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solradguy · 1 month ago

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I don’t know how big your low tech city is, or how destroyed it was, but for the sake of argument I’m assuming it’s a pretty small and doesn’t have a large population due to humanity almost going extinct.

It says in GG world that zeal was distributed to major cities, so it’s probably harder to come by. If I had to guess, people would probably have to go travel to a bigger city to get zlipods.

In an area that’s almost completely cut off however, trading supplies probably takes president over (obviously not eliminating the use of) actual money- especially when it comes to energy resources. I can see locals trading bits and bobs of black tech or parts of sequencers with one another. In an area that had been ruined, there’s probably a lot of scavenging that could be done.

A lot of tech would be built off the back of old machinery. Lots of hollowed out machines reused for. Same with houses- I’d imagine that areas that were destroyed weren’t given the resources to rebuild- at least not on a wide scale- so I’d assume that lots of spaces would be built off of the shells of destroyed buildings.

People also probably use fire a lot more too. Simple spells for controlling it and the other elements are probably used for warmth (or in a case in the south, cooling off- during the day at least).

And on that, I think that fire would become more prevalent in general as a means of cooking and warmth would become more common now that there is limited assess to gas/electric burners and the like.

I’d also imagine that there are very close knit communities. Not necessarily in an “everyone knows each other personally” way, more so in a “Someone would recognize if a stranger came into the city” way.

Hope I could grant some insight. I’m looking forward to the next chapter.

My low tech town is at a current size of "undefined but large enough that roving gangs can't bother all of it at once" haha Didn't want to trap myself in a box defining it too thoroughly at the start and then realizing I needed it to be bigger or smaller later. Laying the track as I go, so to speak. The population is indeed small though, despite whatever size the town itself ends up being by the time I get to a point where I have to give it solid dimensions.

Most of what you've listed here are pretty much the same conclusions I've come to for this town Fred's ended up at except for the magic part.

The Strive timeline says that researchers come up with a way that makes magic easier for people to use, regardless of their skill level, in 2008. I'm assuming this is probably instroments and scores but it doesn't use those words. By 2010 governments start ordering rations of zeal to their citizens. It's vague about what happens after that and up to when the Black Sunrise happens in 2074, but it's probably safe to assume that most countries/places kept slowly rebuilding.

Anyway, I don't think most people in the really damaged parts of the US (like where Interlude is at for the moment, out in the desert of northern New Mexico) would have much skill with magic or access to instroments programmed with scores. Maybe one or two would have ended up there from traders/bartering travelers though. I wrote a hardware store that Frederick busted in to because I needed him to get an instroment to make the Gear cell suppressor though, so there are at least blank ones available in this setting I've made up. I think a lot of the fires people make for their various needs are made the traditional way (matches, lighter fluid, flint & steel, etc). They'd already know how and it's cheaper/easier than bugging the one guy with the instroment-lighter to light everything.

The official timelines make it sound like black tech stayed in use for a decent-ish while even after the UN banned it (the USA built a rocket in the early 21st century somewhere and non-magic tech production wasn't officially stopped until 2010 too). I imagine a lot of places kept using it even after 2010 production fully halted, but it makes me wonder if things like oil drilling and stuff were still going on by that point or not. Apparently the distribution of zeal actually worsened the economic gap in low income areas (ggw/magic). Maybe for a while gasoline was seen as the "poor man's zeal"? Unfortunately, gasoline expires. So whatever I end up doing for Interlude likely won't be gas. Frederick has some zilpods for a generator in his shack to power the lights, AC, and his tech though, but I never explained how they got there (he didn't buy them). Zeal expires just like gas, anyway.

There are just enough details to imagine what these parts of GG's world might be like, but few enough that a lot of new questions come up thinking about it lol There are a lot of parts of Interlude too where I know the lore doesn't make any sense because I couldn't think of a canon-abiding way to do it how I needed it to be so I pulled something out of my ass and hoped it sounded believable enough ahahah No one's called me out on anything so far.

#asks #long post #The urban parts of Interlude were some of the hardest ones to write because they're like 90% just theorizing and stacking headcanons x_x #I will admit I've been avoiding getting into describing the tech as much as I possibly can just because it's so vague in the actual canon #Fred's limiter was the one point where I let myself get a little wild with it but it's probably gonna get decimated if they ever #officially explain how that thing works #FORTUNATELY FOR ME I think they're keeping it vague so they don't write themselves into a corner with it lol

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idiosinkratico · 21 days ago

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i forgor to post this. these are my different couriers. more below. WARNING: theres actually A LOT of text. i went kinda crazy there..

okay so the first one... i cant choose his name, well, i do have his name is just that does it make sense? like the reason he haves that names, does it make sense? How does it make sense that a Hispanic family chose that name since they have reserved what little remains of their culture for years? So it all started clearly with the fact that their ancestors were Hispanic, the war came, they were among the few who managed to enter one of the Vaults. and well, the family wanted to maintain their identities so among themselves from generation to generation they continue speaking Spanish and having some hispanic practices adhered into them. Although over the years, after getting used to the new society, they 'lose' a bit of that. For example, they speak more English now than they did back in 2127. Yes, I made this OC to experience a bit of what other cultures/nationalities would be like in Fallout, whose world focuses more on the United States than anything else.

Well anyway his name is Ismael surname Barrera. Now to actually explain who he is, he's of course, courier six, but he is more of a traveler than anything else. his gender is quite unknown, not even them can explain it, and he doesnt care if he gets confused glances. is whatever for him (have you noticed the lil bit of self insert yet?). oh and also he likes to travel for the sake of learning new places, new people and how the Wasteland works. she also is a Prospector (polite name for scavenger. yes i robbed this phrase from the game). he loveees to collect stuff, which is why he wears the roving trader outfit! also i added other things to make it look like he does collect and reutilize things a lot. like the NCR helmet. he ISN'T from NCR (and actually critizes them a lot), but he keeps the helmet. also yes i made it deliberadly to look weird is a helmet with goggles then he wears glasses, and then again theres another goggles on his neck... why? because he never feels is enough. i mean, while collecting stuff he may have the same things because who knows if the other could be lost or broken. companions say that they look like a whole ahh brahmin pack, and that hey, they exist too. give them some of their stuff, your back doesnt look okay. as in personality, i think i let it clear hes curious. way too curious. so many times he got into combat because they looked at something and wanted to look what it was, then boom it was a big scorpion. also they are definitely idealistic, they believe that well if the world cant change, at least she haves to change, and give people a reason to believe not everything is hopeless (so yeah he has good karma). they also are analyze almost non stop, thats a part of their curiosity. and i mean like he can analyze from how the factions works and how all the options (NCR, Legion, Mr. House, and yes, even Yes Man) will affect the Mojave, lalala but also suddenly analyze hey how do robots do that thingy when a man loves a woman so much? theres way more but i think this should be enough. other stuff includes: loves history and science. collects books from time to time and reads it a lot, which explains where he gets big words. barely remembers his past other than he traveled a lot and why he does so. shes around his early twenties. major skills are: Science, Survival and Guns. Traits: Four Eyes and Hoarder. oh and;

S: 7 P: 3 E: 5 C: 4 I: 8 A: 7 L: 6

> As for the other, this one i just did recently. A compulsive liar. Havent still decided his name, though Oscar sounds good enough. Around his late twenties. Identifies as a man. Worked as a courier because he didnt have anything else better to do. After getting shot, while it wasnt of course pleasurable, he kinda liked it since finally he has something interesting to tell and is actually the truth AND he was shot for actually being important. he twists the story a bit just to make himself look better. also yes when veronica asks him where does he comes from, he unironically and bit dramatically answers "From the grave". cares a bit too much about his appearance. well more like he cares what people think of him. you can imagine the amount of joy he had when he heard in the radio about himself and how people seem to finally see him as someone famous. as for what side he goes for, he chooses Yes Man instantly. You can already see his S.P.E.C.I.A.L. status so i wont bother putting it again. Oh and he also suffers a bit of amnesia from the bullet. He has mostly good karma but since hes also bit of a robber, doesnt have the best reputation, and also, people find out he lies a bit too much. Major skills includes; Barter, Sneak and Lockpick. Traits: Kamikaze and Fast Shot.

> And the last one. Her name is Dhalia. Around her late twenties as well. Tbh that wasnt her design at first. Thats a doodle i did but i liked it so much i chose that drawing as her new design. For her i dont really know what kind of personality she may have. I guess shes the quiet, logical type of person. She values reason before all... or well thats what she says. Also shes very blunt. Doesnt tolerates at all if she sees bitchy behaviour. bit too serious but doesnt mean she doesnt have a sense of humor. She was a mercenary before becoming a courier, why did she choose to be one? to take a break... that sadly didnt last as she was shot in the head. she has more like neutral karma. Like she doesnt really 'care' about whats right or wrong. she mostly looks for herself before anything else. surviving is the first and foremost important step. that doesnt mean she can't help others though, but most of the time when she helps someone is more because she logically assumes that yeah, this is the right thing to do, and doesnt do it out of compassion. at first she was siding with Mr. House just because 'is her job' but she herself realizes that he isnt a very good choice for the Mojave. she may side more with NCR because she thinks they are the ones who may bring more stability to the Mojave, and this also probably because she was born in the NCR (i am not saying shes right) (though i cant still decided for myself what side she may take. well, i am still writting her so i guess it makes sense). Major skills are: Guns, Sneak and Medicine. Traits: Trigger Discipline and Skilled. And;

S: 6 P: 7 E: 7 C: 3 I: 8 A: 9 L: 4

- I have way more OCs (this is how i know the fixation is down bad lmao). Like i have a latinoamerican ghoul that like i want to explore once again about other cultures/nationalities in Fallout, though i guess to make it more 'fit' to themes of the franchise, will be about the American dream, though i dunno if there was such thing like that in Pre-War America, which is why i am kinda leaving him on the dust until i know better about this. Then theres also another ghoul who is an old doctor lady, actually inspired in one my very old OCs and realized that i could just make her a ghoul and thats it. That is more of my love towards old ghouls... we need them more, desperadly. also made her to be from Vault 12 and be one of the ghouls to leave the area around when Set was set (no pun intended) for leader. likes to medically study how ghoul transformation works. also works as a doctor as she has quite the knowledge from Pre-War medicine. i also have a human guy OC thats a mechanist and in him i want to explore about undiagnosed neurodivergence in a world like Fallout.

and and my favorite so far but i cant even know if she fits is a First-Gen supermutant OC thats (again) a mechanist and a crafter! shes Olivia. she makes and fixes supermutants' armor, in fact decorated her own armor hehehe. though of course she doesnt make every armor for supermutants, she came from my question of where the hell do supermutants get their armor? like of course they won't use humans' armor, thats way too tiny. then again they have to get the right resources for an armor thats actually an armor, like whats the matter in putting materials that will be just like dressing with cardboards? but besides that, she also makes other stuff that are like, common day-to-day stuff, but, for supermutants! i mean like, stuff like humans may use and if supermutants may use too, she makes it to be more accesible to supermutants, and she does so because of the feeling of community between eachother, like she cares for them and wants to help. i still feel like she may not fit within supermutants a lot though (i have the need to make OCs as accurate as possible based in the world they are in). but i guess thats whats fun is about. oh and also, i made her because man we need more female supermutants!!! for a bit of backstory, as i said shes a First-Gen supermutant meaning that she comes from The Unity, shes like one of the people that came from one of the Vaults. i still work on what her opinion is about being transformed in a supermutant... if she finds it better or not. anyway. after The Master goes kaboom along The Cathedral and Mariposa Base, she as other supermutants wandered around The Wasteland until finding Broken Hills in where she finds she likes crafting stuff besides armor. She worked as a miner there. Then basically she follows Marcus with the other supermutants until settling in Jacobstown. Also I don't know if this stupid and nonsensical but like remember Tabitha's wig? So uh yeah do you know Olivia also likes scavenging around places to find the resources for her crafts, and also along the way bring resources for her community. what if she finds a wig and some heartshapped and gives it to Tabitha, as a gift yes. im sorry for bringing Canon + Non canon interaction.... she is quite saddened by what happened in Black Mountain. if she could she would have take Neil's place to look out for the place but shes busy with her own stuff. also shes close friend with Lily Bowen hehehe and lets her ramble about her grandkids (again. heh. get it?)

Uh well i think i said enough already. that was all bye bye!

#fallout #fallout new vegas #fallout ocs #fnv ocs #> ”art” in quote marks #> rambles #> Original Characters #btw i havent either checked if what i say makes sense. my bad if you do not understand even a bit of what i am saying #in this post i was more like talking to myself #uh. had to make some changes because the post didnt load correctly. embarrasinggg

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the-bar-sinister · 5 months ago

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Cracking the Mid-Life Crisis (3960 words) by thesavagesabretooth Chapters: 1/1 Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Gecko Moria joins Cross Guild, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Humor, Father-Daughter Relationship, POV Perona

Summary: After Moria's punishing defeat by Luffy on Thriller Bark the warlord was discarded by the government and vanished from the world stage. When the warlord system is dissolved entirely, Perona goes on a mission to find her daddy and bring him back into the fold.

She finds him wasting away in margaritaville.

It had taken Perona quite some time after leaving Mihawk's castle to track down the man she was looking for, but now she had arrived at Yutsu Island, a resort island in the New World unaffiliated with the World Government and run as a tourist attraction for the elite and dangerous.

The World Government was cracking down all around them, Marine ships prowling the seas…affiliated islands setting traps in their ports as ‘bounty hunters’ and ‘traders’ pressed even deeper into waters the Government had no sway in.

Perona hated it. She hate, hate, hated having to skulk around after the dissolution of the Warlord system. After her own small ship was seized (she’d have to say sorry to Hawky later), she’d slipped away from the stupid marines to hitch ride after ride on friendly and unfriendly boats alike.

But she had to do it, she had to find her adoptive father to make sure he’d survived the beating the Marines had given him during that whole dumb war two years prior.

Her heeled boots clicked against the creaking wood of the dock as she stomped her way across with her parasol open to block out the hated sun. Lucky her, the roving ‘Gamble Pirates’ who’d taken her in for the trip weren’t the type to try to bully her into staying– she could save her energy for dragging her dad back from this overly bright and sunny place.

The resort area glittered and gleamed just a stone's throw from the harbor– a mass of handsome buildings that glittered with colorful sea glass and some of the more modern architecture on the grand line. The place, she had heard, was run by a branch family of some deposed nobles from the North Blue– potentially related to the Vinsmokes. It was one of the many rumors she'd heard while gathering information about where Moria was.

And all the information she'd gathered said that he would be here; rumors and whispers that the former warlord was wasting away on cocktail island.

She puffed out her cheeks as she walked, her little ghosties leaking out from her parasol to surround her in swirling, lazy arcs that sent tourists stumbling away from their spectral giggling in fear of just what they might do.

It’d been two years…two years without a word while she thought he was dead. If it turned out he was getting DRUNK while Mihawk held his SUPER GOOD wine over her head for TWO WHOLE YEARS…

Well. She wasn’t actually going to complain about her time with the other warlord and Zoro…but STILL.

She was peeved about it enough for her horo horo ghostie friends to be manifesting in wiggly force. Not to mention this place really WAS too bright. “Wish I had sunglasses…”

The light on the summer island was quite bright and warm, with hardly a cloud in the sky as she made her way through the crowds and toward the resort area. Stealthily she snuck through the lobby without a glance from security who were busy at the counter due to some woman who was yelling at the clerk there.

And once through the checkpoint she was able to access all the guest areas. The private beach. The restaurant. The casino. The spa. And who knew what else. It was a disgusting lap of luxury.

“And I didn’t even have a vampire maid or a handsome butler to make me bagel sandwiches an’ cocoa.” Perona pouted as she hugged Kumachi’s plush body to her side. Mihawk’s cooking was super good, of course, and Zoro would bring her things if she needled him enough and hung off his shoulders till he did it…but the principle of the thing was important! “This place looks…”

She stared down some well to do couple as they walked towards the beach with a sound dial blasting Uta’s latest single in hand.

“Pricey. And ostentatious. Dontcha think, Kumachi?”

Kumachi didn’t answer.

Perona followed the couple out onto the beach, which was a forest of brightly colored umbrellas and towels spread out over a blanket of glittering, beautiful white sand leading down to the bright blue ocean. People of all shapes and sizes wandered around in beach wear, holding colorful drinks being doled out by bartenders under thatched roof huts.

She sniffed disdainfully as she twisted her parasol over her head, taking to floating gently along instead of walking through the unsteady sand.

“He couldn’t possibly be at the beach…”

“Horo horo” replied one of her ghosties, to which she giggled.

“I mean, obviously right? We didn’t even have a proper beach on Thriller Bark!” she waved her hand “he’s probably somewhere like the residential graveyard or something. Do resorts have graveyards?”

“Horo.”

Perona practically tripped over him.

Moria was lying supine over an enormous beach lounge chair under an umbrella with a pair of opaque sunglasses covering most of his unmistakable face. He had a book across his chest, and a drink in the holder of his lounge. There was a sound dial sitting in the sand next to him and a wire trailed from it to one miniature speaker in his long pointed ear.

Tripping startled her once.

His loud snore startled her again.

“GAH!!!” Perona squeaked, stomping her foot on open air. “DADDY!! You IIIIIIIDIOT!”

She drew the attention of several beach-goers, but the moment she started hearing the whispering amongst them she sent her hollows to pass through them. Whispering turned to whines and whimpers of despair as she put her hands on her hips and looked down at the sleeping Moiria.

“....” She raised her leg and delivered a swift kick to his butt. “Wake up!!!”

The kick didn't overbalance the lounge chair, but the startled jolt that rocked through Moria's body as he yelped in response and instinctively tried to roll away did. Former warlord, book, dial, all ended up sprawled in the sand, the drink splashing on top adding insult to injury.

“O-oops.” Perona looked from side to side. People were staring, but they were nobodies anyway. Nobody who mattered saw that.

She looked down at Kumachi with a sharp frown “Kumachi!! How could you do that? How could you kick dad like that??? When we get home you’re going in the iron maiden!”

Kumachi hung in silent understanding of just what he’d done and how he’d have to atone.

Moria was already clambering up into a sitting position, wiping the drink off his face, and pushing the offending lounge chair away. He hissed and bared his fangs, looking around.

"Who dares to disturb the slumber of the mighty— Perona?? Whoah, what are you doing here?" His menacing snarl turned immediately into a cheerful grin that really emphasized how much sand and cocktail was still stuck to his face.

Perona clasped her hands together as if she didn’t just kick him into the sand like the Vinsmokes in the “Sora and the Sand-Castle of the Beach King” storyline from the papers.

“Daddyyy!! You’re alive! I’d heard you’d died ya know!” her hollows swarmed around her as she leaned down to offer him a hand up. “Gosh, you got a cocktail all over your face!”

He took her hand with his large claw and grinned bashfully, trying to wipe off his face as he stood. "Yeah, whoops! Guess I got a little startled somehow."

Moria carefully stood up to his towering height, carefully ducking out from under the umbrella and Perona got a better look at him.

The lanky, long limbed pirate had certainly healed from the injuries she'd heard he'd received two years ago, and the light of the summer island seemed to have darkened the glimmering pale of his complexion just a little. The old stitch-mark scars down his face from where Kaidou had nearly cut him in half didn't show up quite as intensely any more.

His red hair had grown out– possibly the entire two years– shaggy and loose around his horns, and he looked like he'd been taking care of himself, surprisingly. The muscles on his body were defined– save for the softness around his stomach that was clearly from an overabundance of cocktails.

All that was easy for Perona to take in– since he was only wearing a pair of beach shorts with a pattern of pumpkins on them, and a pair of sandals.

“....” She crossed her arms with Kumachi hanging from them, her lips petulantly pursed as she brushed her long, and now quite expertly curled even in the difficult situation she’d been traveling in, pink hair from her shoulders.

“I can see that! You look…” she trailed off for a moment. “comfortable? Looks like you’re healing up pretty good too! They said the marines blew you to pieces!”

Moria rubbed the back of his neck and nodded rather limply. "They sure did. But hey! I'm back in one piece, huh? Cheated death again." He grinned but really, he just looked embarrassed about it. "It's great to see you, though! You look amazing! I heard rumors you were staying with Mihawk, was that true?"

“Uh huh. One of the World Government’s superweapons slapped me across the ocean and I crashed into his castle,” Perona put her hands on her hips. "He's been real nice to me, I even made a new close friend.” She emphasized it with a wicked little grin, “it was pretty nice, but ya know what woulda been better?”

"Uhhhh?"

She pointed towards him. “Knowing my old man was still alive, dummy!!” the hollows around her tittered and laughed.

"I wish I could have let you know, kiddo!" he said, holding up his hands with another fanged smile. "The government's after my ass though. If they find out where I am they might send a few fleets you know? and I was worried they'd try to use you as bait to get to me."

Perona pursed her lips, cheeks puffed out and her hands on her hips as she floated a little higher.

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm!!! What, ya think they’re gonna do that Buddy Call thing of theirs? Or kidnap me? They couldn’t, ya know! I’ve been training with Hawky and Zor—-”

She almost let her special friend slip…one of the straw hats who’d defeated her father and their pirate gang. He wasn’t ready to know.

“Y. Zory.”

Moria blinked slowly at her with only dim comprehension. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"How about we head up to my room, get a couple of drinks, and you can tell your ol' dad all about it."

Perona glared dubiously at him for a long moment. The nobodies were beginning to talk again. She shut them up with another round of hollows to really ruin their vacations.

“Alright. But only if I get to have sangria! Hawky wouldn’t let me make any with his wine ‘cause he was making Zor…m. Zorm go sober while he trained!”

After a moment she paused and punched her fist “SHOOT! I was calling him Zory! Not Zorm!”

Moria blinked again.

"Who?"

Fifteen minutes later and Perona had a legitimate guest badge for the hotel and was mixing sangria in Moria's private beach-front suite with a view of the ocean.

“Geeze, papa. You’ve got a real sweet deal here. What’d ya do? Steal the manager’s shadow?” she asked as she mixed the sangria and tested it for taste.

"I wish!" he laughed, folding himself over the bar and watching her. "You'll be disappointed, but your old man's paying the same as anybody else."

She poured more red wine into the mixture as she looked over her shoulder “with all of our treasure?”

"Not all of it, obviously!" he sputtered. "But some, of my treasure. Yes."

“Oh!” Perona grinned at him “I mean, it seems to be going a long way, papa!”

She looked over her shoulder at the immobile Kumachi “hey, Kumachi. D’ya want some sangria?”

He did not want sangria. He was a lame teetotaler like that.

“I hope you saved a bit of it, papa. I think we’re gonna need it.”

Moria scratched his head, pushing his lengthened red hair back behind his horns, and gave her a curious look.

"You think? I mean, it won't get that much more expensive just to have you stay too."

Perona poured herself a glass of Sangria and turned to lean on the bar as she took a sip “not for staying here, papa! To buy our way into Mr. Hawky’s big plan! Or…I mean, I guess it’s not his big plan. He said somethin’ about…hold on..”

She stomped over to Kumachi and unbuttoned the top of his head to root around in there for a moment.

When her hand came out she brandished a flashy poster at her father with a big, ear to ear grin and a haughty “Horohorohorohoro!!! LOOK!”

The poster, she knew well, was of the Cross Guild. Captain Buggy, the newest of the former warlords before their dissolution loomed his manic smile over crossed swords– Sir Crocodile sneered from the right, Mihawk glowered from the left.

And in each corner, another of the powerful warlords loomed. Boa Hancock with her cold glare matching the hungry serpent that curled over her shoulders in the upper right by Buggy’s overly prominent face, flanked on the other side by Doflamingo’s manic grin and the trail of strings from his fingers.

“We’re gonna join Cross Guild!”

Moria boggled at the poster. Then he leaned in and squinted at it. Then he pulled back and boggled at it some more.

"What are all the warlords doing on that poster?" Moria demanded. "Who's the kid with the nose?"

“.....” Perona turned it around to look at it before she huffed. “who cares! I mean, if you wanna know it’s Buggy the Clown! He’s…I dunno , an old ex boyfriend of Mr. Crocodile and Mihawk’s or something. He grumbled about him once while he was drunk. They made him a warlord after you were gone, papa!”

"Aw man, maybe I should have been keeping up with the news after all," he grumbled, scratching his hair again. He gave the poster another dubious squint. "They made him a warlord? And now they've what, got some kind of extra club going?"

It was starting to sound as if somehow Moria still hadn't heard that the warlord system had been dissolved.

Perona sipped her sangria. She needed the strength. Oh, by all the powers of the dark lords and evil, did she need the strength.

After her sip she downed half the glass before dropping it on the bar and taking a deep breath….she floated up to grab him by the shoulders and practically shook him as she wailed.

“THEY DISSOLVED IT, PAPA!”

Moria ducked under the strength of her shout, grimacing and pulling his face away. He held up his hands defensively.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, kiddo! Simmer down! They dissolved what?"

“The whole frickin’ warlord system!!!” she chided “like, they turned on ‘em. A bunch of kings voted for it at their stupid king party and now they’re coming to kill everyone! There’s no more state-sanctioned pirates! Just pirates!”

He stared at her.

Suddenly, he was gripping her shoulders.

"They're doing WHAT?"

Half an hour later, they were several more pitchers of sangria in as Perona had brought her 'daddy' up to speed on current events.

“So yeah, we’re gonna need your treasure to buy into Cross Guild so I can join Hawky in this whole war against the World Government they got goin’ on!” she finished with a big smile.

He scratched his jaw thoughtfully and nodded. " You think they'd let me in? They had better let me in! I'd be pretty pissed off if they've started a former warlords club and they didn't want me in it. But…"

“I mean obviously they’ll let you in!” She huffed. “they probably want me there too! You were their buddy, right? I’m sure they’ll let you join up easy peasy!”

"Maybe," he hemmed and hawed, and turned to lean his back on the bar, staring at his luxurious hotel suite. "But I don't know if I'm even ready to go back to being a pirate. I don't know if I'll ever be ready. I might just be retired."

“Noooo!” Perona stomped her foot. “Papa, that’s lame! Retirement’s lame! We didn’t even do our big plan at Thriller Bark! Luffy and Zor…..d…Zord and everyone else just beat us UP! We’re not done pirating at all!”

".... wait isn't Zord that friend you were mentioning with Mihawk?" Moria blinked, having forgotten to protest the rest of it. "He was at Thriller Bark?"

“.............” Perona’s eyes widened as she looked at Kumachi for a save. Kumachi had nothing to say, being quite stuffed. “Maayyyyybe?”

Moria grabbed the half empty pitcher of sangria and downed the rest of it in a long gulp.

Perona dropped her head into her hands. She knew…she knew this was going to turn into a big deal. She could only hope the booze would help rather than hinder her in her grand quest to explain to her father that the guy who cut his minions to ribbons was…like…

You know.

Kinda cool.

They'd argued about it for hours. About Cross Guild. About the Straw Hats. About Moria feeling less capable now than he had ever felt before. First being destroyed by Kaidou, and then by Luffy– who was now Perona's friend by one remove.

Perona had argued with all her might, likely terrifying the neighbors in the other suites as she gesticulated wildly and sent her hollows flying here and there in her passionate pleas.

Who cared if the Straw Hats beat him up, from the news she’d heard they beat up like…everyone! And if they were friends now, through Zoro, then they’d be safe from Luffy’s violent frenzy.

Besides, it wasn’t as if they were going after the One Piece! She’d argued until she was blue in the face about it, as points flew between them.

At one point she’d accused him of holding onto a negative hollow while she was gone with how DOWN IN THE DUMPS he was about himself.

"Perona," he said finally after a long silence between them. He rested his head on his arms, his gaze tilted toward her. "I think you're the only one who thinks I'm worth anything any more. Cross Guild would probably be happier if I just sent you back with what resources I've got left. You're young. You've got energy. you haven't been beaten by the world yet. What have I got?"

“Plenty!” Perona puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms. “You've always been my hero, you know! You’re the master of shadows! You’re super strong, who cares if you lost twice? I got beat too, and I’m not worthless!”

"Of course you're not worthless but– I don't know. I just feel like I'm not good enough. Every time I think I'm getting somewhere, I get thrown back to the start!"

It was the same thing of course, that she'd heard had happened to Mihawk. And to Crocodile. And to who knew who else among the warlords. But that was the thing– that was when they were working alone.

“You and the rest of the old idiots of Cross Guild,” Perona crossed her arms. “but you were all going it alone, weren’t you? But Cross Guild’s a bunch of you! All together, working together for something that ain’t the stupid World Government. Maybe together you can fight your way forward and NOT get thrown back to the start, huh??”

"That's–" he blinked and sat up a little. "That's a good point. If we were actually cooperating. The problem is you never know who's about to throw you in the sea for a little gain in their own status…"

“From what Hawky was saying the whole point of Cross Guild is NOT to do that. Like…it’s named that ‘cause everyone’s on an equal level even with crossed purposes or some pretentious crap like that.”

Moria stroked his chin. "That sounds like Mihawk. I wonder if we could really do it. If we actually teamed up against the government, we might actually be able to do something…"

Finally thinking about something other than his own self pity.

Perona internally sighed with relief as she pressed her advantage “I know, right? And everyone’s pooling their resources to do some really neat stuff! Like taking bounties out on the Marines! Striking back with the power of the people!”

"Taking bounties on marines?" He grinned now. "That would sure be a way to put random people in the action instead of always risking your own guys…"

“Exactly!!” Perona pointed at him “and the people are happy because it gives ‘em power! And we’re happy because it’s one less Navy Bastard to deal with! And little by little we weaken the World Government!”

"Alright. Alright! Damn it!" He slapped his hand on the bar, shaking the several empty pitchers and wine bottles. "I'll at least go and talk to them. …You know where they are, right?"

“Oh yeah they’re uh…I think they’re still on Buggy’s big clown ship or something.” Perona put her finger to her lips. “Ah well, they can’t be that hard to find right?”

He scratched the back of his neck and shook his head. "Well. We'll make it work, whatever. Hey–"

Moria reached out a hand toward her.

Perona grinned and leapt forward to squeeze his arm just over his hand. “Yeah?” she asked, hovering as she dangled from his arm.

He smiled a fanged smile at her, soft, despite the bristle of pointy teeth. "Thanks for coming all the way out here to find me, kiddo. And for talking me up."

“Always, papa! Someone’s gotta be your hype man, and it wasn’t gonna be fucking Hogback!” She squeezed his arm tightly in a hug, her bright eyes and ear-to-ear smile turned his way. “I wanted to look for you for two years, I just thought you’d died– so I came right away to find ya as soon as I heard the whispers.”

Moria chuckled and pulled her into a proper hug. "Guess we've proven it takes more than that to kill me, huh? Alright. Let's take just a little more vacation. I'll show you around the place and when we sober up, then we'll make some plans on getting out of here."

Perona squeezed him tightly with a squee of joy.

“Alright! Alright! A lil’ more vacation but I’m NOT getting any sun! The sun’ll melt me away!” She grinned widely as she bobbed her head “and then it’s CROSS GUILD HERE WE COME!”

Kumachi was excited. She could tell from the way he slowly flopped over and rolled onto the ground with the weight of his overstuffed head.

"Cross Guild here we come! Maybe third time's the charm with his whole pirate gig."

He put her on his shoulders, and out they went.

Hours of exploration of the resort followed as they let their heads clear save for dreams of the future. With satisfaction, Perona got to experience the absolute bliss of a spa, and of a meal not served on the table because Hogback’s poor assistant was traumatized by plates…and also by being a kidnapped spirit who hated him.

The beautiful resort island was a paradise– but it wasn’t half as perfect as the prospect of their future as part of the powerful Cross Guild. Compared to fighting side by side with Hawky and his friends and taking the fight to the world government…how could a vacation island even hope to stack up?

It was almost depressing against the glaring light of the future ahead.

#perona one piece #ghost princess perona #op perona #gecko moria #gekko moriah #found family #one piece #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #archive of our own #ao3 #cross guild

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mekha-draws · 6 months ago

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oh man tell us about Turuque (#66308507) ? they look really cool

Ah yes, The Scout, the Aimless Mouthful, Ambrosia's babygirl, one of the Altar's most guy of all time, Turuque!

One of the few who willingly joined the Altar's troupe with no relation to them at all. His past before joining is short and unimportant to him all things considered: exiled from his old home due to an untreated variant of gembond breakout that originated with him which took many of their residents down, he was left to his own devices and took the exile in stride. He would make the most with his circumstances no matter what crossed his path and eventually he managed to lessen his gembond infection via herbal remedies and his own stubborness (the treatment did lessen his outbreak but left hole-like colored spots across his scales and th occasional itch and scarring resulting of picking his own scales and wings)

On one of his many traversals across the canyonwalks he came across what at the time was a ragtag gang composed of Queren, Fass, Ambrosia and Cuu. They let him hang around and share a couple meals while he aided them cross the realm to the nearest city. On their last day, Turuque came to them to let him join their gang assuring them that his assistance would be of use should they require it (it being his practical knowledge in medicine, navigation and generally a good around attitude, not much but its honest work), they declined him. With a half-hearted apology and a vacant promise of goodwill they went their way and him his.

Years would pass before he came across the now entourage, named the Roving Altar, being led by the same small gang he met so long ago. He stalked them from a distance with no particular goal, simply enjoying the feeling of getting to hang around with them like the old times even if it had to be in such a disclosed way. One thing led to another and he found himself in the same position from last time: before them at the crossroads, wanting in. This time though, his wish was given more consideration and after a long discussion and explanation from them, he simply accepted; leaving all leaders baffled at his choice. It's not that Turuque dismissed their warnings or didn't know what he was getting into, he didn't even "see" nor "felt" this so called Altar they would claim to be subordinate to, he just enjoyed having them around and belonging somewhere after so much time.

He is among the first to reach any clans the Altar is interested in meddling with, he pitches the clan's strengths and why they choose said clans for their trading group to make business with. Some clans are more privy to these sort of offers from stranged travellers but Turuque is particularly good with his wordings and manages to get his way for them via good word pressed from previous arrangements or placid conversation and a confident approach (something he will admit he wasn't aware he could pull until being put to practice on a whim), sometimes their negotiations cam take days or weeks and while most have been successful, there are the rare declines that simply roll off his shoulders like nothing, not all can be winners after all.

When the clan gets their way and settle for the coming days of trade and sales, Turuque passes most of his time aiding the traders so their staying is as well received as possible while his friends do their ritual thing (although he thinks he should be more concerned or alert about that part, he knows whatever meddling the Altar does has not afflicted negatively the clans they have visited so he keeps to himself with that). Once all is done and everyone packs to leave he gets to spend time once again with his pals, having now time to chat and play a bit to lessen their worries or talk away what weighs in their minds. He is well aware of Fass' failing mind be it to his delusions or the maybe real thing controlling him around, Queren's sudden absence and Ambrosia's stress and Cuu's fears; he knows he can't do much to really fix anything on his own, he really doesn't know what he is working with and refuses to acknowledge the big That which clearly haunts this whole clan. But it's really difficult to do so when there's nothing at all, so in the meantime he only nods and plays along

#flight rising #fr worldbuilding #Turuque #tldr: “everyone here is having some sort of mass hysteria but my friends (and perpetuators of it) are here and i wont leave them for it <3”#he and ambrosia have a thing (ambrosia just refuses to call it by name bcuz work/life relations shit)

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yet-another-heathen · 2 years ago

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Rising to the West - I

2,576 words. The first re-penned chapter in my original series, The Jackal of An-Nadr.

For new readers, The Jackal is an ongoing whump series set in 1,200 BCE, where pre-Islamic fantasy meets the love of bloody sword fights, found family, and handsome men who long for nothing more than home. I am so excited for this unveiling, the love that you all have shown this series over the past several years means more to me than I could ever say. This is for you <3

- Masterpost -

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Chapter Warning | environmental whump, epic worldbuilding, demonic pirates and the massive sandships they sail, marooned in the middle of the desert with no hope of rescue, deadly levels of dehydration, very near-death experience, very brief allusion to noncon, prayer/fantasy religion, evading capture, foot injury

Taglist | @killtheprotagonist @secretwhumplair @ink-and-salt @kixngiggles @brutal-nemesis @thebewilderer @whumpsical @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whimperwoods @shydragonrider @pizzasthengym @thecyrulik @ceph-the-writing-spook @mylifeisonthebookshelf @ohwhumpydays @redwingedwhump

His name was Nadeem el-Azimi, and things had not gone according to plan.

He stumbled on the loose crest of the dune, barely able to blink his eyes open enough to right his path. His body swayed as he adjusted back onto course, aching with the effort it took to take those few extra steps. Sand cascaded down the face of the drift in steady intervals behind him, rushing toward the base like trickles of water.

Of all things, his mind kept circling and circling about how raw his feet felt. The loose, ever-shifting sand ground between his toes, and there was nothing he could do to make it stop.

The sun had set over the An-Nadr desert, and the temperature had plummeted with it. Nadeem pulled his waist sash tighter around his shoulders, clenching his jaw to keep it from clattering against the cold. The stars overhead were dying out one by one, but the warmth of dawn was hours away, even though the light would come sooner.

He kept walking. It only made it harder if he stopped.

In the distance, a low patch of scrub hugged the earth. The traders had taunted him with it when they marooned him amongst the sand. A sun-wrinkled face leered down at him as the others dumped him over the stanchion, the breath knocked from his lungs when he hit the ground. He struggled and gasped against his binds, while the men above him laughed.

“Three days to the east!” the old one said to him. The one whose filthy hands he could still feel roving over his body when he closed his eyes. He leaned over the rail and grinned as the other men tamed the mast behind him, the wind catching its girth and pulling it taut.

Nadeem thrashed and cursed through his gag, shouting desperately as the sandship began to move.

“Three days to the east you’ll find water,” he called back, “Better get going, little thief!”

And the shadow of the hull slid over his body, sunlight blinking between strips of rope. And then the white of the mast shrank beyond the waves, and the sandship had disappeared from sight.

It had taken him nearly half a day to struggle free of his bonds. By then he was utterly, entirely alone. For hundreds of miles in every direction, the only thing was sand.

That had been two and a half days ago. Anger had burned out into sorrow, then to hopelessness, then to a numbness that he couldn't shake. The leagues had passed underfoot slowly, pace worsening as his body had slowly begun to fail. Nadeem had never been a particularly stout man and, while he knew hunger like an old enemy, his body still was not made to endure the absence of water. Not like this. He rubbed mindlessly at the friction burns circling his wrists to try to distract himself from the endless drone of thirst.

Through the dark he could just barely begin making out the green against the washed-out blue of the surrounding sand, peeking between the dunes. He thought he could make out the shape of date trees, but he no longer trusted his eyes not to play tricks on him. They couldn’t be more than a few more hours away.

And as soon as he saw the oasis he knew he wasn’t going to make it.

And still he kept walking.

---

The first pearls of sunlight caught his shoulders, and he shuddered with relief. It wasn't enough, but with the night having long since sapped away his warmth, he’d take whatever he could get.

Those who crossed these deserts knew to travel after dusk once the savage temperatures had fallen, and to take shelter and sleep as much as they could through the long days when the heat would kill anything that moved. Any other day, he would have kept walking for another hour as the sun rose, then taken shelter behind one of the dunes to collapse until night fell again.

But not today. Today he could not afford to stop even for the dawn prayer. He knew it in the ache of his bones and the relentless throbbing of his head. He was dying. And if he stopped now, even for this, he wouldn't get back up.

He could not begin to describe how tempting the thought was. How loudly his body begged him to let him rest one last time, how shrilly his heart tried to convince him he had already done all he could. He could lay here and watch the colors of the sky change, feel the warmth wash over him. He could give himself one more sunrise. One more chance to watch the beauty of it all before it was gone.

His feet slowed to a stop, despite his commands. A slow breath, in and out through his nose. He reached up with puffy fingers to fumble with his face cloth, loosening it until the linen fell free.

Nadeem turned slowly back toward the glint of the sunrise, and closed his eyes. He had both won and lost his own bet. He had lived for one more day. He would take that victory, even if…even…

Keep moving, Nadeem. Those thoughts are going to kill you.

Today he would either make it to the oasis, or his body would be slowly being covered up and buried by the ever-creeping drifts that surrounded him. Those were the only two possibilities left, and it was getting harder and harder to believe that he had any hope of the former.

Control of his body was slipping, and apathy dulled his thoughts more and more with each passing breath. And still he mumbled out the soft, broken consonants of the prayer he had been clinging to, words repeated so many times in the last day that they had become nothing more than foreign sounds devoid of whatever had once made them words.

The comforting lines he had known since he was a child fell from him in a broken, confused tangle of what they were meant to be. He hoped the gods would still take the whisper for its intention rather than its delivery. He was fairly certain someone had once told him they would. That they knew.

He couldn't remember their face. He hoped it had been Hanona. She had always been right about such things.

Keep moving, Nadeem. You have to take one more step.

He whispered a quiet little apology to the air before him, reaching out as if to gently cling upon the fabric of someone’s robes. His fingers closed over nothing, and he let out a shaky little breath as he pulled the imagined cloth closer to the ache of his chest.

He swayed, felt the knot of dry tears in his throat. But he knew crying was beyond him now.

When eventually he realized that the strength to continue on was slipping for good, he summoned one last, Walk, Nadeem.

His foot answered him sluggishly, one barely-there step backwards. He cracked open his eyes.

And stopped.

Far in the distance, slipping along the razor’s edge between waves and sky, a pinprick of black was making its way across the sand.

A mirage. It had to be.

He stared at it in doubt, blinking to see if it would fade.

He watched it for what felt like a lifetime, so afraid that if he looked away it would be gone. But as the minutes passed and the shape grew closer, a fragile hope began to smolder in his chest.

A ship.

His head was swimming. The mast rose and dipped over a bank, light catching flecks of metal. But he could still make out the shape of the bow, cutting across the tops of the dunes.

He didn’t have the strength to cry out. He didn’t have the strength to move.

They were coming straight for the oasis, straight to him.

He couldn’t—he...he…

...he stopped.

The sandship rose to the top of another peak, sail catching the light of the sun beyond. For a moment everything was dark, then the cloth rippled and his heart ground to a stop.

The vibrant, cobalt blue sails of an Al Qururaqin cutter shone in the morning sun.

He stumbled backward, and ran.

The ground gave away beneath him as he bounded down the dark side of the dune, slipping and catching himself when he hit the bottom. His heart was pounding as he pressed his back into the side of it and began pulling armfuls of sand over his body.

He barely managed to cover his legs and the lower half of his chest, limbs burning with exertion. Black spots swam across his vision. His breaths came shallow and ragged through split lips. Still he clawed at the sand until he’d covered as much of himself as he could.

If the ship hadn’t already spotted him, the dunes gave him a chance of being passed unseen. If they had...

He held his breath, straining to keep his gasps under control.

And then he heard it. Someone singing loudly enough for their voice to carry. The unmistakable shuffing of wood, the sound of voices calling back and forth to one another.

It grew closer until someone gave a sharp shout, and the sound of the sail straining at its rigging changed. The sandship was close—far, far too close—and it was slowing to a stop.

Something heavy hit the ground and he shrank further back into the dune. Then another, then more.

Too late he realized his mistake. As he lay there straining to stay calm, there came the petrifying moment when he remembered the trail of footprints he’d left along the tops of the dunes. The ones that would lead them straight to him.

The sand gave him nowhere else to hide. If he stayed here, buried or not, they would find him. Casting around, he caught just the barest hint of green through the split in the dunes.

He didn’t have the strength. He knew he didn’t. But panic summoned every last shred of energy into his trembling legs, and before he could think he pushed to his feet and stumbled into a run.

His feet pounded against the earth. All his vision was a blur as he slid around the corner of a dune and up the channel between.

Dizziness swept over him, and he gasped and shook his head to try to clear it. He scaled the next dune on his hands and knees, sinking deep into the sand as he sprinted for the shelter of the brush.

He knew the moment they’d spotted his trail. Strange voices rose into the dawn behind him, and when he couldn’t resist the urge to look back he saw the sharp rise of a mast against the sky.

Vibrantly embroidered bolts of sailcloth whipped and curled in the breeze, the sun’s first strands of light striking it from behind and setting the fabric ablaze. The blue sails burned against the pale of the morning sky, and dread smothered his thoughts.

He didn’t see the shale until it was too late. Something sharp speared up through the bottom of his foot, and before he could catch himself he’d gone sprawling across the outcropping and into the dirt. He let out a low groan of pain as he blinked the darkness from his eyes.

He'd collapsed at the edge of the oasis. Behind him a jagged shard of rock pointed in the air, covered in blood.

He struggled to his feet and stumbled into the bank of shrubs, barely slowing as he made his way deeper into the growth. His ankle kept trying to give out beneath him, the thick litter of sticks and twigs jabbing into the wound. Slowing him down.

He bit back his voice as he clambered over the thickest piles of stone he could find, hoping to every single god he could name that they would help hide his footprints. The distant shouts were growing closer.

He stumbled over a ridge and found a thicket of shrubs, and realized that the glinting just beyond was water. He slid down the bank into the spring, wading out into the knee-high water that spread out between pools of algae.

He realized then that there was no cover. None but the branches of shrubs that overhung the basin, clinging to the overgrown shore.

Without even stopping to savor the feeling he never thought he’d have again, he fell to his knees in the water and ducked beneath their low branches. Spines ripped at his clothes as he crawled toward shore, as close as he could get to the place where the water met the earth underneath their leaves. He wormed his way deeper into the silt until his back was pressing against half-submerged trunks and the surface of the water reached his throat.

He forced his shivering body to still, schooling his breath in an attempt to hide the sound. As quickly as the ripples around him faded into the reeds the sound of snapping twigs approached.

On the shallow ridge, less than a hundred paces away, a dark figure broke through the trees.

Nadeem forgot how to breathe.

As a boy, bright-eyed and impatient, the Mothers had spun tales of Al Qururaqin caravans, moving from port to desert port. Tales of four-armed demons with ashen skin as dark as the mud at the bottom of the Parattu, swords gleaming in their hands. Of monsters who steal boys away from their ships, taking them away into the blackness of their holds.

Stories of the ifrit.

He never thought he'd be cornered by one.

Nadeem may have been scrawny, but he was no short man—by the time he was twelve he’d already stood a full head taller than his Maaman, as well as half the men in his town. This ifrit dwarfed him. It must have stood three heads taller than he did, with such strength coiled in its body that he felt sick with fear.

It scanned the water, a beautiful and broad face silhouetted by the rising of the sun. Thin wisps of smoke rose from its shoulders, disappearing into the air. One of its upper limbs rested at its hip, blackened fingers curling loosely around the hilt of a sword.

As its gaze swept out across the bank and over his hiding place, he could only pray that it didn't see the impressions his feet had left in the algae.

An entire lifetime passed as the ifrit searched the grove, scanning the silhouettes of trees. So many times Nadeem was certain he’d been spotted, and yet the figure came no closer.

Then it turned, cast one more look out over the water, and went back the way it had come.

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hellsite-trickster · 21 days ago

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ʙᴀᴄᴋsᴛᴏʀʏ

There was once a goddess of wealth, known by the name Caffrey. She was held high on her ivory tower, revered by merchant companies and wealthy nobles as the giver of gold and luck. But one day she got tired of her ivory tower, and chose to dive down to the oceans of the common fisher, the roving trader, the treasure hunter. Her name was now Scylla, known as a patron of sailors and traders, content to stay presiding over the revolving door of coastal towns and trading ports she frequented. She knew she’d never garner a large following with her new name, but that’s how she liked it, so there wasn’t much more she could ask for. But one day, she dove too deep in the depths of Majula’s waters. The deep had afflicted her, and she realized it wasn’t quite safe for her to wander the oceans. So, she stayed by the now mostly abandoned shores of Majula, hoping for a cure, or at least a nice pile of treasure to die on.

#oc art #dark souls #was bored #made this #enjoy partly rotted fish lady #give her booze #she needs it

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sevenish-spheres · 2 months ago

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Ephrosia, The Carnal Gyre

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Returning again to the cheery domains of Pandorum, we now find ourselves in the windswept mountains of Ephrosia, the Second Circle!

Overview

The second of Pandorum’s layers, Ephrosia is the first specifically designed with the punishment and metamorphosis of the damned in mind, and is considered by many scholars to be the first layer of Hell proper. Ephrosia is officially ruled by Archduke Dispater, although his rival and occasional lover Belial represents a major threat to the throne, and it is Belial who governs much of Ephrosia outside of the great hanging city of Dis.

Ephrosia is a gargantuan, pitch-black cavern lit only by the light of the rare chasms that connect it to Avernas above it. It is dominated by hundreds of spire-like mountain ranges, several of which reach and connect to the layer’s ceiling, forming massive stalactites. However, Ephrosia also contains many huge plateaus and ink-black deserts, alongside abyssal oceans which even the devils avoid. The entire layer is constantly wracked by vicious winds and hurricanes that, alongside carrying the layer’s population of sinners aloft mean that very few structures survive for long, with only the magically protected keeps and skyships of the devils surviving, alongside the rare ruins that litter the layer’s lower depths.

Ephrosia is the layer dominated by the sin of lust, which being (at least in Asmodeus’ mind) the least despicable of mortal sins, has the least destructive punishment. The sinners condemned to Ephrosia are forever buffeted by its howling winds, smashing into its many spires and, as they do so, slowly transforming into the various winged devils that inhabit the layer. Of course, the presence of lust within Hell has prompted many a mortal priest and templar to proclaim that clearly acts they deem morally unacceptable are punished by the universe itself. However, this is untrue, as those who end up in Ephrosia by contract tend to be those who exploit others for power, and moreover Asmodeus detests all mortals for their ability to procreate and produce more of themselves. Hence, Ephrosia reflects this hatred of new life, and therefore outside its main cities the layer is almost completely devoid of it.

Story Hooks in Ephrosia

As it is the main gateway between Avernas and Ephrosia, the city of Dis unsurprisingly sees a lot of traffic. Because of this, it is one of the few places in all of Hell where traders frequently operate. One example of this is the famed Derleth Trade Company, one of the main exporters of goods from the corpse-city of Leng within the Dreamlands to the rest of the cosmos. More specifically, the Company trades in dreams stolen from sleeping mortals, which can serve as valuable spell ingredients and even delicacies among certain devils. However, recent attempts have been made by the local infernal Magnator, Rekestis Vino, to nationalise the company, resulting in the company increasingly resorting to smuggling, and in turn the forces of the devilish noble to grow increasingly brazen in their attempts to take control of the enterprise.

Whilst worship of gods is strictly forbidden within the bounds of Hell, it is perhaps unsurprising that few of the worshippers of Aspara have infiltrated the Dis. Here, they run some of the city's more reputable brothels, but in an unusual move for the followers of the Heartstealer, have begun to smuggle damned souls out of the city.

Dis is Ephrosia’s largest city, and easily its busiest. Here, the myriad Preta devils that walk the Pale Roads of Avernas converge and are judged within the great Contrapasso Vestibules that ring the city’s edge. They arrive along the great chains that tether the city between the nine great peaks that surround it and connect up to Avernas above, and which are maintained by roving gangs of strange, metal-skinned gargoyles supposedly created by a dwarven artificer imprisoned somewhere within Dis’ many prisons.

Beyond Dis lies relatively little, but a few creatures prowl the desolate wastes, preying on those unfortunate sinners and travellers who become impaled upon Ephrosia’s many outcroppings of obsidian. Some of the most feared of these are the Hunters of the Flayed Tapestry, strange creatures that prey on sinner and devil alike, and which weave the skin and tendons of their victims into great cloaks which grant them myriad terrifying powers, such as teleportation and invisibility. Alongside this, they are capable of conjuring powerful weapons of black fire, which they use alongside their many sets of vicious claws. Perhaps most notably, however, is the fact that the Hunters are completely silent, speaking only through the reanimated heads some carry at their belt.

Among the deep canyons of Ephrosia, it is said a decrepit castle can be found, illuminated by hundreds of gibbets full of burning, reanimated corpses. This is the dwelling place of the feared Mahr Yaga Erichtho, a feared necromancer known to work alongside devils, Outsiders and even the aforementioned Hunters of the Flayed Tapestry. Like most Yaga, their motive is unclear, but they are known to have ties to many of Ephrosia’s nobles, alongside supposedly Dispater himself. Most notably, however, is the Yaga’s surprisingly warlike past, as they once supposedly fought alongside the former Archduke of Avernas, Allocer, but were defeated by the servants of Sathariel. Now, some believe Erichtho plots their return, and the fact that they have begun to seek out vast numbers of corpses and magical poisons would support this idea.

While Dispater rules over Dis and the regions around it, many would consider Belial to be the true ruler of Ephrosia. Belial rules over the city of Akrasia, a floating city suspended by a great series of soul-balloons and sails that drifts lazily through the constant gale that surrounds it. Where Dispater busies himself with the judgement of souls, Belial is wholly dedicated to the acquisition of lustful souls, and as such the entire city of Akrasia is designed to make mortals who seek audience with them more likely to give in. Akrasia is a maddening place constantly blanketed by a thin mist, and is a frequent meeting ground of Daevisti devils alongside asuras, succubi and incubi. Despite this, Akrasia is seldom visited by those who don’t seek it out, and much to Belial’s chagrin, many souls still beseech Dispater instead of him when seeking power over others’ lust.

Many question how Dispater came to rule Ephrosia, especially since his seeming lack of care for the acquisition of its souls. Instead, Dispater seems to focus himself on the judgement of souls that have already entered Pandorum. Many suggest he may in fact hail from the seventh circle, an idea supported by his frequent (largely irritated) interactions with Titivilus, Hell’s preeminent scribe. Whilst his true past is unknown, one thing is the common subject of courtly gossip; Dispater’s name is found nowhere within the ledgers of Hell, suggesting that either it was excised, that his current identity is a falsehood, or most chillingly of all, that Dispater predates the formation of the current infernal bureaucracy, and may even be its progenitor. Certainly, it is known that the Judge of Hell’s usual form of a goateed devil whose skin is covered in places with piercing red eyes is not his true one, and that it is especially bad luck to fall within his vast, many-limbed shadow that often moves of its own accord.

#seven spheres #sanguine #pandorum #ephrosia #devils #hell #dante's inferno #dungeons and dragons #worldbuilding #writing

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drawn-on-phone · 6 months ago

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Ff14 Dawntrail MSQ finished. Tomorrow I start painting again. Until then, another excerpt from that lore document of my Hive Fleet, this is from the beginning of the document.

Purpse of Report: a detailed collection to give light to a new style of hive fleet first ID’ed as attached to Hive Fleet Leviathan, but is being witnessed in increasing frequency across the galaxy. Potential connections to Tiamat and Ouroboros

Report Organization: The grouping of Tyranids tentatively named Echeneis is an anomaly in the traditional Hive structure of the species. What at first was assumed to be simply a new aspect of the larger fleets, this report believes is in actually a unique fleet seeded among the larger hive tendrils in a state of mutualism as is part of a larger scheme by the Tyranid Hive Mind.

The evidence of this fleet is hidden within a number of seemingly isolated incidents across the galaxy, all bearing the similar demarcation and or tactics of the proposed Echeneis fleet: blacked forelimbs either of necrotized flesh or some new carbonized structure.

For ease of organization, reports related to the unique coloration of the bioforms will be labeled as markings, while the supposed seeding of the fleet within other Hive Fleets will be labeled as Remora categories.

Leviathan Report (Remora & Markings.):

To start my investigations into Echeneis, I began with two seemingly separate reports from the Leviathan invasion of Oghrim. The first report is of the Tyranid forces collecting living genestealers and other sentient organisms during the invasion; the reasons for this are not currently known. The second observation is of a series of Tyranids of distinct patterning. While base coloration of the entity is the same for a bioform of Hive Fleet Leviathan (Purple Carapse, White Skin), the extremities of the limbs were blackened and appeared either charred or chitinous depending on the reports. These demarcations adorned uniquely violent bioforms, which some psykers reportedly experienced non-synaptic based, psychic resonance from in the form of euphoria.

Xenos Report (Markings):

However, the reports of strange blackened demarcations lead to me a series of Rogue Traders and Void Farer reports on strange abominations encountered across scattered planets of the far edge of the galaxy. These entities appeared to be ghoulish humanoids cannibalizing the local population. They fought with bioweapons akin to those found in Tyranids forces, but instead of only utilizing living matter, the weapons utilized were formed through the remains of the species victims or created as a result of a biological autophagic adaptation. Examples of such weapons included skin webnets, bone spears, and teeth projectiles. No samples of the species were collected as those autophagic properties lead to rapid decay upon death even in the face of advanced preservation technology. While some of these reports might be exaggerations of the Genestealer species of Tyranid, other species in the reports do not resemble any known Genestealer types. Instead of the cult-like behavior of traditional Genestealers, this Xenos species was viewed as a virus or madness spreading amongst the lifeforms of the planet with little organization outside of roving bands actively pursuing organic life to consume or integrate. (Example: Unpainted kitbash image below)

--- Echeneis connections ---

However, these various Xenos races bore the distinct blackened forelimb markings. These markings I theorize as the same unique demarcations found on Echeneis bioforms. Initially, this observation was dismissed as the potential link between reports could be dismissed as different elemental exposures affecting the physical appearances of different species. For example, the cannibalistic xenos’ markings were explained away as a result of exposure to the elements resulting in frostbite or necrotized flesh, not specialized demarcations. While the Genestealer reports viewed the marking as part of the distinctive chitinous growths native to the species. However, if we hold that these are all strains formed from the newly theorized Hive Fleet Echeneis, or perhaps from a progenitor fleet, it paints a dangerous picture. Echeneis, in addition to its ability to spawn genestealers, might have access to a unique strand of the bioform, which causes these cannibalistic xenos species reported.

After observing the Xenos reports, I would theorize that the reports of Hive Fleet Moreau (cited later in this report) might, in fact, be an example of an isolated Echeneis fleet. However, as with all other reports related to the theorized Echeneis hive fleet, there are potential connections, but no certainties. The only notable tie to Echeneis I'd again the blackened necrotized limbs adorning violent entities who precursor or arrive during various Hive Fleets invasion.

#warhammer 40k #tyranids #hive fleet echeneis #custom lore #long post

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govindhtech · 8 months ago

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S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl – Sequel in Sep 2024!

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2 leakes

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2 is set in the perilous factions, mutations, and anomalies of the post-apocalyptic Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. Stalker, a scavenger who searches the Zone for precious artefacts, is the character you control.

The series draws on the famous Strugatsky science fiction novel Roadside Picnic, especially its description of the “stalkers,” desperate freelancers who endure terrible weather, mutated creatures, and inexplicable “anomalies” to find precious artefacts. From the minute you wake up in a trader’s bunker in STALKER: Shadow of Chernobyl, you must explore scrubby hills, abandoned buildings, and underground passages to “kill Strelok,” the only message on your PDA.

The original STALKER’s washed-out colour palette and decaying post Soviet design establishes the tone, but it’s hard to define how it evokes curiosity, trepidation, and fear. Surviving a gunfight with desperate bandits or invisible “Bloodsuckers” may feel good, but it won’t last. STALKER is unpredictable, so you’ll be peeping around corners and counting bandages every few minutes. Radiation pockets can kill you rapidly, and logic defying oddities can surprise even the most dedicated player.

With only a few damaged weaponry and patched armour, you explore a mundane-yet-alien terrain. Though odds are against you, you continue.

STALKER 2: Heart of Chornobyl

Visuals greatly improved STALKER games have always had great graphic direction and mood, but gaming tech has advanced since 2009. Developed in Unreal Engine 5, Heart of Chornobyl will use current features to create the most immersive Zone yet. Motion capture and advanced photogrammetry give the Zone a real-life look.

Continue a stale tale The original STALKER trilogy encourages players to explore the Zone, talk to vendors, and complete side tasks to learn about the factions. Call of Pripyat’s different endings left Strelok’s fate and government participation in the Zone unanswered. The series’ underlying narrative is appealing regardless of game endings. In STALKER 2, the player controls “Skif,” a new individual who will influence the Zone’s future.

Find out about Zone

Continuing from there: Though S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl may not directly continue the original trilogy, the Zone’s mysteries will be there.

Each STALKER entry has had rogue scientists or stalkers trying to harness or comprehend the irradiated environment, and Heart of Chornobyl should be no different. Expect more mythology, worldbuilding, dangerous monsters, and strange events here.

A renewed survival focus STALKER pioneered the survival FPS subgenre, and Heart of Chornobyl will expand on this. Pre release documents say S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl has hunger and sleep systems, in-depth radiation effects, a day-night cycle, and more, making the Zone feel alive. Popular fan-made mods provided new mechanics to the original STALKER trilogy, so Heart of Chornobyl may have more depth and complexity after launch if that’s what you want.

Better AI for realism The original STALKER trilogy used the greatest AI available, and Heart of Chornobyl does too. The revival will contain A Life 2.0, which will imitate every Zone component to enhance immersion.

Every day (and night) in Heart of Chornobyl will be different, from roving mutants to skirmishing brigands. Be prepared. Each play session is a new story inspired by the Zone’s shifting landscape. STALKER is about unpredictability, so anticipate your opponents to utilise the greatest techniques to defeat you.

Broken firearms and poor gear are fun

STALKER Shadow of Chernobyl In Skif first skirmish in STALKER: Shadow of Chernobyl as an adolescent, skif rusty AKM jammed. skif will never forget his incredulity and premature death at the hands of Russian-spewing warriors.

It was his first video game gun break, and it established the tone for playing. Most shooters give you entertaining toys to play with within minutes, but STALKER forces you to use second-hand guns that fall apart while firing and may jam if you don’t take care of them.

Like Resident Evil 4, upgrading your favourite weapon and exoskeleton armour via sidequests is fun. S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2: Heart of Chornobyl will likely deepen these systems.

Your Journey with Stalker:

You put in the shoes of a Stalker, a mercenary who has entered the Zone to loot priceless relics. Making difficult decisions and navigating the hostile surroundings are crucial to your survival.

Accept the Nonlinearity The way the tale goes depends on your choices. Explore at your own speed, align yourself with various factions such as Duty or Freedom, and finish objectives that affect the power dynamics of the Zone. Each decision has consequences.

An Inanimate World with Life: Your actions have consequences in the dynamic environment created by the A Life 2.0 technology. Every game is different because factions struggle, mutants roam, and anomalies change.

The only thing like it While other games, especially multiplayer shooters like PUBG: Battlegrounds and Escape From Tarkov, are similar to STALKER, the latter fills a unique niche that has not been satisfied by any other game. The uncommon fusion of horror, survival, and immersive simulation in STALKER drew in viewers and resulted in a follow up film fifteen years later. If you have never been to the Zone, even if you appreciate modding, you should play one of the original three games or STALKER 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

S.T.A.L.K.E.R. 2 Release date Bookmark September 5, 2024! Windows PC and Xbox Series X/S gamers can visit the hazardous Zone in STALKER 2: Heart of Chornobyl.