. She originally intended to attempt to procure a ingot of simisolid orichalcum composite from her murcurian contact but apparently security got tighter or some blek and it sounded like it would be too temperamental anyways. Then she came across something fairly bizarre... Adamant, confusingly, not adamantine or avariant, But Adamant, Apparently, it was only used in specific sorts or magitech construction because it's natural state was a nigh mundane and brittle but then there was a ritual by which to repair a a core of such which hinted at it's state as both a core and soul of a fabrication. A few questions for the mother moon were in order but if the answers were right, she may be onto to something entirely different. *
*NeverOutPunned
Posts: 44
Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am

Posted by *NeverOutPunned »


Enchanted ankle ware protected one's lower extremity from casual lacerations or punctures one might receive running about untamed grounds among the varied planes but there did little to damped the raw humming power contained in the ancient brickwork. It took “five days” to travel from the edge of archeon to the intersection of necessity and pattern. That wasn't due to the distance, you simply couldn't get there from here, it was the law of the universe in a way even she couldn't cheat. But now that she was there, nothing seemed quite like she expected it. This was no ideal world, it wasn't even functioning really, it was a war zone. The locals hadn't spoken common but seemed to understand the terms magi-tech and alchemy. Thus why she was in this half wrecked clock tower ruining her knives desperately trying to pry a cracked crystal globe out of some synthetic humanoid golem with a grim faced, harsh tongued man who seemed to have lost their head in favor of a bare, flaming skull looked on. The material was hard, and doing its damnedest to pull itself back together while some black gunk seemed to be rapidly spreading through or over the corpse. They couldn't understand her but they seemed intent on watching her work. He had a flaming skull, she had a pistol specifically made to ruin your average flaming skull's day. She worked the knife deeper yet, sawing at the resistant, slimy insides. They didn't make any damn sense but one shouldn't question what they see inside of a alien golem. With a wet, tearing sound, the connective tissues gave way, one strand at a time and the elf, surprised by the weight of the small object fell on her back, looking up in time to see the black gunk cover her knife. Something told her, she didn't want it anymore. Now then, to get the hell out of this mad-house...
*NeverOutPunned
Posts: 44
Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am

Posted by *NeverOutPunned »


Long distance shots were always complicated. All that mental math, watching flags, tracking the movement of people didn't fill Deledia with a sense of accomplishment when they hit her target, she would much rather put herself in a close in, target rich environment because... well... she was both a masochist and sadist. Sigil had contaminated more than her body after-all. The figure off in the distance, his death, her trip to this forsaken land and what it was going to lead to were means to an end... that were really means to another end that she hadn't settled on. Luckily, the complications were minimal. Her hands were stable, the lighting was good, the winds were calm and her weapon was working just fine. The figure was your typical heroic wannabe, clad in shining gold, a bright white tunic, a dashing mustache and perfect hair. The locals said he was a tyrant, anathema, evil mascaraing as something else. He was a mass murderer but that wasn't why he was going to die, it was a means to an end. “Scoped”
The word was thought rather then said, the bubble of silence would disguise her position and give her a time for a second shot if something went wrong but it shouldn't. Her finger moved around the trigger and she manually relaxed her limb, letting the bob of the weapon resolve. A smooth pull and the weapon gave a sharp jerk and as the scope fell, she waited for the two seconds out for impact. By two and a half seconds she was readying a second shot reflexively because something had gone wrong. By two and three quarters, she knew that she hadn't missed, the figure was holding her bullet between two fingers and starring in her direction. Another shot, hastily sent and the figure wasn't there, rather, he was tearing across the landscape at unreal speeds. Why was everything so damn hard? A third shot scored a hit, collarbone... but rather then a holed body with a useless arm and lethal bleeding, there was gleaming golden blood and elven sight recognized the dark material embedded in the wound as a fragment of her shattered bullet.

He seemed to center on her position with a unnatural haste and she grinned as she tried to center again, her backup plan was in full swing... but she hadn't calculated on him going so damn fast. Pressure hit the fuse and behind the man, the ground exploded and the figure took a tumble that turned into a roll and instead, accelerated and then jumped directly at her. Several stories up in a homestead she had broken into. Silence was dismissed and displacement went off just as a gleaming, perfect fist smashed where her illusion self might have been and the grinning, fiery eyed man hurled a backhand that could have challenged a transcendent monk into the illusion which flickered and shattered. His roar of frustration was cut short as a armor rending, steel core round fractured against his skull. Impossibly, he seemed to rationalize the harsh sound and started to destructively flail in her direction. Flailing was the wrong word, it was instinctive but it was effective. A mirror image saved her from one blow and another bullet tagged the ribcage but fouled off and his blow caught the barrel of her rifle. The sound of shearing metal sent of jolt of adrenaline through her form and the follow-up made her chest surge with pain a second after the impact. She was sure she was slipped the needle in while she tried to dodge but he wasn't slowing down fast enough. She drew her pistols and, though it hurt to move her arms, fired twice at his gut with one hit and the other caught in a glowing palm. Before she processed that, her body was already moving, rolling out of the way as his knee shattered the wall where her head had been. “Enough!” The sound made her ears ring and while her usual reply to the proclamation would have been to shoot again, the raw authority made her pause and she lowered her weapon. “You are no dragon blooded. No mindwarper, no deathlord... Not an ounce of green sun. “ Each breath ached and something ground, something her equipment struggled to set right. “I'm not from this place” “The locals send a mercenary to do what the terrestrial houses couldn't and like them, you've failed.” “I'm not dead yet.” “But you will be. You attacked Ramiziel of the unconquered sun.”

“What do you mean unconquered sun?” She had to keep him talking, keep that heart pounding, keep emotions ruling the fight give the toxin time to work, give her magic time to put her back together. “I mean -the- unconquered sun. I am an agent of the zenith caste and you are a fool.” “Blasphemer.” The indigs had called him such repetitively, it felt like it would touch a nerve. The answer was a earsplitting roar and an jerking motion towards her. They hadn't been kidding, he hated that term. “These ungrateful savages tempt his wrath. I'm the only thing keeping them-... “suppressed”" He stared at her very quiet. “I'm going to rip you apart. I'm going to tear you limb form limb, I'm going to-” “Die” *Click. He charged... but not fast enough. Her finger perched on the trigger proper as she raised her weapon. He was moving too slow, the insidious influence of the toxin doing it work. The half seconds stretched out, the gold aura sputtered and died. His hand raised. Crack-splast! His hand jerked but continued to rise as gore splattered across one of the few intact walls. Crack-crunch! If he had something to say, it was gone now. The sunlight outside dimmed ever so slightly as enchanted weapons and corrosive influence did it's vile work upon a blessed structure. She ducked under the slowing strike and one of the pistols disappeared from her hand, a blunderbuss barrel shoved under his nerveless arm in its place and the blast from that sent the heavily muscled figure staggering of-course, the raw ingrained fortitude the only thing keeping them from passing in the spot as they sunk to their knees, looking up at her with a look of utter confusion and lack of understanding. They were supposed to be invincible, able to overcome any foe. His mouth worked soundlessly, golden ichor leaking from a multiple wounds. His expression barely had time to pass into despair or anger before a practiced motion saw new rounds inserted into the pistols. Crack – Crack! One into where she believed the heart to be, shredded as it might have been a second into the side of the skull. The zenith was dead, the aspect of the sun setting with a wet thump. As she bent over to retrieve her damaged rifle, a voice sounded. That voice promised things by raw tone and pitch. Decimation unparalleled, the crackle of a savior's foot on gravel, unspeakable allure. This was the maker and breaker of civilizations and by raw proximity, she knew it “You are no daughter of mine.” *The words were without special malice, nearly rueful in their admission. She turned numbly, silvery radiance once-more seeming to mock her understanding of reality She would have made a quip about how all these glowing people were pissing her off but not this time. She kept her damn mouth shut in the face of this... being. A moon, -the- moon in avatar form, but not her mother moon. “but you should have been.” That gaze turned to the corpse with a mixture of fury and regret that Deledia had never seen. “Do what you must and then leave. Dare not return for they will know you. They will hunt you.” Her jaw set, a brief nod would have to satisfy as an answer as her constricted throat would permit no better. "Strange child, your world deserved better." And then it was gone. The moon elf sucked in a shaky breath. She would hurry, take her information and leave. Woe betide any of these locals who dared try and stop her.

She was right and wrong, in the end, the core was divinely created, intended to raise a heroic soul to peruse divine status in turn but by pushing energy through the core, she could generate a semblance of intelligence that could control the power allocation of the construct automatically and yet... it could be so much more. Would she bind a soul to her construct and the goal of destroying the otherwise indestructible or would she take a even bigger risk and keep the core empty, thus committing a grand heresy most would scares understand? Allowing for the formation of an entirely artificial soul, the end goal of the costly act of spellwork that had granted a reflection of sentience to many a golem was tempting. In either case, her tool was ready for a field test.
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