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rennivere · 4 months

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His words had Aletheia peering up towards the sky, her eyes squinting past the light that filtered through the treetops high overhead. She couldn't argue with that, she supposed. When she looked back down, he stood, facing her, outstretching a hand, palm up, beckoning. She blinked once, her brows slightly furrowed, but before she could second-guess herself, her free hand lifted, slotting gently atop the Ascian's palm, his fingers dwarfing hers as they wrapped around her digits. They lingered for a brief moment, having similar looks of perturbation on their faces as Emet-Selch lightly squeezed her hand, before pulling her along without a word, presumably to find a place in the shade to speak.

As Aletheia and Emet-Selch ventured out of Slitherbough, the dense foliage of the Rak'tika Greatwood enveloped them in a canopy of shadows, shielding them from the harsh glare of the sunlight. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and the faint sound of chirping insects.

Emet-Selch walked beside Aletheia in silence, his presence an ever-present reminder of the complexities of their situation. Despite the uneasy alliance they had formed, there was still an underlying tension between them, like a taut string ready to snap at any moment.

As they walked deeper into the forest, Aletheia couldn't shake the feeling of Y'shtola's piercing gaze lingering on them as they departed from Slitherbough. The Miqo'te had taken Aletheia's confession in stride, her pragmatism shining through as she listened to the mage's words. But underneath her composed exterior, Aletheia sensed a wariness, a caution born from years of conflict with the Ascians.

Aletheia could hardly blame her, of course. She peered at Emet-Selch with the same level of suspicion and uncertainty, and yet the Ascian seemed insistent on lingering.

She had given up trying to shoo him away... though she would also be lying if she said a small part of her wasn't grateful for his presence. It wasn't a matter of feeling safe with him, mind you. Oh, no: quite the opposite, in fact. She felt perpetually on edge as he meandered through the Greatwood at her side, remarking on the scenery or making otherwise unrelated, unhelpful remarks.

And yet, when she thought at one point that he might slip into the shadows, she looked at him with a furrowed brow, her jaw tightening. Something in her eyes must have given her away, because he hesitated.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," he said lowly, enough that his voice rumbled a bit around every word. "What? Fear you'd be lost without me? Need help finding your way back to Slitherbough?"

"Hardly," she huffed indignantly, lips pursing to form a line as she forced her gaze forward, away from the man, "...I simply wonder why we've journeyed this far together, and you've yet to actually tell me about your world. The one you wish to bring back."

Emet-Selch paused in his stride, causing Aletheia to do the same after a few more steps, the mage pivoting slightly around her staff to peer at the man past the intricate focus that glowed faintly at the top. The Ascian peered at her, eyes squinting, and for a wordless moment, he looked at her with genuine intrigue.

"You truly wish to know of my history - our history? I have to wonder if telling you would be worth the time, to be frank... unless you mean to tell me you are open to possibly considering rejoining the cause after all...?" He questioned, a brow quirking as he peered at the mage.

Aletheia gave a derisive snort in response.

"Like you, I remain steadfast in my beliefs... but if I learned anything from serving under the Emissary, it is that one needs understand their foe. If you would follow me around in an attempt to learn what drives me, then I would know more about the world that has driven you to commit atrocity after atrocity in the name of your God and the Rejoining,"

Her words seemed to surprise Emet-Selch, his brows lifting. For another moment, he quietly peered at her, searching her face with a narrowed gaze. Aletheia thought he might've been inspecting her, searching for any sort of dishonesty or ulterior motive... but there was none. Behind her silver gaze was something... genuine. Almost... innocent.

She was curious. Behind her rough exterior was a girl in search of answers, desperate for information and understanding.

When he saw it, Emet-Selch's expression softened slightly, though the look of gentle consideration he gave her for a brief moment was quickly replaced by the heavy sigh that spilled from his lips as his shoulders and head slumped forward in surrender.

"Fine, fine," he practically groaned, "If you insist on making me waste my breath and your time, then I will share with you the truth - at least as much of it I deem you worthy of. But first, come: Let us find a spot in the shade to rest. I tire of this beautiful, damnable sun."

His words had Aletheia peering up towards the sky, her eyes squinting past the light that filtered through the treetops high overhead. She couldn't argue with that, she supposed.

When she looked back down, he stood, facing her, outstretching a hand, palm up, beckoning.

She blinked once, her brows slightly furrowed, but before she could second-guess herself, her free hand lifted, slotting gently atop the Ascian's palm, his fingers dwarfing hers as they wrapped around her digits. They lingered for a brief moment, having similar looks of perturbation on their faces as Emet-Selch lightly squeezed her hand, before pulling her along without a word, presumably to find a place in the shade to speak.

That simple gesture would build itself a home in her mind, lingering, leaving the mage feeling confused and uncertain as they made their way through the forest to find a place of respite from the sun.

As they settled into the cool embrace of the shaded forest, Aletheia and Emet-Selch found themselves seated on a fallen log, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant hum of insects. The air was thick with the earthy scent of moss and the sweet fragrance of wildflowers, creating a tranquil atmosphere that belied the weight of their conversation, distracting from the everlasting light that loomed overhead.

Emet-Selch began to speak, his voice soft and melodic as he wove tales of a world long gone, a world of beauty and wonder before the Sundering. He spoke of Etheirys with a fondness that caused an ache to form in Aletheia's chest - a sense of loss and longing as if it were just as much her world.

She supposed, in a way, it was.

"It was a city unlike any other," he said, his eyes distant as he recalled memories of a time long past. "Amaurot, it was called. The heart of our civilization, the pinnacle of our achievements. It was a place of art and culture, of knowledge and wisdom."

Aletheia listened intently, her gaze fixed on Emet-Selch as he spoke. There was a passion in his voice - though not the insincere theatrics that often accompanied his words, but instead genuine adoration - a longing for a life left behind. It gave the mage pause, a slight warmth beginning to fill her chest.

He spoke of Ancient society with reverence, painting a picture of a utopian existence where all were equal, where knowledge was valued above all else, and where the pursuit of truth was the highest calling.

"We lived in harmony with the world around us," he continued, his words tinged with nostalgia. "We were caretakers of the land, guardians of the elements. We knew the secrets of creation, researched the mysteries of the cosmos. We were masters of our own destiny."

As Emet-Selch spoke, Aletheia found herself captivated by his words. There was a depth to him, a complexity that she hadn't fully appreciated until now. He wasn't just a villain, a faceless enemy to be defeated. He was a man with hopes and dreams, with memories of a life long gone.

Despite herself, Aletheia felt a pang of sympathy for him, a sense of understanding that transcended their differences. She could see now why he fought so fiercely for his cause, why he clung so desperately to the hope of restoring his world. It had the mage's brows furrowing as she finally tore her gaze away from him. (How long had she been staring, she wondered?)

A scoff from the Ascian startled Aletheia from her thoughts, prompting her to look towards him once again with a furrowed brow.

"And then, in what was nearly an instant, it was shattered. Chaos overtook the land, our creations turned against us. Suddenly, we were faced with a decision that would shape the future of our star in ways we never could have predicted at the time. We sought only to save our world. So we did what was necessary to fight back against the plague that threatened to destroy us all."

"Zodiark," Aletheia finally spoke, looking at the Ascian, who quirked a brow at her before nodding.

"Aye. We summoned Zodiark. If you know that part, then I assume the Emissary had enough sense to share the rest of the tale with you,"

"Not everything, I imagine," she muttered in reply, turning her gaze to peer across the brush before them, eyes fixating on a distant critter as it scurried up one of the towering trees, "But I know that some were sacrificed to save the many. I know that Zodiark was able to cast out the darkness, but that the damage had already been done to the land."

Emet-Selch peered at her closely, giving a slow nod as she spoke.

"Indeed. Our utopia was shattered, doomed to never return to its former glory without further sacrifice. And so, a decision was made... A decision that not all agreed with,"

His tone grew bitter at the end as a scowl made its way across his thin lips, his brows pinching further together above the bridge of his nose.

(Aletheia forced herself to pay no mind to the sudden urge she felt to reach over and smooth it out beneath her thumb. Instead, she stayed static, frozen.)

"So tell me," he went on, thankfully distracting the mage from her thoughts, prompting her gaze to meet his as he paused to ensure he had her attention, "Did the Emissary deign to share with you what happened next?"

Now it was Aletheia whose brows furrowed as a moment of silence fell between them, followed by a slow shake of her head.

Emet-Selch snorted in response as he leaned back, rolling his head to the side enough that Aletheia could hear an audible pop from the man's neck, his eye twitching with a slight grimace from the sensation.

"No, I suppose he wouldn't have," he said dryly as he leaned forwards again, resting his arms on his knees as he sank into his habitually horrible posture once again.

She'd half expected him to continue, but Emet-Selch returned to silence afterwards, causing her brows to lower further, her jaw flexing for a moment before she finally spoke.

"So? What happened next?"

The man's gaze flicked towards her once again as an arched brow raised, and for a moment, Aletheia thought she saw amusement twinkle in the man's eyes.

"What happened indeed. Your beloved Hydaelyn happened, of course - though I'm not yet sure that you are either ready or worthy of learning the specifics. Either way, I tire of story-telling, so for the time being, that is all you will get."

Aletheia’s frustration was palpable, her fingers curling into fists as she leaned forward, trying to suppress her annoyance. The tantalizing glimpses of Emet-Selch’s past had left her yearning for more, and his sudden refusal to continue felt like a cruel tease.

"You can't just leave it at that," she argued, her voice barely above a whisper, yet carrying an intensity that made Emet-Selch glance at her with mild surprise. "If you want me to understand, to truly see things from your perspective, you need to give me more than just half-truths and vague hints."

Emet-Selch chuckled softly, a sound that grated on Aletheia's nerves. "Oh, Aletheia," he said, his tone patronizing. "Answers aren't something that can be forced. They must be earned, and frankly, I’m not yet convinced that you deserve the full tale. You may despise me, but make no mistake—Everything I do is for the betterment of the star."

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "You speak of betterment, yet your methods are steeped in blood and suffering. How can you reconcile that? Sacrificing countless lives to summon Zodiark, and single-handedly sowing chaos across the shards."

Emet-Selch's gaze hardened, his expression growing cold. "And what of your precious Scions? Are they so innocent? History is written by the victors, and the victors often forget the price paid by those who lost. The summoning of Zodiark was necessary to preserve what little remained of our star. To safeguard the future, sacrifices had to be made. Our choices were not made lightly, nor were they made with cruelty in mind. As for the Shards... need I remind you that your lives are meaningless to me, a necessary expenditure to help restore the lives of those lost from my world."

Aletheia opened her mouth to retort, but the words caught in her throat. She could see the anguish etched in Emet-Selch’s features, the pain of a man who had lost everything. It was a stark reminder that, for all his flaws, he was not devoid of emotion or regret.

"You speak as if you had no other choice," she finally said, her voice softer now. "But was there truly no other way? No path that didn’t lead to so much destruction?"

Emet-Selch sighed heavily, the weight of centuries seeming to press down on his shoulders. "Perhaps there was, once. But hindsight is a luxury afforded to those who do not bear the burden of leadership in times of crisis. We did what we believed was right, what was necessary to save our world, and that is something I continue to do to this day. You cannot understand the depth of our sorrow, our desperation."

Aletheia's gaze softened, her own heart aching at the palpable grief in his voice. "I want to understand," she said quietly. "I want to know what drove you to such lengths, and maybe then, we can find a way to move forward without more bloodshed."

Emet-Selch looked at her for a long moment, his eyes searching hers as if trying to gauge her sincerity. Finally, he nodded, though the gesture was laced with reluctance. "Very well. I will tell you more, but not now. Let us rest for a while. The weight of the past is heavy, and even I grow weary of it."

Aletheia nodded in agreement, feeling a strange sense of camaraderie with the man who she thought would be her enemy. As they sat in silence, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the unspoken understanding that had begun to form between them.

After a while, Emet-Selch shifted, reclining slightly against the log. His eyes, once filled with cold calculation, now held a glimmer of something softer, more human. "You remind me of someone," he said quietly, almost to himself.

Aletheia turned to him, her brows furrowed, curiosity piqued. "What? Who?"

"Someone," he replied unhelpfully, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. He peered at her closely for another moment before continuing, his eyes squinting, as if trying to peer at the mage through a thick fog. "Someone who, like you, sought to understand rather than to judge. Someone who sought ways to save even the smallest, most inconsequential life," He sighed then, letting his gaze linger on the woman for another moment, eyes flicking over Aletheia's face with a look of slow familiarity. But before she could question him further, he spoke again. "Perhaps, in time, you will come to see why I do what I do. But for now, let us simply exist in this moment of peace, however fleeting it may be."

Aletheia nodded, allowing herself to relax slightly. Despite the tension that still lingered between them, there was a sense of shared purpose, a glimmer of hope that perhaps, just perhaps, they could find common ground.

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv wol #warrior of light #ffxiv gpose #gpose #wol #wolemet #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #wol: aletheia #emet-selch #writing

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eclipsecrowned · 11 months

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as posed by @lunarscaled, how my galdur bait 3 muses react to meeting their 'bad end' selves:

gale:

well. he's done some egregious things in mine and ax's lore to get where he finally is, a master of his dominion delving the secrets of hell and infernal machinery in a bid to save the woman he loves from her death sentence and allow her to walk the world again. seeing himself as a control freak or god-figure is just a stark reminder that ethics and scruples are a good thing to have in academia. also what happened to his skin care routine, he looks harrowing. he has jokes to cover up just how scared he is of how easily he can see his desperation turning into this even now.

aurelia:

sees herself alone, and less discerning in her pragmatism. someone who chose short-sighted power over enduring balance. a master of the wilds who strangles out whatever encroachment does not bow to her iron will. a controlling, unthinking beast who forces what she once respected to instead kneel before her as puppets and slaves. it is not merely monsters she hunts now, but any dissent or threat to her own reign. down with the oakfather. it is the daughter of the grove that rules now. aurelia is immediately aiming an arrow at her bad end self and then using that distraction to try and fit a sussur blade between her ribs, shut up and DIE--

hel:

while many of these endings are a straight up turn to villainy, hel doesn't really have that. she can make some cruel decisions, but she never really slots into outright evil. her worst outcome is being so broken by the cycle of revenge and blood that she loses herself in pursuit of it, and when she comes to her senses, she's utterly broken. she is tired. she wants another will to dominate her own and tell her what is right, and take the terror of free will from her. most endgames whether solo or romanced will see her start to rebuild from that -- with one exception. a vampire lord and his shattered doll of a consort. she is just a pretty, glamoured accessory to a cruel master, unable to even remember what resistance looks like. hel pities her bad end self, and seeks some chance to help her, rather than harm her further.

sybelle:

i'm having such a hard time with this. she's the token good teammate. even hel has her moments of being needlessly cruel or self-serving. sybelle is just nice and chill. maybe like hel she has that... not turning evil but definitely her bad end is lacking in autonomy and being made a pawn or preyed upon. i have to bake this one out a bit more but i'm thinking she may play directly into bad end gale as an acolyte, enforcer, or straight up mindless pawn under the crown's will. sybelle is screaming crying throwing up apologizing to wyll she wasn't the hero he saw in her when she sees her bad end self and has to be calmed down by other companions because HONEY... THIS ISN'T REALLY YOUR FAULT...

valas:

usurps uncle s and cousin o as grandpa's favorite. he doesn't want this, but it felt right at the time. no longer the prodigal, the outsider, the wanderer. he is tired. he wants peace, even if he must wage war to get it. he won’t find it, of course. his father would be horrified. but he doesn’t want to let the opportunity to be more to pass him by. to strike back. strike harder. he must lie in the bed he has made for centuries after, at the cost of everything he ever was before, degraded under the unrelenting rage and blood his grandfather demands. valas takes one glimpse at his bad end self and, like aurelia, goes immediately for the most powerful spell he has on hand. he has to make this right. he has to kill this thing brutally and immediately. it can't be allowed to go on. he's horrified and enraged in equal measures.

#tbt //

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madmarchhare · 2 years

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Company Chapter 4: sci-fi story

Here is the latest chapter of Company! The first of the New year!

I hope you all like it, it was fun to right, though I am worried I didn't properly describe Las Paz station. This one gets a bit violent so be aware.

Also please leave comments, I'd love to hear your thoughts.

He got up to re-set the grid after about ten minutes, the monitors mostly coming back to life as soon as he did, though a few needed some specific attention to fix. The pipes needed longer, Wick having to power on a few electric radiators he built near the pipes for to thaw them. Cass was going around the ship, having pulled on a wool lined jacket on over herself, replacing the lightbulbs that had blew and picking up the shattered glass. It was worst in the engine room, a narrow space just under two shoulder width wide that the fuel pipes ended in, along with a wrist thick bunch of cables responsible for the problem. A few wires slit off the bunches to power the lights and panels in the room, and the high voltage of the wires had caused the lights to burst. Luckily the fuse boxes in the panels had saved them. Cass replaced the bar lights, slotting them into the spring loaded fixtures and replacing the fuses. She turned around, about to make her way out but then bashed her shit on a sharp metal box jutting out from the wall.

“Fuck!” she shouted, hunching over slightly, only just not dropping the box of bulbs, wincing as she clenched her shin with her free hand. She looked down at what had wounded her and saw that the thing had flopped open from the force revealing a wheel like frame with empty holes bar for two eight inch long pink rods that were about as thick as a cigar in two of the loops. She looked at it confused for a second then closed what she presumed was the lid and squeezed her way back through the door. She made her way back to the hold to put back box, giving a proud but wary glance to the pipe as she went past, the panel already back over the damaged section. Wick would need to replace that soon. Granted, what didn’t he need to replace? Cass though to herself.

As she descended the steps to the hold she felt the ship shudder forward then continue on at a steadily increasing pace. When she came back up to the living room she saw Wick fiddling with a fuse box near the cockpit door, his usual tired look on his face as he checked through the switches. “Hey Wick, what is that little box thing in the engine room. You know with the pink rods in it?” Cass asked, sliding into a chair.

“Oh those,” Wick mumbled back as he looked deeply into the fuse box, “they’re solid rockets for the RCS,” pulling his face out of the box as he closed it to turn to Cass. “There are a few of them dotted around the ship,” making a wide gesture with one arm as he spoke, walking over to the fridge.

“Wait, solid rockets? Don’t you need liquid ones? So you can control them?” Cass asked, looking at Wick with a concerned expression as the latter went over to the fridge and pulled out a sausage roll.

“The ones I use are eclectic solid propellants, so I can control when they burn with electricity. So I just made a system that works like a mechanical pencil to push them past a ring filled with current and it works fine. They are way cheaper than the liquid fuel RCS everyone else uses, I just buy rods of the stuff or a big block and cut it up,” he droned back, a note of pride buried within his pragmatism as he took a bite of his snack as he leant back on the counter.

Cass blinked at him, not quite sure how to respond, so just nodded slowly. “Right, well, the metal ring thing was nearly out of those rods in any case,” jerking a thumb back in the direction of the engines. Wick turned his head in the direction she gestured, his brows pressing together slightly.

“Yeah, I’ll need to try and buy some from this next station. I’m running low,” he replied scratching his neck with one hand as he flopped down into the chair. Cass mumbled out and agreement as she slumped out over the table, staring up at a set of poles that were moving about in the ceiling with a few mechanical clicks.

“I’m bored,” Cass blurted out staring at the wall, Wick turning to her with a blank expression.

“Play a game then,” Wick replied brusquely, taking another bite of his sausage roll as he finished.

“I don’t want to,” she replied simply.

“Then read a book or some manga,” he replied patiently.

“What would you recommend?”

“Well, for books there are few, like the detective Varg series, something from Tolkien or Terry Pratchett. Something by Issac Asimov?” Wick replied, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling as he tried to think of something to offer to the bored Neidr, who wore and indecisive expression in response.

“What about the manga?” she said in response, resting her chin on the table as she cocked her head to look up to Wick.

“Well, there’s Mashle, which is quite good, Samurai 8, My Hero Academia and Vigilantes among others…” Wick listed trailing off as he counted out the recommendations on his fingers. Cass seemed to mull the decision over, shifting her jaw as she considered it.

“I’ll read Mashle then,” she declared firmly, sitting back up in her chair. Wick nodded and walked off to collect them. Cass waited by herself in the living room for a few minutes, taking out swing top bottle of water from the fridge and pouring the cold liquid down her throat with a pleasant sigh. Wick came in just as she sat back down carrying a trio manga books in one hand as he read from a green pocket sized book in his other hand, placing the stack in front of Cass, a small debit card sized scrap of card on top intended as a bookmark.

“There you are,” he mumbled to her as he flopped down onto one of the sofas, turning the page of his book as he did.

“Thank you,” she replied in a sing song tone, opening the first volume with as she smiled, “what are you reading by the way?” she asked idly, Wick turning an eye over to her then to the cover of his book.

“’The Cossacks’, by Tolstoy. It’s good,” he replied matter-o-factly as they both set themselves to their reading.

They whittled away at the desolate time until the station, playing card, reading, playing games or doing maintenance inside the ship, Wick correcting his spreadsheet in his office to take account of some of the damages. Then the ship slowed to a halt with the usual alarm that signalled the course had been executed. Wick went into the cockpit to steer the sip closer, the view of the station coming fully into view. Las Paz station was colossal structure, far larger than St Edmund, made of a large cylindrical shaft surrounded by a large ring that as long as the central cylinder, covered in solar panels that glinted in the light, large sectors painted a ruby red colour. Small ships buzzed around the station, dashing in and out of various bays, illuminated by the slowly rotating lights of the station. As he brought the ship closer Cass came through to the cockpit, standing just behind him.

“The best place is on the 20th level, the docking bay’s there,” she stated, pointing to the right side of the station. Wick nodded and moved closer too it, occasionally glancing over to the various workers out on the stations exterior, seemingly scraping ice or dust off the solar panels and repainting the red sections of the station, or more notable the white sign above the docking bay he was heading too. The suited man turned around to look at them as they approached, gripping onto the hand rail with one hand as he held his brush in the other as the doors below him split open, white hot light pouring out from them. Wick pulled the ship into the dock, landing in an open space. The dock was a grand expanse, twice or more the size of St. Edmunds dock, with grand steel pillars that crested over the ceiling, wrapped in neat white paint, glowing advertisements flickering as they hung from the ceiling and walls.

“Triples here I presume?” Wick asked chuckling slightly as he got up from his chair.

“No, just standard fare here,” Cass replied strolling into the living room where she had laid out her stuff, ready to transfer into her new ship as soon as she got it. “They automated fare’s here way before I ever came, corruption scandal came down on it same time as the mining company down on the planet took over security. So they just laid them all of and automated it, cheaper in the end I suppose,” she said, her voice slightly uncertain as Wick gave a nod, not quite of agreement, more acceptance, “There isn’t any calibre restrictions on the station by the way, though you’ll get checked more if you take anything larger than a pistol so…” she added shrugging, pre-empting Wick’s next question. He looked over to his collection of pistols on the well, mulling over what to take before finally picking up a S&W K-frame ‘Pinto’ revolver in .38 Special. It was beautiful piece, one he won… well, best to not say where, that had two different finishes on it, with a nickelled frame and blued cylinder and barrel. He picked out a handful or two of cartridges and dumped them into a pack that he pulled on, along with the holster, which was tucked under his arm.

“You all right going to buy your ship yourself? I need to get some supplies for the ship,” Wick asked, dropping rounds into the chambers of his cylinder, then pressing it shut as he slid it into his holster, shifting his jacket properly back over his shoulders.

“Of course, I know my way around the station, you’re the one who’s new here,” Cass replied cheekily, grinning at him as she finished.

“No, I meant how you are shit at buying ships. The last two you had help with after you bought the ‘Wistful’,” Wick replied deadpan, though wincing slightly as he mentioned the ship.

“Oh, yes…” she replied, a considering look on her face, seeming to consider something deeply, “I’ll be fine,” she announced proudly, “probably,” she added slightly uncertain. Wick looked at her with a tired expression, before sighing.

“Ring me if you need help,” he called out as he went over to the airlock, setting up his usual anti-burglar system.

“Right,” Cass replied, opening the airlock door and stepping down the steps onto the dock floor, “do you know where to go for your supplies though?”

“I’ll find what I’m looking for, just need to have a look,” Wick muttered back, coming down the stairs, turning to the electric clerk, a small metal post resembling a ticket meter in a car park. He tapped the thing on the side and it plinked into life, demanding its fare as soon as it did. He shoved in the money then turned back to Cass as they both made their way forward towards the left exit of the dock. It took them a while to cross the wide space, and then they were let through the gate with naught but a cursory glance from a guard at the gate holding a polymer rifle and a grim expression, sucking one of his teeth.

The ceiling seemed to drag itself onward into the sky far more than you would think possible, floors were stacked on the walls, criss-crossing catwalks and rail-cars hanging overhead clattering underfoot or rattling with the trains and mining carts. People thronged through the streets, dressed in all manner of clothes, with all manner of faces. Noise buzzed through the place, every moment consumed by a devils dozen of shouts, conversations, songs or the disgruntled mumblings of the buildings themselves as people and vehicles raced by.

“Well, I’ll see you later then,” Cass yelled to Wick over the din, “hope you find what you’re looking for!”

“I will, you worry about yourself,” Wick called back casually, turning away as he waved to her over his shoulder, slouching slightly as he walked forward. He wandered around for a while, looking about at various maps as he tried to figure out where commercial districts are. He found an electronics shop after a decent amount of time and pushed open the door of the place. It was a small, dimly lit space, the front storefront being about five meters square, maybe less, crowded full of shelves. A rotund looking man with small eyes was leant up against the counter, offering something of a smile to the other occupant. A young… Man?... I suppose was right. He, as was clear by his appearance, had undergone one of the surgeries that made it’s recipients more ‘animal like’ as was the best way to describe it. They were… An interesting demographic, some had it done for work so they had some extra strength or the like others to have a fresh identity at a lower cost than normal surgery. Ad some just did it cause they wanted too. They were mostly fine, Wick having no more a problem with them than anyone else, but a few people… weren’t so keen from any reason from the expected to the odd.

Wick walked over to the counter, the cashier looking up to him as he straightened up. Wick went over his list of parts he needed, the cashier, who seemed to be the owner, nodded as he listened to the list occasionally stating that he didn’t stock something. When Wick had finished his list and heard the prices he waited as the younger clerk went into the back to fetch them for him, packing up a few items to cart over to his ship. They younger man was much taller and thinner than the owner, his face resembling some breed of wolf, covered in cloud-like fur dressed in the store’s grey and red uniform. Overall, the price was cheap, Wick being handed back a bag of bulb, chips most of the capacitors he needed along with a dozen or more so things the ship had used up for maintenance. He gave a curt nod to the pair and walked back out of the shop brushing past a tall man in a pressed grey suit.

Next, he went into a builders merchant, ordering a number of pipes to be delivered to his ship, along with trying to snatch up a few environmental plates, but, again, none were the right size. He got some more of the ESP he used from a chemical supplier along with some more gunpowder, and more ammunition etc. It was late in the day, when he made his way into a small off-licence nestled into a dim corner of the level. It was pressed into the corner of a street, a thing doorway leading into a larger space filled with fluorescent lighting. He strolled around the shelves, lifting a few bottles of the shelves as well as a six pack of French lager, Saint Bertin they were called, adorable squat green bottles with white caps as well as some bread and other supplies taking five packs of cigarettes from the counter and adding them onto the stack of items, getting a slightly amused but understanding look from the cashier from under his mess of hair. Wick handed over the money and left without a word, rubbing his eyes as he strolled down the street, quite exhausted.

He spotted a bench nestled into a small open space a few hundred paces away, out of the view of people. He strolled over to it and dropped himself down onto the metal frame, sighing as he did. He opened one of the cigarette packets and pulled one out, plopping it into his mouth as he fished around in his pocket for his lighter. After searching for a moment he pulled out a small silver zippo painted with a small picture of Niagara falls on one side, he flicked it open then sparked it on, holding the small orange flame to its head, breathing in slightly to light it, letting it dip into his lungs as he stared across from him tiredly, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth slowly. He snapped it closed with one hand then tucked it back into his pocket. He gazed ahead of him, not looking at anything in particular, thinking about a few dozen things at once. He fixed his gaze onto a shiny steel plate in front of him, polished till it reflected him in it’s face, barely a meter from him. He shifted in his seat, getting himself comfy, and then noticed, reflected in the mirror a pistol moving closer toward the back of his head from the pitch black space behind him.

He dived to the side just as it went off, taking a decent part of his ear lobe with it, sending it ringing as he felt blood drip down the side of his head. Wick jumped up to his feet, knocking over his bag as he did, keeping himself low as he reached for his revolver, but then suddenly felt someone grab him pull him into a grapple, constraining his chest with broad arms stuffed into a pressed grey suit. A thinner man jumped out from the space behind the bench holding a black polymer pistol, a wispy moustache on his face split by a horizontal scar that went from his jaw to just above the opposite side of his lip. He twisted his face into a smile.

“I presume out friend at St. Edmunds mentioned we were coming? Guess you were too stupid to listen,” he called out a smarmy expression on his face, Wick grimacing as he felt the buff man’s grip getting tighter, “though I suppose that’s to be expected. If you were smart, you would have kept your nose out of this altogether,” he added, pointing the pistol at Wick’s head.

Wick glowered at him, then quite suddenly, slammed hi heel into the ankle of the buff man, making him twist over in pain, as he loosed his grip. Wick jabbed his elbow into the man’s chest and pulled himself free as he reached for his pistol, but received a hard punch in the other side of his ribs in response, winding him. He glanced over to the thinner man stood to the side of him and his partner, pointing his pistol at Wick’s chest. He dodged a heavy punch from the bigger man, getting into the man’s blind spot, which he presumed was the side bearing a hollow cavity where an eye socket must have once belonged. He then darted over to the thinner man, who missed a shot as he came closer which slammed into the wall panel of the building behind them. Wick threw a hard punch as the man, which he quickly guarded, then finding a hand kick on his knee, making him fall down. He then punched the thin man on the side of the jaw, nocking him out, just as he flet himself being grabbed and tossed over to the bench by the buff man. His spine clicked unpleasantly as it struck the metal frame, wincing a he stared up at the large man approaching him with a malicious expression, until he reached for his revolver and tugged at the heavy double action trigger until it flung a .38 calibre hollow point into the mans head, making him stop in place, teetering on his own feet until he slumped over, blood polling below him as Wick stared and the mangled exit wound on the back of his head, breathing heavily.

He pulled himself to his feet, grunting as he pressed a hand to his back. He stood up and collected everything back into his bag then began walking away, pointing his revolver at the unconscious man as he walked by, cocking the hammer with his thumb, then firing it into his chest a bored, yet irritated expression on his face as he bit back down on his now bent cigarette. He decided to go back to the docks, opening the cylinder of his revolver as he walked, tucking the handle of the bag in the inside of his elbow as he removed the two spent cases and replaced them with fresh ones, pressing it back closed as soon as he did, rattling the spent cases in the pocket of his cargo trousers. He walked for a while, wincing as his back and chest ached, feeling his ear bleed down the side of his head, staining the collar of his shirt. Then he saw a clump of people dressed in grey suits, or grey jackets, strolling around, a few with carbines and weapons on their backs. One spotted Wick, a shortish woman with black hair pulled into a loose ponytail and gestured him out to the others, Wick promptly turning on his heel and picking up his pace in a different direction.

As he walked he swapped the bag over to his left hand as he reached into his jacket for his revolver, holding it in his had as he let his arm hang by his side. He strode forward through the crowd in the direction of the docks, not quite running, but not just walking either. He heard them coming after him, either matching or exceeding his pace, slowly getting closer. He continued this for a while, getting closer to the dock, then suddenly spun around, bringing up his revolver and firing at the chest of the largest man, who was carrying an M4 carbine on his back. He promptly dropped to the floor, gasping for air, the rest of them reaching for their weapons as they ducked down, the crowd being flung into panic, running away from the scene, or straight through it. Wick dashed away, occasionally spinning around to fire a shot or two at his pursuers, one remaining with the large man at the start with a panicked expression.

Wick continued at a hurried pace, spitting out his spent cigarette and racking his bag onto his shoulder as he opened the cylinder of his revolver and dumped out all the spent brass, not bothering to collect it for reuse, pressing in six new rounds into the chambers and snapping it shut, cocking the hammer. A few people gave him looks as he continued, ranging from terror, to fury, to mild irritation. They all dashed away, a few running up too guards, who glanced over to Wick with deadpan expressions, then over to his pursuers. They all disregarded their concerns a few turning over to Wick, with considering looks, debating whether to deal with him, but deciding against it when they saw him firing his revolver back after him, the short barrel spitting out a roar of muzzle flash with every shot.

His pursuers fired a few rounds after him, missing due to the chaos, not having a clear shot and either hitting the wall or some unfortunate person who was too slow to flee. Then a round ripped through the top of Wicks shoulder, near the handles of his bag, making him grunt out in pain as he ran forward to the docks, another bullet flying through his thigh, making him fall to a knee as it gave out. He span round his arm as he fell, firing a pair of rounds at the closest pursuer, who had shot him, the first one missing but the other one landing just below the sternum. Wick pulled himself back up to his feet as the other man collapsed to the ground, gripping at his chest as blood drained out of it. Wick ran as fast as he could, his wounded leg slowing him slightly as he dragged himself past the guard, who barely offered him an uninterested glance after he saw Wick’s pursuers.

Wick weaved between the parked ships as he went, hearing the rounds scattering off the steel behind him as he heard them shout after him ,slowly getting closer as the crack of gunfire rang throughout the dock. He felt his legs ache underneath him, his wounded limb throbbing as his shoulder smarted rudely, making him hiss in pain as he pushed himself further and further to his ship. He saw his ship finally come into view just then, as his pursuers came close. He dashed up to his ship, disabling the trap before he flung open the airlock door. He pulled himself up into the narrow room, grabbing a small table inside it and laying it down in front of the door as he grabbed the shotgun off it’s mount and pointed it out of the airlock and fired in the rough direction of his pursers, making them all duck down or dive behind cover. He ran into the living room, dropping the shotgun on the sofa as he grabbed the first rifle he saw off the wall, a Dutch 1895 Mannlicher. He grabbed a bundle of en bloc Mannlicher clips loaded in 6.5 Dutch, pressing one down into the rifles action as he dashed over to the airlock, pressing the bolt home, feeling its face snag the clips’ feed lips before pressing the light bullet into the chamber. He limped into the airlock, keeping himself low as peered over the overturned table at his assailant, now down to seven people. He shouldered the rifle, gripping the narrow rifle as he aimed it over the table onto one of the advancing gunmen. He squeezed the trigger, feeling it smoothly click between its stages dropping the rifles sear. The rifle thumped back into Wick’s shoulder, as the bullet tore through the breast of the foremost man, making him drop to the ground, the others diving behind whatever cover they could find. Wick ducked behind the doorframe, working the bolt of the rifle to rechamber a round, the spent brass skittering around the floor of the corridor as bullets pinged off the side of the ship or blew though the table.

Wick propped the rifle up for a second, having distracted them for now, reaching up to one of the shelves in the wall and pulling it out onto his lap, grabbing one of a dozen or so lengths of rubber tubing from it and tying it around his wounded leg as a tourniquet. He grunted in pain as he pulled it tight, seeing the blood slow around the wound, having already doused most of his leg red. He took a breath, glancing one eye around the corner of the door frame to the open deck outside the ship to see one of them running forward, trying to dive into a further bit of cover. He shouldered the rifle and aimed for the man, leading his shot slightly as he ran then fired, just as a bullet slammed into the steel above his head, making him jump and send the shot wide, grazing the man’s shoulder as he dived behind the cover. Wick ducked back behind, a second bullet clanging into the cabinets above him on the wall, a steel oxygen container falling out of it with a high pitched whistle from the puncture wound of the bullet. Wick peered round at the one who had fired, seeing a shorter woman wrapping her hands around a full size rifle, holding it spec-ops style as she glanced around her, checking her angles as she watched the airlock, a shorter man peering over the same cover they were behind, gripping a bulky pistol wearing a suit far too tight for him, being throttled by his collar as he tried to make himself look small.

Wick twisted around to fire another round at one of the further back gunmen, a younger looking woman who seemed slightly out of her depth, who received a fast bullet to the neck as she dawdled between cover, throwing her hands up to her neck as she fell on her side. Wick ducked back behind the frame but felt something slash across his side as steel shrapnel from the table lanced into it from a round fired by the first wounded man. Wick hissed in pain, grabbing at the shrapnel with two fingers and prying it out, squeezing his eyes shut as he did. He waited a while and tried again, a bullet slamming into the edge of the cover of the man and the woman, a set of cargo crates covered with ‘fragile’ labels. Another denting an upturned maintenance panel pried up from the floor a sixth man hid behind, his dark face half hidden by a blocky pair of sunglasses, firing a Glock back with little care for how many shots it would take him to hit his mark. Then a final round that dug into the foot of the seventh man, who bore a remarkable resemblance to the man from St. Edmund, stumbling as he almost fell to the ground just as Wick came upon an empty magazine.

He opened the rifle, slamming down another clip into the magazine then throwing the bolt closed as he brought the rifle back into his shoulder, rushing as he tried to hit the man as he ran to another clump of cates for cover. He fired and missed, the bullet ricocheting off the dock floor wildly, sending sparks flying. A bullet grazed by his neck just after, coming from the direction of the spec-op woman, who only missed his jugular as the shorter man bumped into her, having slipped. He worked the bolt as quickly as he could, cursing to himself as it caught on the clips feed lips, jerking it back-and-forth until it chambered a round, levelling a bullet on the short man beside the woman, now leaping out of cover over the front and firing a bullet into his crown, watching the fountain of blood raise from his forehead over the rifles barely-corn front sight. His body fell back on the woman, crushing her against the cover, making her lean over backwards, thrusting her rifle up out of the way as she tired to shove him off. Wick only head the sound of himself manipulating the bolt just before he put a round through the read of her jaw, making her fall still and drop her rifle.

The sixth man tried to run forward as spec-ops went down, running forward as he fired his pistol fully automatic as Wick, who ducked back behind the door frame, beathing heavily, feeling his neck ooze more blood down his collar, staining the front of his short and the woolled edge of his jacket collar. He made it within a twenty feet from the ship when his pistol locked itself open on a drained magazine, he threw a hand to his hip for a magazine and pressed it in just as he saw Wick’s rifle pointed to his chest. The round ripped through his sternum, crashing into his lungs not a moment later then digging itself into the soft steel underneath him. The other two, both now wounded men grabbed each other under the shoulder and began running away, firing back at Wick as they did. Wick aimed after them, trying to line up a shot but having to duck as bullets brackets around him.

The fourth round missed, zipping past them with a super sonic crack, as did the fifth, digging into the panels by one of their feet Wick hearing the en bloc clip fall to the floor from the magazine as he chambered the sixth round, letting out a slow exhale as he manoeuvred the sights of the back of the one he had legged earlier. The bullet span out of the barrel, wreathed in an orange boa of muzzle flash and burning gunpower, flying through the air light a sparrowhawk until it crashed uglily into the spine of the legged man, sending him to the cold ground before he had time to scream, gore soiling his pressed grey suit, throwing his arm and his pistol up into the air, the barrel covered with a tally of thirty-three. The one who had been hit in the shoulder let his friends body fall to the ground, sprinting hard as he dashed away. Wick gripped his rifle by the handguard, grabbing his revolver in his right hand, firing after the man, two shots missing before he laded on a dry cylinder, the hammer landing on a spent primer. He watched the man run behind a ship, clicking his tongue in regret, knowing he’d bring more.

Then he heard a shot come from the ship he ran behind, muzzle flash lighting up the space. Cass walked out of the space and looked over at Wick’s sip, offering a tired wave. Wick looked at her slightly incredulously, then smiled with a chuckle, returning the wave as he pushed against the wall to lift himself up. He grabbed his rifle, pulling the table back up against the wall, limping down the steps as Cass came closer.

“How has your day been?” Wick asked sardonically, seeing the bruises on her cheek and the bloody nose, along with all the ruffled clothes.

She took a breath, breathing out as she looked around at the bloody refuse around the ship, “active,” she replied brusquely, Wick chuckling in response, “you can relate it seems.”

“Yes, I believe I can,” Wick replied, sighing as did, “what happened with your ship then?” he asked, turning over to her.

“I got there, was looking at ships, when a group of twelve of those guys in grey jumped me,” Cass replied, sniffing slightly as she wiped some blood from her nostril.

“How’d you manage with that?” Wick asked, placing the butt of his rifle on the ground.

“I dealt with them all myself, what else,” she replied, smiling her Cheshire cat smile, cracking her knuckles, “all dozen of them shouldn’t be getting up again. Not unless it’s to see they river Stix they were going on about.” Wick looked at her slightly surprised, well, not truly and shook his head.

He pulled up his rifle, throwing it up then catching it in the middle, sliding open the bolt and loading a new clip, “you are a marvel,” he muttered with a tired smile as Cass looked at him slightly confused. Then he shouldered the rifle and fired it at a lone man in a grey suit, gripping an M4 equipped with a grenade launcher. He snapped open the bolt, letting the brass case fling out of the action and tinkle on the floor. He looked over to Cass with a smile, “eleven out of twelve then,” receiving a mildly annoyed look in response as he sat down on the steps up to the airlock, resting the butt of his rifle on his thigh, loading it then turning over the flag safety.

Then the taller boy from the electronics shop walked out of a small passage between a pair of ships by Wick’s, carrying a number of boxes. He looked around at the scene stunned, turning to the bodies with a petrified look, then back to us. “W-w-wha,” he stammered out.

“Perfect timing,” Wick declared grandly, “you can help us load up the supplies into the ship,” gesturing to his ship with a thumb as he spoke.

“Bu-but I was just here t-wh-what happened here?” he rambled out, seaming to shrink as he rambled.

“Lad,” Cass called out pleasantly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder, “the question you’re trying to ask is going to cost you far more than it’s worth…” letting her voice darken as the boy’s eyes flicked between Wick’s rifle and Cass’s pistol.

“…Right sir,” the boy replied after a moment in a gingerly sort of tone, readjusting his grip on the boxes as he carried it into the ship and placed it into the living room, coming back out to lift in the ones Wick declared as both he and Cass drank a bottle of the French larger Wick had bought, tending to their own wounds.

@agarespicero @gaap-goemon-ismylife @psycho-zom-atic @jemimacatclover @shark-smuggler @shax-lied @irumeanie

@sleepy-gry @pemopemochimi @csoisoi @crazyhorst @momonoki-a-real-teacher

@noyakwajhang @https-true-egoist

@namecrisis-lifecrisis

I'm Tired

#writblr #writers and poets #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing #fiction #science fiction #company #Wick #Cass #HMAD

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tanutda · 2 years

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james-silenthill · 2 years

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for the questions: 1,7,9 and 19 (also sorry if it got sent twice yknow how it is with tumblr)

Omg thank you so much!!

Who was your first ever OC? Do you still “use” them? How have they evolved over time?

My first OC was a sonic oc, her name was Gothia the Dark, and she was created in either 2008 or 2009- def before the release of pokemon b&w!

My only sonic game was sonic 06, and I was a bit obsessed with mephiles- edgy characters make elementary schoolers insane, dontcha know. My concept was that if mephiles was the shadow, and iblis the source of light, there could be a third party. With hindsight, I can say she was intended to be the penumbra. I think I left her back in elementary school, but I kept the concepts of sentient shadows as characters for some of my stories

What are your favourite relationships between your OCs? (romantic or platonic!)

They have a very 'basic' dynamic, but the character dynamic I've worked on the most have been between my Sun and Moon OCs. They're two celestial gods from a pantheon based in all the planets and moons of our solar system; its a Heliocentric pantheon, so the Sun is the most important, while the Moon acts as an advisor of sorts to Gaia/Mother Earth

The basis of their story is that, despite everything, the Sun does Not want power, or reverence, or responsibility, so she does what any self respecting monarch does and fucks off to the planet earth to become a cowboy, living a free life without any worries or responsibilities. Since she is not within the pantheon anymore, the power structure is out of wack, and the physicial planets have no more sunlight- the physical sun has Disappeared, leaving everyone in darkness.

The Moon is Gaia's only advisor, a trusted and beloved friend. Despite this, she is something of a wallflower in the greater schema of the pantheon; endlessly useful and loyal to Gaia, but not very significant beyond that. She's a pragmatic and cynical woman, and is sent to earth to find the Sun, as every planets moons are sent to their respective planets. Throughout the course of the story, both the sun and the moon are pulling eachother out of their comfort zones, learning about eachother and their personal struggles and helping eachother go. They're on such different playing fields in the heliocentric pantheon, but they're on more equal grounds down on earth. Again, I'd be the first to say it's a basic dynamic structure, but I've had them for years and enjoy their situation:]

Favorite oc?

My favorite OC is currently tied betweeb my characters Rile and Wildfire right now

Rile is generally in her early 30s when I write her, and if I were to describe her without bringing in any backstory or personality, if I were to slot her into a pure character archetype, she would be the Nathan Drake; an average person that comes from small beginnings that finds herself in situations far greater than she initially imagined. An every day sort of protagonist with ridiculous amounts of luck

If I Were to bring backstory into this, I'd say that she's a pacific islander and hispanic and was born and raised in Los Angeles. Her real name is Leilana Rial, and the Rile nickname cropped up due to a consistent mispronounciation error in her youth, and just stuck. Her parents were out of the picture when she was still young, and she was given into the foster care system when her grandparents were unable to take care of her. The foster care system sucked, child protective services didn't do anything for her, and she learned to manage for herself and was able to escape the system while still in her teens, and the rest is history. She was a teenager in the 90s and she's a bit of a fail loser, but in a fun way

Wildfire was originally a DnD oc turned generalized, but now he's my own guy since the campaign he's from has been on hiatus. In DnD, he's a classical hero archetype, practically going through each stage of Campbell's heroes journey, you know?

Outside of a DnD universe, he is half demon, and part Cuban. He's from Florida, and comes from a heavily Catholic background. Naturally, that didn't mesh well with being demonic in nature, so he took off the first chance he could with a boyfriend that was too old for him. It didn't work out with the boyfriend, they had a bit of a fight and cut ties, but Wildfire was Not going back home, so he's figuring shit out, he's working on himself, yknow? My current comic wips that I've been posting- the Road Kill comic- have been about Wildfire, it's about a hitchhiking incident gone wrong, Santa will be there, it's gonna be fun:3

What are some things that inspired your stories? Real events? Maybe a dream?

I try to read and consume a lot of stories/different types of stories as a general baseline of inspo! On top of that, real life situations have an inherent influence on everything I write and create, and also just, general reading + witnessing the world around me has a tendency to help me create the stories I want to create. I think having multiple avenues of thought and ideas is a great thing to have, no matter what level of notoriety you want with your creations, yknow?

#ask #ask game #ocs #rile #wildfire #sun and moon #*long post*#i think its a long post anyways

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bosbesar05 · 4 days

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tg2wingloxing · 6 days

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evili87654 · 11 days

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Now that you know what makes Speed AU Pokies special, let’s take a look at some of the top options you can play for an exciting, fast-paced experience.

Top Speed AU Pokies to Try

Here are some of the best Speed AU Pokies you should consider if you're after quick thrills and engaging gameplay:

Thunderstruck II by Microgaming: This Norse mythology-inspired game is a crowd favorite. Known for its fast gameplay and high RTP (96.65%), it’s an excellent choice for those looking for a high-energy experience. The bonus features like Wildstorm and free spins add another layer of excitement, without slowing down the pace.

Starburst by NetEnt: Starburst is famous for its simplicity and speed. The fast-paced spins and vibrant graphics make it a must-try for anyone who enjoys action-packed pokies. Although the game has a lower variance, meaning wins might come frequently but in smaller amounts, it keeps you engaged with every spin.

Wolf Gold by Pragmatic Play: Wolf Gold is perfect for players who want fast rounds combined with the chance to hit big jackpots. This game offers rapid spins and engaging bonus features like free spins and a money respin feature, making it both thrilling and rewarding.

Gonzo’s Quest by NetEnt: With its cascading reels and multipliers, Gonzo’s Quest is another great pick for fast-paced action. The speed of the game increases as you hit consecutive wins, giving you the rush of anticipation with every spin.

These games stand out not only for their rapid gameplay but also for their engaging themes, features, and high chances of payouts.

Why Choose Speed AU Pokies?

Speed AU Pokies aren’t just about fast action—they also come with several advantages that make them stand out compared to regular pokies. Here’s why you should consider playing them:

Time Efficiency: One of the biggest perks of speed pokies is how quickly you can complete rounds. If you don’t have hours to spare for a long gaming session, these pokies allow you to enjoy several spins in a short amount of time.

Instant Gratification: The fast-paced nature of these games means you get immediate feedback. Whether you’re winning or losing, there’s no lengthy buildup, making it perfect for those who prefer a constant stream of excitement.

Lower Variance: Many Speed AU Pokies are designed with lower variance, which means you can expect smaller, more frequent wins. This helps keep the momentum going and reduces the risk of running out of balance quickly.

Mobile Friendly: Since these games are built for speed, they’re often optimized for mobile play. This means smoother gameplay and fewer disruptions when playing on a smartphone or tablet.

Speed pokies offer a combination of excitement, efficiency, and convenience that makes them perfect for players who crave quick results.

How to Choose the Right Speed AU Pokies

Choosing the right Speed AU Pokies requires more than just picking the first game that pops up. To make the most of your gaming experience, here are some factors you should consider:

RTP (Return to Player): The higher the RTP, the better your chances of winning over time. Look for games with an RTP of 95% or higher to improve your long-term prospects.

Bonus Features: Even in fast-paced games, bonus features like free spins, multipliers, and wilds can make a big difference. These features can help you maximize your winnings without slowing down gameplay.

Theme and Design: Don’t underestimate the importance of a game’s theme and design. Whether it’s ancient mythology, outer space, or wild animals, the visual and auditory experience can enhance your overall enjoyment of the game.

Volatility: Volatility affects how often and how much you win. If you prefer frequent, smaller wins, opt for low volatility pokies. On the other hand, high volatility games might offer bigger payouts but less frequently.

By considering these factors, you’ll be able to pick the perfect game that matches your preferences for speed and excitement. You can find a variety of options on speed au pokies, a site that offers a wide range of fast-paced pokies tailored to Australian players.

Tips for Maximizing Fun and Wins on Speed AU Pokies

While Speed AU Pokies are designed to deliver fast-paced entertainment, you can still implement some strategies to make the most out of your gameplay. Here are a few tips to consider:

Set a Budget: Before you start playing, decide how much you're willing to spend. Fast-paced games can make it easy to lose track of your bankroll, so having a budget in place helps you stay in control.

Start Small: Begin by betting small amounts to get a feel for the game’s pace. This way, you can enjoy the game for longer and avoid depleting your balance too quickly.

Look for Free Play Options: Many online casinos offer demo versions of pokies, allowing you to try them for free. This gives you a chance to understand the game’s speed and features before committing real money.

Take Breaks: It’s easy to get caught up in the rapid action of Speed AU Pokies, but taking regular breaks can help you stay sharp and avoid making impulsive decisions.

By following these tips, you can enjoy your Speed AU Pokies experience while improving your chances of walking away with a win.

Conclusion

Speed AU Pokies offer an exhilarating casino experience, perfect for players who want fast gameplay, frequent wins, and engaging features. By choosing the right pokies and following some basic strategies, you can enhance both the fun and rewards of your gaming sessions. Whether you’re after the thrills of Thunderstruck II or the simplicity of Starburst, there’s a speed pokie out there that’s perfect for you. So why wait? Get spinning today and enjoy the rush!

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