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Messages - GIR

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1
The Cancer / Re: Remember the Name (trenzalor)
« on: January 25, 2021, 05:10:49 pm »
In the time it took the blade to hit the first wall, Sarah had already noted the enchantment on the blade. It was unique, but similar to ones she'd seen before, and the blade redirecting back to her confirmed it. Before the blade could cover the distance, she converted it into magical energy and dispersed it, making a mental note to disperse any others that came her way. Her chance came as more blades came out of the tunnel, vanishing before they could impact as Sarah simply converted and dispersed them, then created more and sent them along return trajectories just like the first. <Too many blades to dodge, huh? You're good, human.>. The lie was told telepathically, for Kan and Kan alone. She didn't need to know where the human was to talk to her, nor did she need any communicator. A few flashes of her tail blade created what Sarah hoped would be convincing injuries, all easy for her to heal.

Plasma weaponry was old hat for Sarah, and analysing machines of any type, including weapons, was second nature to her. She had worked on weapons both as a mechanic and as a slave, and unique designs simply added to her repertoire of technologies, and had over a century of combined experience figuring out what things did by literally and mentally taking them apart, using her magical senses to virtually take things apart that she wasn't physically permitted or able to. Even as Kan briefly revealed herself, Sarah made notes on the design of her armor. It wasn't perfect, as, unlike the weapon, Kan wasn't stationary, but, given time, Sarah would be able to analyse enough of it to disable it. Assuming she even wanted to. Sarah was acutely aware that a human without power armor was no match for her, and had no intention of creating that situation. Call it pride or thrill of the hunt, the result was the same: Information gleaned on the armor would be filed away for use in her future projects, but the human would keep that particular advantage.

The missiles were dealt with by creating more blades, these immediately in their path, and to all sides just to be safe. Rather than follow Kan, however, Sarah simply went back into the tunnel. If the human didn't want to come after her, Sarah knew it had to be for a reason. Going out of the tunnels, therefore, was to follow the enemy to her own ground. Better instead to make the enemy come for her and prepare a fitting ambush. To that end, Sarah created several more turrets, these with stronger shields than the first. Six of them had the same weapon. The seventh had an identical-seeming weapon that fired identical rounds at significant percentages of light speed. Even the sturdiest armors would be hard put to survive sustained fire from such a weapon. As soon as they were created, the turrets began to seek out Kan, starting with her last-known position, and each utilising a digital copy of Sarah's brain as the operating system, with all the intelligence that entailed. With the drones released, Sarah focused on setting up traps within the tunnels, as well as scouting them for useful ambush spots, her wounds closing as she did. <You won't.>, she taunted, a delayed response to the enemy's earlier taunt. <You're only guessing where I am. You know you can't win in direct confrontation, so you strike from a distance and hide. Your weapons have done a lot of damage, for sure, but I've found a new spot.>, she continued. Keep the enemy talking and taunting. Let her think she had Sarah cornered. Then strike when the enemy slipped up.

2
The Cancer / Re: Remember the Name (trenzalor)
« on: January 25, 2021, 03:21:32 pm »
As the buzz saw blade flew toward Sarah, she initially ignored it, thinking it useless against her scales and armor. The first hint of pain, measured in microseconds, caused her to reflexively duck while creating a gravity well to redirect the blade, as well as telling her that that was not the case. This human, it seemed, had some decent toys. Sarah quickly analysed the blade by shifting her sight into the magical plane and making note of the magics reflecting the blade. Within milliseconds, two more blades followed along the same path as the original, the idea being to strike back at the source. Both were changed to correct minor flaws in the composition.

Sarah was no stranger to combat. Be it in an arena or on a battlefield, she had well over 300 years of combat experience, and the majority of it had taught her that the weapons issued to or built by her were the only trustworthy ones. The rifle and energy cells were analysed, then converted to magical energy. It would do no good to leave it there, and she could improve on or fix the design at her leasure back on the Sassy Juice. The pills, likewise, were analysed and destroyed out of hand, again out of pragmatism born of experience. She could patch herself up decently if she needed to. No sense relying on random pills, less sense leaving them for the enemy to rely on.

As she continued sensing around, her armor and scales began to take on a near-identical color and visual texture to the surrounding stone, the result of a magic-based technique she had perfected over two centuries that helped hide her not only visually, but on the IR and UV spectrums as well. Sound magic, though not her best discipline, helped complete the stealth tactic, with her magic helping mask her sounds as well. If this human wanted to take her down, it would need to earn that right. Magic was converted into two more blades, sent down two other tunnels, as she moved toward the scent of standing water, her camouflage shifting to keep her hidden as she moved. Sarah's combat experience was mostly on land, but her time on Hesta had made her just as familiar with water, a domain humans, as land mammals, were even worse in. Battles were best fought asymmetrically. If you were in a fair fight, you were already doomed. The more unfair the fight in your favor, the better.

As she retreated, Sarah used magic to create a levitating, mobile gun emplacement. For even bargain-bin power armor, it would be more an annoyance than a threat (more so as its shield was designed to withstand sustained artillery fire and powered by drawing in ambient magic), but that was the point. She would create several such turrets if things went even remotely to plan, intended to cause the clamor in the east to her strike in the west. To further complicate the matter, some of them would be actually dangerous, but look identical to the harmless ones. All warfare was deception. It was a lesson she'd learned when she was owned by rebels. The more deceptions she could maintain, the better. Especially as it would make direct approaches more effective when she got her enemy used to seeing her as a manipulator.

3
The Cancer / Remember the Name (trenzalor)
« on: April 04, 2020, 09:14:37 pm »
It had been a while since Sarah had set foot on the Cancer. Months that had felt like centuries. Perhaps years, even. But surprisingly little had changed in the time she'd been gone. The station was still a haphazard mess, filled with the worst scum this system had to offer, with order kept primarily by practicality and main force.

Jeth had been an interesting experience for Sarah, though the combat she'd experienced on it had not quelled her thirst for the hunt. So it was that she had left Kelly sehala Jeth aboard the Sassy Juice, the android (for a given definition. Nothing about her was andro-, after all), and prowled about for one of the Cancer's many bloodsport arenas. She had, a few decades ago, dabbled, taking part every now and again, though none had really offered her the hunt she really craved. There was no killing in those days, largely because it was bad business to kill off half your best fighters every night when your income was based on betting on who would come out the winner and people paying to watch good action.

It therefore came as a surprise to Sarah to find one such arena not only permitting, but actively encouraging, killing during fights. Killing multiple times during fights, in fact. Between the obvious resurrection technology involved in permitting such a thing in single combat, and the fact that she could finally kill her opponents (though, was it really killing if you couldn't eat them?), it was with great enthusiasm that she signed up, her eagerness tempered only by the fact that it was unlikely she'd find a challenge among her opponents, in her mind. Humans, compared to her, were slow, weak, and generally helpless, and she would likely be started off on the bottom rung unless someone saw potential in her.

Or, of course, unless she... financially encouraged... someone to put her up against someone better. Between paying off the human who set up the fights and showing him just how prepared she was for anything they could throw at her (her tail was at his throat and her hand on his shoulder so fast he had only just processed the fact that she'd moved), she managed to get herself put up against the best of the best. And warned that she'd better make it a good fight, or else.

So it was that Sarah came to be in what looked, felt, and even smelled like a network of seaside caves and tunnels, some underwater, all senses on alert for this hotshot. Some human in power armor, from what she'd learned, so she made sure to be on the alert for smells and sounds associated with human power armor designs.

4
The Citadel / Re: One Week
« on: November 16, 2019, 07:58:40 am »
From the moment the Pilot insisted he had taken nothing, Red Tide knew what his answer would be. It did not wait for the Pilot to finish. The boy had never left its range in the three days since his capture, and it was with little difficulty that Red Tide devoured his mind.

In that instant, its consciousness expanded far more than a mere one mind should have made possible. It wasn't that its magical power had spiked. That was accounted for. It was that its *awareness* had gone to previously unimagined levels. The boy may have been pitifully weak on his own, but, with a multitude of minds reinforcing his psychic power, Red Tide found itself able to tell what nearly every unshielded mind in the immediate vicinity was feeling. It distracted Red Tide enough that it neglected to protect its puppet.

But that was not the only one in this place. The janitor puppet, too, could sense the emotions of nearly everyone near it whose minds were unshielded, though it had been made to head for the docking bay. So too could the High Priestess, who had already taken the initiative. Her god wanted that companion's mind. Whether the woman had spoken the truth or lied in a foolish bluff, devouring her would result in everything she knew being revealed to them, and potentially increase their newfound power to boot. With that in mind, she cut her way out of her cell using water magic, then headed for a spot between their last known location and the docking bay. Any guards she encountered, armed or not, were either ignored or, if they were in her path or attempted to physically stop her, cut down using a more powerful version of the water lance spell Emrys had already seen. Their rifles were no threat to her. She could not die. every wound inflicted healed almost instantly, a sign that her god was in no danger at the time. Anyone near her who was psychic and didn't know she was near and what she could do, she devoured as she went, giving their minds to Red Tide to augment their new power as she hurried to cut the Pilot and his companion off.

5
The Citadel / Re: One Week
« on: November 13, 2019, 09:37:50 pm »
Red Tide carefully considered its options as the humans spoke, debating between devouring the son now and giving the Pilot's companion, as some human minds put it, enough rope to hang herself with before doing so. Devouring the son and using his voice, and only his voice, to inform the Pilot that the deal was off and the lives taken would be on his head was another option, as the Pilot seemed to have no intention of honoring the arrangement if this was his response. "Then you intend to renege on your end of the arrangement?", the criminal puppet was made to ask at length, "Do not take me for a fool, human. Tens of thousands of years and countless of your kind's minds have taught me the treacheries your kind are capable of. You will see your son when I see my Priestess, and he will be in your reach when she is within mine. No sooner than when I have that which is mine shall you have that which is yours. Fail, and your son is forfeit. Delay, and your son is forfeit. Attempt to renege again, and your son is forfeit. Incur my wrath again, and your son is forfeit.", it was made to continue, "But if your companion can deliver that which you will not, then you are unnecessary. Should the child wish to return to the father, he shall. Should he choose instead to become my adherent, he may.". The criminal was made to pause before continuing, "But enough talk. Your time is not infinite, Pilot, nor is yours, companion. You waste it here. There can be no atonement but in the return of what is mine.". At those words, Red Tide sent a subconscious command to its Priestess: As soon as the companion was close enough, she was to attempt to devour the woman's mind unless she agreed to cooperate.

[Note: The attempt would only be successful if you allow it to be. at this time High Priestess isn't powerful enough to forcefully devour someone who is aware of her and what she can do unless they are willing.]

6
The Citadel / Re: One Week
« on: November 13, 2019, 03:00:06 pm »
As the Pilot stopped in front of the cell it was being held in, the criminal puppet was made to begin using a waterjet-like spell to etch a map into a section of the cell door. The map was a near-perfect 2D representation of the path from its cell to High Priestess's, with a water moccasin etched in the cell the puppet was in, and an etching of High Priestess's face in her cell. When the etching was complete, the puppet was made to cut the map out of the door, then use a jet of water to push it out onto the floor in front of the cell. That it had felt two minds recoil from its own was of little concern to the deity. Red Tide was, for now, interested only in Emrys.

"Pilot Noble Emrys Broin., the puppet was made to say, its voice an amalgamation of that all of Red Tide's minds, hundreds of thousands strong, "You have arrived at the facility where my Priestess is being held, but you stand before the wrong cell. Take that map. Bring me my Priestess. Another will arrive with the place you will bring her. You have twenty four hours remaining, now that you have the knowledge you need to render to me what is mine. If you cannot bring her, you will bring the coordinates of this facility.", the puppet was made to instruct the Pilot, "Fail me, or attempt to stall, and you will lose what is yours. *All* that is yours. I do not doubt for a moment you have sought information on me. You know what I can do.", it was made to continue. Red Tide would not be denied. Now that the Pilot would assuredly have the information it sought, nothing less than full cooperation would be accepted.

7
The Citadel / Re: One Week
« on: November 12, 2019, 01:57:43 pm »
The criminal puppet had been made to be observing for no more than three days when it spotted something that brought the full attention of Red Tide's hundreds of thousands of minds to it. A very familiar sight, the magics corresponding to those of the Pilot whose son it was holding hostage. As the Pilot walked by, the puppet was made to form a single drop of water in his path, small enough to be a message to the Pilot without necessarily being obvious to any others, and in a spot where it couldn't be explained by a leak above. The droplet was timed to fall so that Emrys would, if he didn't notice it before it hit and avoid it, be struck in the forehead, though there'd be no other effect except the wetness. Red Tide wanted the Pilot to know it knew he was here, and what that knowledge meant.

Hopefully, the Pilot's reason for visiting the facility would lend itself to him sussing out what the drop meant. In case it didn't, a janitor puppet near that part of the facility was made to make its way toward the Pilot. For now, though, the Pilot's attention seemed to be on another subject.

[OOC: This is it for now. I'll post again once the janitor arrives.]

8
TRIM / Re: Rolling in the Deep [Marjorie]
« on: November 12, 2019, 01:20:03 am »
The puppet was not made to make a move against the doctor as she left. There was no reason to do so, and it suited Red Tide's purposes for the encounter to be taken to its logical conclusion. When the puppet was eventually taken from the room, the blindfold was allowed to be tied on, rather passively, in fact, as if the puppet was being ignored, though this could not be further from the truth. Red Tide, viewing the area on the magical plane, took detailed mental note of the route taken, everything in the cells along the route, how often guards were passed, and more as its puppet was taken to the cell, and, once within, the puppet was made to continue to observe. Everyone who passed by, everything in the nearby cells, proximity to other active puppets, even, little as it was, what could be heard through the door to the cell.

As soon as the doctor left, High Priestess focused on what she had learned, beneath the surface in case others were listening. One advantage to being made up of so many minds was that each could be given a different thing to process and finding even a significant part of the whole would be as trying to look at every grain of sand on a beach in fine detail at once. It was inevitable, if she was still under psychic observation, that some of what she was mulling over would be noticed, just as one might pick up and examine a few of those grains of sand, but the bulk would go unexamined, as next to none, in her experience, were foolish or powerful enough to attempt to read all her minds at once.

9
TRIM / Re: Rolling in the Deep [Marjorie]
« on: November 11, 2019, 04:01:56 pm »
Clearly a lie, in this age where even those living in poverty could look out a window to know the approximate time of day. One not disguised very well, but perhaps not meant to be. The doctor had no intention of sharing the time of day, it seemed. 'Or', one of her minds, a spacer by former trade, reminded her, 'she genuinely does not know. Time of day in space is arbitrary, as is time of day underground. If we are in either type of location, it may very well be that she has no way of keeping time without a watch.'. Either way, it was something to consider. Everything the doctor said would be mulled over, and was, in fact, by her multitude of minds. 

"Perhaps months, perhaps years. Perhaps even decades or centuries.". It was a non-answer, and that was intentional. The good doctor had broken the rules, and none of her minds, at this point, felt enough goodwill to indulge her. It had been the day before her capture, but that was something High Priestess had no intention of revealing for free. "Perhaps you might be willing to find your watch and my sense of time might find itself precise enough to answer in the intervening time.", she suggested, smiling in a way more suggestive of malice than good humor, "Or perhaps we are done with our interview and you shall have to call on me another day, doctor. One's patience has limits, and I find myself distressingly late for communion and prayer.". As she spoke, calculations, spread out across her minds, were made for a particular bit of offensive magic favored by her god. There was a chance the doctor would insist on continuing to question her without answering any more questions. The spell would, unless the doctor was a sociopath with no sense of self-preservation, put paid to that and illustrate the pointlessness of attempting to force her to do so, but the calculations were kept beneath the surface, hidden among the clutter of thousands of minds, in order to give the two listening in as little time to prepare as possible.

10
TRIM / Re: Rolling in the Deep [Marjorie]
« on: October 28, 2019, 05:27:15 pm »
"To see and experience so much."

It wasn't a whole lot. In the grand scheme of things, it may even have been meaningless. But such thoughtless utterances were, if used correctly, pathways. Handholds. It was not something thought so much as... felt? Perhaps? But the information was filed away all the same. It was of such thoughts that eternities were born, but a hasty action could just as easily seal such a future away irreparably. For now, nothing was said, as it was clear the remark was not so much aimed at her as thought aloud.

"I shall ask another.", High Priestess stated. In truth, her question had been answered by the declaration, and a useful bonus gained in the bargain: The doctor was not used to spontaneous prevarication. She was careful with her words, sure enough, but lies were not a natural thing to her, and it showed in the refusal to answer. By responding in such a reassertion that High Priestess need not know where she was, the doctor had inadvertently revealed that the true answer to the question would have given the information away, either by the weather being a pattern unique (or at least common enough to be well known) to the location, or by there being no weather to report. "Is it morning or evening? I have not seen a sunrise or sunset in overlong.", she asked. A throwaway question, one meant to obfuscate. No answer was expected, nor was any needed, but there was always the possibility that the doctor would slip again. In the mean time, however, most of her minds diverted themselves by attempting to predict the doctor's next question.

11
TRIM / Re: Rolling in the Deep [Marjorie]
« on: October 27, 2019, 10:42:46 pm »
"A people, Doctor, are not a thing to be summed up in a single answer. If you truly wish to know where I come from, we will be here for quite some time indeed, and your years will be gone before you ever achieve such knowledge.", High Priestess responded, "It will cost you a great deal, as well, if you wish to attain that knowledge. For now, a summary, though it may be as trying to ascertain the depth and content of an ocean by skimming a few scant droplets from a tributary flowing into it, will have to suffice.", she continued, pointedly calling to mind the layout of the hallway her cell was in with several of her minds, each noting different sets of features prominently, and none revealing that she actually knew much more of her prison's layout than she wished to let on.

"We were a simple people, by the standards of the present era.", High Priestess explained, "As far as tribes go, we were one of the larger of our world, but there were several larger. Our alliances were maintained by bartering for supplies and by marriage. I myself was to decorate my brother's arm until some son of a chief of a larger village came looking for a decoration to barter some... dowry, I believe the nobility of the Age of Castles called it... for. We hunted and grew our food, built our simple huts, and danced, drank, and fucked for sport. Our men ruled while our women adorned them like so many fur vests.". Her tone, at the mention of women being seen as decorations, bordered on venomous, "Shamans, as mages were known then, got better treatment for their stations, but the men were still men and the women still women. As the chief's daughter, my being a shaman meant only that I commanded a higher dowry and got to be an "honored" fur vest. For now, you need not know more.", she finished. If they wanted more, she would need more. More information on her whereabouts. Willing acolytes instead of unwilling puppets. Other concessions they were unlikely to make. "What is your favorite book?", she asked.

Off-world trips were regular for the ruling class. Meaning the exoduses had not been the only major space travel. For offworld trips to be so routine, even for only the elite, meant comparatively cheap, safe space travel and permanent habitations offworld. For it to be referred to as off world and not in orbit meant that such trips likely left the planet's gravitational sphere of influence. This also meant it wasn't unreasonable for a prison to be built and maintained offworld. The information was filed away for later consideration. That her interrogator was a doctor and not an officer suggested (well, confirmed) some form of research installation, which meant regular supplies of both sustenance and equipment. The information was also filed away for further consideration. "I have. Many times, in fact. I witnessed the exodus of those who would come to be called the Edani. Went with them, as well, at Kata'a Ma'rala's command. I have been aboard both the Cancer and the Libra, and am still, in fact, in both places, in a manner of speaking.", she answered, "The other question's answer is not so cheap. I'm afraid you cannot afford it, unless you are willing to offer something of irrefusable value. As I only gave one answer, I shall ask but one question: What is the weather like today?". Another probing question. She had no access to weather reports of any kind. The weather would tell her nothing. By itself.

12
TRIM / Re: Rolling in the Deep [Marjorie]
« on: October 27, 2019, 07:29:46 am »
Ah, dancing, drinking, and fucking. Though the dances and the drink changed over the millenia, and, on occasion, new ways of fucking arose, they were three facets of humanity that never truly changed. Wherever there was human civilisation, there was dance, there was drink, and there was sex. Reading was another activity in the 'stays the same despite ever changing' category of activities. Though the activity itself never changed, the stories were never the same, beyond using the same themes and some of the same artistic shorthand. If you could imagine it, there was a book or an article where it had been written about from all concerned perspectives. High Priestess had, for a time, kept a collection of stories she found particularly interesting, but that collection had been lost over the years.

"You won't hear that name from any save myself.", High Priestess responded, "It is of my native tongue, one which had not been spoken in millenia when the dragons of old were at their peak. There are no others, save Kata'a Ma'rala, who would speak it. But for me, the language would be dead.", she continued, a faint note of sadness in her tone, "The name, I believe, comes from the tides of red plant creatures -you would know them as algae- which collect on some beaches, Highly toxic, to the point where beaches have been closed because of them. They are...". Another subconscious rebuke. What she had been about to say was not to be uttered or even thought of. "A symbol of the ocean's deadliness. The name, in its original tongue, was given long before my people came to power. There is some ancient mythology connected to it, but little, if any, of it remains.", she finished, creating and sipping some water before speaking again.

"Have you ever left the planet's surface?", she asked. Twenty Questions, humans called the game. It would take many more than twenty, but time was immaterial to her. While her god, a jealous one, grew tired of subtlety in retrieving what was theirs and visiting their wrath upon those who had taken her, High Priestess was generally more patient (for a given definition), willing to, when her minds weren't debating whether or not anything of value was to be gained at all, play the long game. That meant innocuous questions meant to highlight or eliminate possibilities.

13
TRIM / Re: Rolling in the Deep [Marjorie]
« on: October 22, 2019, 09:15:35 pm »
"You asked. I answered.", High Priestess simply stated, as one might an observation of the weather or an insincere compliment uttered for the sake of pleasantries, "What do you do for sport?", she asked, again returning to asking a question every time she gave an answer. This was more of a personal curiosity, for a given definition. A number of her minds, to include what could (somewhat ambiguously) be argued to be her core, found the changes and similarities of human pastimes throughout the millennia to be a subject of great interest. It was always fascinating to see humans reinventing ways to do the same basic things, and repurposing their instincts and drives in new, yet familiar, if one removed the trappings of new technologies, ways.

Rehearsing for one's role as a parent, for example, had gone from literally being trained in how to hold and care for a child, to being given dolls and poppets to be stand-ins for children, to being given a device with a virtual creature in it and scored on how long it lived (High Priestess had kept hers alive for nearly a century, using her own electrical magic to keep the batteries charged, until the ovoid device physically stopped working and no parts were made that could fix it. It had helped comfort her for the loss of her garden, but was enjoyable on a different level, particularly to the minds that enjoyed caring for things, as well), to entire computer programs being written to simulate child-rearing, back to dolls (albeit dolls designed to mimic the genuine article so perfectly that some of the more... conservative... parents found the physical accuracy to be offensive, and other far less conservative ones simply found the crying to be annoying, but wouldn't have it any other way as they felt it made for excellent teenage birth control), and she was curious to see what the new method was.

Sports (a term High Priestess was still getting used to, as, to many of her minds, that struck her as silly as a modern-day person calling a group of activities "funs".) were another thing that often both changed and remained the same simultaneously. High Priestess could never quite get over how many different variations of "get the ball/disc from this side of the field to that side" humans could come up with. Even simply playing with balls changed over the millennia. In her time, it was a simple game, one humans today called the equally-simple name of "catch". Many sports seemed to have arisen out of combat training for methods of war that had fallen into disuse, such as wrestling, while others seemed to have come purely from the minds of people who were bored. It was all fascinating, and all of those things were being batted about her minds as she asked the question.

The criminal puppet was made to utter four words only in response to the Doctor's question: "So it would seem.". Images of a spell, made to resemble a waterjet cutter, cutting through the floor of the building shortly followed the words, along with a sense of both fury and calm confidence. Things were not going to the original plan, she knew, as surely as she knew that no plan survives enemy contact, but it had not been a defeat. The focus of the assault had shifted, and Red Tide seemed to intentionally prevent the transfer of the knowledge of what, precisely, it had shifted *to*, as if to show those listening in, as it were, only what they wanted them to see. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to have part of her god suddenly partitioned like that, but it was needful. It didn't stop a debate among her minds about simply breaking out of wherever she was being held, Red Tide's orders to stay and find out where she was first be damned. The argument was quickly quelled by a subconscious rebuke by Red Tide, a proverbial yank on the bite collar, as a reminder to fall in line.

14
Synesthesia / Re: [Open] Once again a disappointment
« on: October 22, 2019, 07:04:35 am »
As the construction worker and gardener puppets were destroyed, control of their spells were shifted to the female, who had just broken through the floor of the club when the jets bombed the gardener puppet into oblivion. The sphere was simply released, the hydrogen and oxygen contained within exploding as soon as it contacted the fire. The remaining plants were simply left alone, no longer growing at their enhanced rate. Red Tide treated the loss of both puppets as acceptable losses, with their covers having been blown and their usefulness at an end, and the puppet was made to grab the son and escape, using water pressure from below the cut-out section of floor and foundation to blast it up and out of the way before jumping in and filling the hole behind it. By the time the dragonfire destroyed the barrier the Dragon had chosen to enter through, nothing but several blasts of water and a hole filled with three layers of compressed water with two of normal, if highly toxic, water between them, left behind to slow the Pilot down as the puppet escaped to the level beneath, awaited the Dragon and its Pilot. Evaporating the water would release the (contact) toxins into the air. Many of Red Tide's minds wanted to fire on the city personally. To level it for the insult of denying Red Tide its due, or to further provoke a long-awaited war, or for simple psychotic rage. But many more saw the wisdom of accepting, provided the puppet could be made to make good its escape, the capture of the son as good enough.

Human fathers, in Red Tide's experience, rarely abandoned their children to no good end. Having never devoured a Pilot or a Dragon, Red Tide had no information that would have suggested otherwise, and, while it had heard (or devoured) rumors, the majority of its minds dismissed the idea that Dragons and their Pilots were themselves a network out of hand as propaganda. It had no way of knowing its hostage was next to useless. As it ran, the puppet was made to use the son's phone to make a call to the Pilot. "You will retrieve the Priestess. You will bring her to the wasteland and release her. If you cannot bring her, you will bring the information on her whereabouts. If you do this, your child will be returned to you unaltered. If you do not, your son is forfeit. You have one week. Do not bother tracking me. *I* will find *you*.", the puppet would be made to say as soon as he answered, in its own voice, before destroying the phone and dropping the remains to end the call. For now, it could afford to be made to run, firing water projectiles at any foolish enough to attempt to intervene, until it found more standard exits to the levels below. Staying in one place was foolish.

As the puppet was made to flee, Red Tide found one of the tunnels it had burrowed and flooded inland in ancient times, the tunnel meant as a means of crossing miles beneath the continents in order to move about unobserved. It disliked using them if it didn't need to, as the tunnels were uncomfortably hot due to their depth and there wasn't as much room for water as it would have liked, but they made serviceable passages for it to burrow to villages, later towns, and still later cities inland to feed. To do that, however, it needed to shrink itself to a size that would not draw suspicion. Over two thousand years ago, humans had developed technologies that allowed them to see underground, and so it would not do for there to be newly made tunnels as large as the ones of old. It would take time to reach the surface, but it would be able to do so if it needed to. For now, however, it would simply travel to the tunnel nearest the city the humans names Haviah and wait. It could retain its power by remaining in the tunnel, but would need to form a water cloak to do so at the surface, a spell which required far more focus than the ones it had made its puppets create.

15
Synesthesia / Re: [Open] Once again a disappointment
« on: October 21, 2019, 07:05:17 pm »
As the Pilot shot for the puppet's joints, the first few shots were ignored, leading to damage to the puppet's shoulders as the water was pushed aside by the bullets. The rest of the clip was not given such complacent disregard as the puppet was made to stop moving and lock its joints so that the water could be compressed. To the wyrm's frustration, however, this merely meant a tedious game of red light green light with the Pilot that ended in the puppet being rendered immobile by gunfire. No longer able to press its assault, it was made to create a sphere of water in front of it, then run as much electricity through it as it could muster to form hydrogen and oxygen gas inside the sphere.

The gardener puppet, meanwhile, was made to form a shell of compressed water around itself and continue keeping the dragon at bay. It had done its part in getting the son inside, but its cover was blown and now it was best used as an area denial weapon. To this end, it was made to fire off shots of water at the Pilot if he tried to go back into the building, but otherwise focus on the dragon, which represented the bigger threat, and any reinforcements.

Inside the building, the task of cutting through the floor was going smoothly without the Pilot's interference, allowing progress to be rapid. Moreso when the construction worker puppet was immobilised, leading Red Tide to increase the pressure of the stream and make the puppet break and gather more glass to use as abrasive material. As a precaution, the puppet was also made to form walls of compressed water over the windows and doors to bar entry until it could finish the hole.  A temporary measure, one that the dragon, if both puppets outside were lost, might render useless, but a stop-gap was all that was needed if the impromptu backup plan survived to fruition.

16
Synesthesia / Re: [Open] Once again a disappointment
« on: October 20, 2019, 07:13:13 pm »
As the dragon burned the vines, the gardener puppet was made to add water magic to the wood magic, producing thicker vines saturated with water. They were slower to move, but the water absorbed heat, allowing the plants to withstand the dragon fire slightly longer, though they, too, were burned. A second packet of seeds, ripped open and thrown as soon as the dragon retreated, allowed the attack to continue, with one important difference: The Pilot had dropped his son to fight off the construction worker puppet, allowing the gardener puppet to focus on using wood magic to cause the vines to drag the son away from the Pilot, each group handing the human off to the next as they were made to grow toward the building, where a pool of water magic waited, the spell designed to launch the human into the building.

As for the construction worker puppet, it was made to continue fighting. Water was one of a group of substances that were densest in their liquid forms. As a fluid, water was naturally nearly incompressible, to the point that high-powered weapons had little to no penetration when fired into water, the bullets instead shattering. Pistols and other low-powered firearms could penetrate with some efficacy, but that was why Red Tide had made its puppet compress the water using magic. The armor it had formed was as dense as iron, but could not be compressed by normal weapons. The magic holding it in place left no room for the water to move except where Red Tide needed it to for its puppet to move, when its puppet was moving, leaving a surface as hard as granite. The bullets from the weapon flattened out as they struck the water, then fell to the ground. The armor was not invulnerable. It was not proof against heavier weapons designed with armor penetration in mind, or, with proper timing, the joints where motion necessitated the water being less compressed in order to allow for movement could be pierced by even normal small arms fire. Dragon fire, ironically enough, or even sustained high heat in general, would also cook the puppet inside the armor, as the water sacrificed much of its ability to absorb heat by being so compressed, a side effect of magic which forced aside natural laws, and this was one of several reasons it had been necessary to drive the dragon out of its range. Even as it was, some magic had had to be used to put out the fires when the dragon backed off. The puppet's movements were, with study, somewhat predictable, being a series of light, swift blows with slower, more powerful ones thrown in here and there with the intent being to catch the Pilot off guard by altering the timing of the strikes, while still keeping him busy.

The gardener puppet would be made to take over the duty of keeping the dragon out of range as the construction worker puppet fought the Pilot as soon as the Pilot's son was in range to be launched back into the building, while the puppet that had originally spotted the Pilot continued cutting through the floor. It was crucial that that puppet escape with the new bargaining chip.

17
Synesthesia / Re: [Open] Once again a disappointment
« on: October 15, 2019, 06:18:31 pm »
The decision was made when the psychic had managed to slip out of the trap and out of one of the windows. There would be a change in targets. The roar of the dragon meant following the Pilot out would be foolhardy, though two of its puppets who had just now arrived at the scene would stay and engage the dragon and Pilot. They were a distraction that could become the main force if ignored. One puppet, a gardener by trade, threw the contents of a packet of seeds out into the street, wood magic focused through it causing the seeds to grow with a speed even the fastest-growing plants of old had never matched.

The seeds were of a nonthreatening flower species favored as decorations by humans, admired and grown for its beauty, but Red Tide's absolute command of wood magic enabled the seeds to be made to grow instead into a much stronger version of a magical species of carnivorous vine which tangled the feet of its victims and grew around them, killing its prey through either starvation or strangulation in a matter of days. The variant that could, in ancient times, be found in nature had been difficult enough to cut. The ones grown by Red Tide were as titanium alloy, and even the branches of the vines that weren't being guided toward the Pilot and his dragon by wood magic were drawn toward sources of carbon dioxide and heat, several unattended vines ensnaring running vehicles, lights, and other heat sources.

The other freshly arrived puppet was a construction worker by trade, and this puppet was made to use water magic to cover itself in water compressed beyond its natural limit, then rush in to attack, as if to beat the Pilot to death. It was also made to, as it did so, create and launch compressed water projectiles at over 10 times the speed of sound at the dragon while the puppet that had originally been chasing the Pilot was made to gather all the water and glass in the building, use water magic to break the glass up into tiny particles, then use the particle-infused water, compressed into a 90,000PSI stream,  to begin cutting through the floor of the club. If it could not capture the Pilot, the Pilot's offspring could be taken as a bargaining chip. Or simply to punish the Pilot.

18
Solar System / Re: Signed, Sealed, Not Quite Delivered [Rhi]
« on: September 16, 2019, 09:46:42 pm »
<Captain, when I said build, I was being literal. Very literal. Surely you noticed the frame sitting in the corner? It's for an android. Lehktu-380 modified to resemble a Karmid rather than a Hestari, from the looks of it. I recognise the wiring and servos from that time I let her take my second's old maid droid apart.>, Rhevi responded, a faint hint of rebuke in his tone, <Her kind reproduce sexually, like the majority of sapient species. Given her apparent level of interest in finding a mate, I'd say either she's trying to keep her instincts quiet, or she wants a child without having to deal with courtship. She may also have resigned herself to her stature limiting her options.>.

The question of armor-piercing weapons was one Rhevi thought a moment before answering. On the one hand, most of what Sarah had could be readily modified to defeat armor, most often, in the case of ranged weapons, by the use of ammunition designed for the purpose. On the other hand, some weapons had been specifically designed with that in mind. <You'll want to go with either that spike launcher or that plasma lance, if you plan on getting close. Those maces would be good, too, provided you can lift and swing them comfortably. The railgun's good for long-range, provided you can get it braced well, but it takes a while to set up or take down. If you get ambushed, you may have to leave it behind.>, he advised, <Provided you take some armor-piercing ammunition, that pistol there should be a good fit in your hands. I believe it is based on a human weapon. I'd recommend either wadcutters or dart-tip. Take a few extra clips, too.  Running dry without an already-loaded backup clip is a good way to get killed or captured. Same with that assault rifle. Both should serve for short range and medium range respectively.>

19
Sassy Juice / Re: Outer Space Food Truck {Any aboard the Sassy Juice}
« on: August 10, 2019, 03:46:14 pm »
Sarah listened patiently to Anima's explanation, calmly noting that Ykan and, more importantly, Ari seemed to have gotten it together. As the AI explained how she manipulated sub-boson particles, she found that the explanation was far more satisfying. Subspace was almost entirely composed of such particles, which meant a theoretically infinite supply of mass in any given area, if she had the capacity to access it. Sarah had often spent hurry up and wait portions of repairs reading Hestari and Draconian translations of science journals, and Subspace was something she had often wanted to study. That said, she had found the bit about the universe being in danger a bit dramatic. <I doubt that. It's trivial to run a psyche eval on an AI, and, like I said, there are already AIs that smart and smarter. Capabilities are what matter. An AI that cannot access the nigrum lotus can't use it. You can know all you want, but, without the tools, doing becomes impossible. But enough about that.>, she responded, her lower teeth bared in a grin. She had a lot to consider after today, and food to finish. For now, she would observe, unless something else caught her attention.

20
Synesthesia / Re: [Open] Once again a disappointment
« on: August 07, 2019, 09:56:23 pm »
As its quarry continued to flee, his options for escape became fewer and fewer, even if the pursuit of the puppet was slowed by having to cut fully through the doors instead of merely cutting them free. That meant it became easier to control the chase. Red Tide expanded its sight as the puppet was made to continue the pursuit, then focused lightning magic on the next doors in the Pilot's path. Within seconds, both were welded shut, their handles glowing hot throughout the process as a means of preventing the Pilot from opening them. Next, two other likely doors got the same treatment.

As it continued to weld doors shut in pairs, Red Tide took care to create clouds of sleeping gas in every pathway its puppets native to the area knew of except ones beneficial to its goal of trapping the Pilot. Capturing the Pilot alert was no longer an option, but he would need to be lead to a more convenient location. A location better suited to the puppets, but not good for the dragon. Direct confrontation with the dragon, while useful, was best avoided, for now.

As it planned its next move, Red Tide turned its attention to the doctor studying its High Priestess. "Perhaps not, Doctor.", the puppet she had given it was made to say, the voice coming from him a combination of many, many more voices than the High Priestess's, "But he will know enough. Many pieces of knowledge may mean nothing taken separately, but a puzzle is made to be combined, not looked at piece by piece. Your species forgets that it is the small clues, the seemingly insignificant details, that add up. A Pilot will be in the best position to know these clues.". The criminal remained silent afterwards, until her response, which sparked a, "So it would seem", and then nothing. It had no more words for her, and its attention was needed here and now. Its High Priestess would be able to handle that situation. One further thought was spared for that situation, as an order to her given on a subconscious level: any question of its location was to be met by demonstration of the uselessness of the answer on the psychics listening in on the goings-on.

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