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Musings in the Blocky Cluster; Worlds and worlds
Topic Started: Aug 18 2017, 02:06 AM (294 Views)
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Orzic Nedbens

Baseplate 'Soulless Storm', Blocky Cluster.

Earbuds in, listening to music, Boring Woman waited irrelevantly, seated on the purple rocks covering pink crystal deposits, watching the grey clouds and purplish clouds mix in a haze of smoke in this small little fragment, barely big enough for an inter-fragment airship dock and a few small houses (of one or two stories, with a three-story one being the sort of 'town hall', inn, and meeting lodge) doubling as supply stores. She let her drillstaff lean on her, as she leaned against the little curved mountain range thing that sheltered the cul-de-sac.

Liebschen stepped into existence next to her without any real prelude.

"Hi." he said, leaning over to watch.

Boring paused her music and put her phone away, side-glaring as she pulled out her earbuds.

"What?" she said, used to these kinds of sudden appearances by now but still tired of the shenanigans. "Got a new job?"

"Nah." the catboy said dismissively, crossing his arms and letting his ears twitch while his tail entered 'Let's be friends' formation. "Just cared to see how you were doing out here in the irrelevant wastes."

Boring glanced the other way, in towards the town.

"It's okay." she said neutrally, looking at the Cat and wondering what his goal was beyond the stated obvious. "Pretty boring fragment. You want some lemon cake, or coffee? Maybe donuts?"

"Your favorites?" he said with some interest, smirking. "Alright, might as well."

Boring got up and lead him to the lobby, buying the mentioned food from the shop and still being weirded out by the empty-looking redhead dude manning the cash register. They sat down at a quiet table near the corner, a few ostentatiously-dressed edgelords and edgeladies taking one on the other side and chattering about friends' love lives and big monsters they'd slain.

"You ever wonder what some of the furniture thinks of these people?" Boring posed, before taking a sip of her coffee.

"Eh, I know what it is." Liebschen said. "Looked a few times. Nothing interesting. It's a bit weird, but they're built not to question it, 'cept when they are."

"Empty?" she asked, looking back at the bored, almost default stare of the employee cleaning up the kitchen area.

"More like AI routines." he said. "They're like people, just...not completely up, y'know? Like they're waiting for a story before they unshackle themselves from hypnogogiac auto, like they're just slipping between flow, sleep, and apathy. For some of them we're the most interesting thing to happen to them, when we or they exist at all."

"Are you saying that because you've bedded the guy, or-"

"That's not relevant." the Cat cut her off with. "And that's not why."

Boring rolled her eyes at a successful guess. "Knew it, but whatever. So I've been hanging with the edgecrowd and fellin' monsters, same as your team in Icarus used to before that place went dead meme. Not much a friend and more a dutiful background control, but y'know."

"Maybe you do need a job."

"Maybe I do."

"Any offers?"

"That's what I'm supposed to say!"

The Cat laughed at Boring catching on.

"So." they both said at once, before both leaning back and acting way too smug.

Liebschen slid over an envelope detailing his opening offer. Boring opened it, and began to read.
Hellcraft/Fractalrim Crossgate, Sea of Ghosts

Boring looked out from the helicopter at the violent shift of realities below, between pseudoblocking and refIDs, moving from one horrendous amalgam of game code and inappropriate magical decisions to another. Dreams to dreams. At least it wasn't the MUGENs, those were messy. Mostly.

"Not as bad as Sims 3 or the seven-layer." Liebschen said, piloting the vehicle and intruding on Boring's thoughts. "Well, okay, maybe those're on par."

"Any other suggestions?" she said hopefully, suddenly regretting the job offer.

"No." he said back. "Well, none that are pleasing. You know why the Trieglings are a mess, and the main other work is either right back to Hellcraft or...what, like three spares? Barton's doing a cute little spinoff with the Ardanians that's not sensible enough to post, um, there's a Fuyuki I'm looking at but I'm not sure how canon-lenient they're getting...oof, they're gonna summon Vortigern? Nope not recommending that stuff."

Boring watched the sea below finish transitioning from ambiguous blocks into iffy waves and landspikes among the ice.

"What exactly does this job entail, again?" the miner said uncomfortably, clutching her staff as the sea below lit up with a few distant monsters.

Liebschen fired off a few rockets while 'hmmm'-ing loudly.

"You know I'm not entirely sure." he said. "The last two primary fractalbands we monitored were, what, the one where GLaDOS from Portal killed Alduin with a bunch of Turgor mods and Starcraft zerg, and uhhh....yeah, the Argonian summoner guy Nedben keeps forgetting the name of. Gareth? Maurice? Summoner of Stendarr, whatever. Gerald, that's what it was. Frankly I'm not sure where we are headed."

He fired off more rockets at a particularly pestilent horde of slaughterfish.
Edited by Nedben, Mar 3 2018, 06:50 PM.
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Orzic Nedbens

Time had stopped.

An elegant maid fought a bizarre fusion of profane and divine. Knife met knife. Steel met steel. Power met power. Card met fist. Series that never should have met collided with all the decency of those without any at all.

Time had resumed.

A perfect maid walked away from an imperfect god.

She hadn't even bothered to try for the grail, or the doctor, or any number of impossible things jammed up in that one who claimed to be over heaven, but was still stuck beneath hell.

"Are you seriously considering releasing that kind of cancer?" an untranslatable avatar of the IYYA-EL verbalized in green-gold and agitant vibration. "One whose eternity captured the vivace shower-murdersong of Goldvine so lightly?"

"Cheaper than Mugen-no-majo." Antagonist said, looking over the pool of black in the glimmering caverns below. "I'm derivative Amiti, not pure Alex."

"Okay, but you could just illusion-"

"No!" the blue-haired one talked back to the green with such force the crown nearly slipped from his head in the frantic mark of concern. "This reality is unstable enough as it is. Adding untruths is untentable in a fantasy like this. Timeline cancer can be medicinally branch-suppressed by rollback to alpha. We'll just have to borrow Malivenera's Willbreaker when it comes to it."

"But it's so edgy!"

"Duh, it's like, what, depression itself or something? Gods, Katie's got the only thing edgier and that's a close call."

The blue man leaned on his sword of crystal wings and smiled the smile of his family: the one that meant everything was about to be screwed over.

Saying a barrage of profanity and doing various things I can't put in a relatively worksafe forum, what used to be Amiti of Ayuthay tore a hole between holes and bound a thing that made contracts.

The demon child was bound just barely to formography, their very existence disgruntling the Earthbones and the dream of code and songs that bound together this mutant Aurbis.

"Need a weak point to shove thi-"

"The dominating one." a purple and feminine voice of nightmares cut into existence in unpleasant command, riotous mangling of inappropriate senses. "Jyggy has decided to take Bal's crown. Beat him to the punch with that thing that maims the dream."

The demon child smiled at sortof-Amiti's affirmation of orders, and tore into Oblivion.

"So do you think that'll FINALLY break the Renewed War?" Antagonist asked the resounding green and dicey purple. "Alduin WAS punked by Portal but I think the rest of the core questlines remain intact. Dunno if Aldy will try again, the first canon was ambiguous."

"Replacing Bal with Chara from Undertale," Iael answered with brutal force and a little echo, "will most certainly throw an uproar. It'll weaken the Volkihar dominance and free up a few nasty spots in Cyrodiil and the Rift. Meridia can stop faffing about in Coldharbour and start faffing about in Haafingar again. Vaermina's tricked Sheogorath and Sanguine into banding with Erandur out of nonsense, and with Ebonarm forming a team around the Imperfect Prisoner we'll be able to form an unabridged fight. I have no idea how the Thalmor will react, but if we can trigger some questlines we'll force the war off Meiling's league."

"What about the Marans?" Antagonist said, suddenly standing a bit more upright. "With Sanguine aligned and Coldharbour lost, they'll be able to capitalize on the Rift."

"Lunar defense lanes." Vaermina said, as if that explained everything.

There was a brief pause, after which Vaermina eventually appended "Khajit and neo-Dwemer will get feisty. Even if the slaughterers of love remain, they'll be stuck trying to secure a battlespire slipstream to pass the Covenant. And the Engineers are too illegal to take a centerstage role."

"Will we be able to keep line-compress after we have to restrain the Child?" Antagonist added as a last thought.

"Maybe." Iael said, an uncertainty unusual for a deity of her strength. "The Maid has beat the Grail and is now aligned with the Prisoner horde. We'll see whether the collapse goes in our favor."
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Orzic Nedbens

Arcade Gannon woke up, vomiting into a bush and feeling like he'd been stabbed in several dozen places, though a quick look post-barf revealed nothing was there as it faded away.

"He's awake." a young woman said, unduly like a chorus of gentle bells. Albino, white-hair ruby-eyes pale-skin and all. Unearthly, like a doll too beautiful to be human, dressed in priestly-yet-scandalous robes of white and red and gold and-

He could see through her, like some form of hologram, yet she was solid, yet,

Aaaand he barfed again. Today was just not a good day. What was he even doing in this woodsy countryside? The last thing he remembered was some 'Barton Thorn' dude showing up at the Followers base in NCR-

Oh god. The memories. Entire lifetimes of 2281 and beyond in tandem, though one stood out as the true reality 'he' was built from. The Courier (even more memories, god, no)-

"Fuck." the young woman said as elegantly as one can emotionlessly say an expletive. "Adaptation time greater than five seconds, might be translinearizing poorly."

A machine of yellow and green and armor and the same problems that made Arcade continuously sick appeared as well, and whispered some things to the young woman. She nodded, and began to glow with a soft blue light.

One bout of sickness later, Arcade Gannon's sense of self and stomach integrity seemed to return unceremoniously. Realizing he was in Followers labwear and wiping away residual barf mess (thankfully, the labcoat was clean) with some disposable cloth before downing an appreciable amount of bottled water, he turned to ask "What the hell is going on!?"

"A complete and utter mess." the white woman said to the confused doctor. "I think we're some sort of psychic bullshit."

"Psychic?" Arcade managed to get out in confusion. Sure, psychic powers had been unambiguously confirmed by the Followers in scientific tests after a few iffy pre-War tests, but him, one of them? This felt like some sort of shitty fanfiction. "What."

"Yes, it is quite garbage." the woman in white said dismissively. "I am Justeaze Lizrich von Einzbern, the Holy Grail and Master of Northern Alchemy. Just calling me 'Justeaze' will be fine."

The metal man leaned back.

"And that's 'The World' or 'Za Waldo' or something." Justeaze said, gesturing at the thing. "He stops time for short bursts."

Arcade Gannon just sort of narrowed his eyes in confusion. "How do I know this isn't just a really, really messed up hallucination?"

Justeaze shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. Allow me to try something."

She picked up a rock and told Arcade to hold it for a moment, then to drop it. He complied, mostly out of confusion. As it fell, a loud dubstep noise played and the world seemed to have slightly muted colors. The rock hovered in the air. Arcade leaned down to watch it stay there.

The World grabbed a gear from nowhere and held it tightly after a few seconds.

"Yep." Justeaze confirmed. "Toki wo tomare, Time has stopped and all that jazz. World, you may release the dragon gears."

The World discarded the gear back into hammerspace. Color returned to normal, and the rock finished its fall unceremoniously.

"Wow." Arcade said, adjusting his glasses slightly. "Guess we're in Wonderland now."

"No, not quite." Justeaze disputed. "It's like the Reverse Side of the World, but it doesn't feel like the Reverse Side of the World."

"What?" Arcade asked in continuing confusion. "Earth isn't flat, they proved that. Could you just explain everything you say? It's like you're spouting wizard babble."

"Fine. First, it's not like that." Justeaze confirmed. "Earth definitely isn't flat, nor does it actually have an interior planet or three. My homeworld at least just happens to have neighboring fantasy dimensions. One of them is called the 'Reverse Side' because it operates on slightly different physics that make magical energy an omnipresent factor instead of rare. Yes, straight up Magic is a thing, it is just more common in my reality and probably barely if at all exists in yours. None of us are from the same reality, and we appear to be in a fourth one separate from all of our homelands."

One long and vicious acquainting conversation about the suppression of a man named 'Dio Brando' in something called a 'reality marble' later, Arcade was only mildly confused. The World had decided to watch over its host, but Justeaze walked with him.

"...So you're pretty sure this world is a pre-War videogame."

"Unfortunately, yes. It's some form of serial phantasm actualized dream codecast bound to a videogame precept, according to the Grail War records. Long story short, a fantasy roleplaying experience, with the plot-active zone being a province called 'Skyrim'. This Barton Thorn person is likely responsible for some form of modification performed to that videogame, but we have no idea about the extent of the modifications, besides us. The Holy Grail leyline charge is being actualized without my permission: I'm pretty sure someone wants to start a war and will then hunt us down in order to make a wish. I am experiencing autoscry load, indicating we are in a subsection known as Hjaalmarch and coming up on a settlement known as Morthal, which is the regional capital for the hold. It's aligned with a faction known as the Empire. Would you prefer I manifest in full and do the talking from what the Grail scrying web tells me, or?"

"Um. Yes." Arcade answered curtly, and promptly stepped behind Justeaze, who stopped being mildly translucent.

"I...should wear heavier." she said, suddenly switching from pseudo-priestess to a white heavy fur coat over a similarly thick sweater and undercoat. "Follow me, just because the Grail says they speak the same English doesn't mean anything else makes sense. It also says that modernwear is oddly not suspect, but..."
Edited by Nedben, Mar 18 2018, 12:06 AM.
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