Arbiter
Level 1
In earlier days, the pilot had been an enigmatic figure who chose actions over words.
Even as the corruption seethed through every fiber of its being, the Arbiter of Cevanti—its form that of the hero war pilot known as Ember Ramsey—marched toward the desolate installation. For untold ages, this facility had remained concealed, even though it was within a few weeks march of Markov. It was here, buried deep beneath the surface, that some of the final horrors of the End lay in sweet repose. On a world of tombs, this was the only one that should never be opened.
Yet, the entity that approached the hidden gateways was no longer the Arbiter it had once been, and its intentions were no longer amicable or even apathetic. Darkness seethed and even scalded the air around the lithe, spandex-clad figure as she waved a hand and caused the mountain side to quite literally melt out of existence. As it did, it revealed the final resting place of the Fade.
“The time has come,” Ember’s voice was a twisted facsimile of how it should have been. Her eyes, once fierce and unparalleled throughout the kingdom, were now dark pools of boiling corruption. Her mind, once her sharpest asset, was now a fetid pool of nihilism and ill-intentions. “The End is upon us. We must let the cycle begin anew.”
Floating up into the sky, Ember literally melded into the looming, inert machine that had been entombed in the mountain for generations. As she vanished, the Doomsday Mech—the Fade—started to whir and hum to life as its systems started to boot up, one by one. Once rusted servos screeched as they shed the by-products of the machine’s former inertia, and stepping forward, the Fade tore apart its tomb as it stepped out into the sunlight.
From within the towering, mechanoid machine, a single will drove it forward.
The End is here.
Private First-Class Steve Nessing exhaled as he walked the small pathway that connected the two turret nests he was responsible for during his shift. He was in the northwest quadrant of Markov, which placed him in one of the least enjoyable zones to have to ‘turret watch’, because most incursions by wild zoids came from the southern points of the city. Up here, they rarely dealt with anything more ferocious than the occasional storm cloud.
As he finished his eighty sixth lap of his shift, the man heard the radio crackled to life. “Hey, Steve, you around?”
“Oh, great, what now…” the soldier spun on his heels and jogged back to the ‘communications station’ – in reality, it was a handheld radio on a partially rusted end table, but his superiors had a knack for using jargon everywhere they could. “Go for Private Nessing.”
“Have you check out the radar lately?”
“No, why?”
“You’re lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree out there … you need to look ASAP.”
“What the fuck is a Christmas tree?”
“Just verify what we’re seeing here in Central with what’s on your radar and do it on the fucking hop!”
Keeping the headset on, Steve scooped up the rest of the radio and made for the little cabin that stood at the midsection of his two turrets. By the time he was reaching for the handle, he didn’t need to bother, because both of the nearby turrets started to belch out automatic fire, startling him almost enough to send him toppling over the side of the wall.
Steve turned his head slowly.
Probably a clique out, a massive black mass was moving toward the shield wall. Within a few seconds, that force would be in among the outerlying, unprotected bits of the city, and the turrets would lose a lot of their efficiency until it was too late to deal with a force of that scale.
“Private Nessing? Can you confirm? … Private Nessing!”
“Uhh, duhh,” the man’s words were a jumbled, frenetic mess in his mouth. After taking a moment to collect himself, he responded. “We’re under attack.”
“How many, Private?”
“Too many, Sir.”
“We’re reading hundreds of signatures down here.”
“Thousands.” The Private lifted his eyes as he saw the enormous shape that stood behind the slow-moving mass of corrupted zoids and akata. The black mech was unlike anything the soldier had ever seen or even read about. “I think this is the end,” he whispered as something flashed on the shoulder of that enormous mech.
A moment later, the shack exploded next to the soldier, and he was flung far back into the city.
Even as the corruption seethed through every fiber of its being, the Arbiter of Cevanti—its form that of the hero war pilot known as Ember Ramsey—marched toward the desolate installation. For untold ages, this facility had remained concealed, even though it was within a few weeks march of Markov. It was here, buried deep beneath the surface, that some of the final horrors of the End lay in sweet repose. On a world of tombs, this was the only one that should never be opened.
Yet, the entity that approached the hidden gateways was no longer the Arbiter it had once been, and its intentions were no longer amicable or even apathetic. Darkness seethed and even scalded the air around the lithe, spandex-clad figure as she waved a hand and caused the mountain side to quite literally melt out of existence. As it did, it revealed the final resting place of the Fade.
“The time has come,” Ember’s voice was a twisted facsimile of how it should have been. Her eyes, once fierce and unparalleled throughout the kingdom, were now dark pools of boiling corruption. Her mind, once her sharpest asset, was now a fetid pool of nihilism and ill-intentions. “The End is upon us. We must let the cycle begin anew.”
Floating up into the sky, Ember literally melded into the looming, inert machine that had been entombed in the mountain for generations. As she vanished, the Doomsday Mech—the Fade—started to whir and hum to life as its systems started to boot up, one by one. Once rusted servos screeched as they shed the by-products of the machine’s former inertia, and stepping forward, the Fade tore apart its tomb as it stepped out into the sunlight.
From within the towering, mechanoid machine, a single will drove it forward.
The End is here.
Private First-Class Steve Nessing exhaled as he walked the small pathway that connected the two turret nests he was responsible for during his shift. He was in the northwest quadrant of Markov, which placed him in one of the least enjoyable zones to have to ‘turret watch’, because most incursions by wild zoids came from the southern points of the city. Up here, they rarely dealt with anything more ferocious than the occasional storm cloud.
As he finished his eighty sixth lap of his shift, the man heard the radio crackled to life. “Hey, Steve, you around?”
“Oh, great, what now…” the soldier spun on his heels and jogged back to the ‘communications station’ – in reality, it was a handheld radio on a partially rusted end table, but his superiors had a knack for using jargon everywhere they could. “Go for Private Nessing.”
“Have you check out the radar lately?”
“No, why?”
“You’re lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree out there … you need to look ASAP.”
“What the fuck is a Christmas tree?”
“Just verify what we’re seeing here in Central with what’s on your radar and do it on the fucking hop!”
Keeping the headset on, Steve scooped up the rest of the radio and made for the little cabin that stood at the midsection of his two turrets. By the time he was reaching for the handle, he didn’t need to bother, because both of the nearby turrets started to belch out automatic fire, startling him almost enough to send him toppling over the side of the wall.
Steve turned his head slowly.
Probably a clique out, a massive black mass was moving toward the shield wall. Within a few seconds, that force would be in among the outerlying, unprotected bits of the city, and the turrets would lose a lot of their efficiency until it was too late to deal with a force of that scale.
“Private Nessing? Can you confirm? … Private Nessing!”
“Uhh, duhh,” the man’s words were a jumbled, frenetic mess in his mouth. After taking a moment to collect himself, he responded. “We’re under attack.”
“How many, Private?”
“Too many, Sir.”
“We’re reading hundreds of signatures down here.”
“Thousands.” The Private lifted his eyes as he saw the enormous shape that stood behind the slow-moving mass of corrupted zoids and akata. The black mech was unlike anything the soldier had ever seen or even read about. “I think this is the end,” he whispered as something flashed on the shoulder of that enormous mech.
A moment later, the shack exploded next to the soldier, and he was flung far back into the city.
The City of Markov is under siege by an army of corrupted feral zoids and akata (details in the Wiki if you need them -- they're like shadow monsters... shadow monsters given even more hideous might by Darksied corruption). At the rear of this invasion force is the Fade, the 'doomsday mech' of the world's Arbiter.
Over the next 4 weeks, people will have an opportunity to take part is the protection of the city, which entails the defense of the shield/energy walls, which are Markov's main defensive fortification. To participate, you will write in this thread. Fighting will take place primarily in the regions of Markov outside the walls, as its protectors try to prevent the horde of corrupted mecha-fauna from crashing against the dome and compromising it. Player characters and NPCs are allowed to post in this thread, partaking in the defense of the city. Feel free to craft your own subplots during the siege, which will spread from the northwest part of the city to encompass most of Markov. Please be aware that posting in this thread means you consent to the possibility that your character, summon, minions, or base might be killed/destroyed/damaged. This falls under the purvey of 'staff event', even if the only prize is likely 'You get to keep writing a little longer on Cevanti'.
Staff will read along and can offer feedback or questions as needed in the Discord (the Unamking AMA or smol-questions, if the AMA goes away at some point over the next few weeks), but otherwise we're letting the interested members craft this story as they please. The Fade will remain near the rear and seems content to watch the carnage, while occasionally shelling a fortified position. You're more than welcome to go commit suicide-by-Arbiter if you would like.
In late September, staff will lock this thread, review it, and determine the fate of Markov. If people fought for its protection, the city might be able to 'check' the forces of the Corrupted Arbiter. If the defense wasn't quite up to the challenge? Well... there are still a few other Worlds you can call home?