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I don't care.

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I don't care.

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Total Members Voted: 0

Voting closed: January 04, 2021, 02:28:47 am

[ZBridges]

One choice leads to martyrdom, and the other to our rightful execution, but which is which?  My guess is that consuming the Dust will lead to tyranny, and refusing it will result in our death at Magnus's hands.  Both choices lead to our death, but what about the others on this planet?  I don't think they will survive if Magnus defeats us.  I suggest taking the Dust.

[King Zultan]

Just because the vision shows that stuff doesn't mean we can't change what happens as it hasn't happened yet, but if eating the dust makes us more likely to beat Magnus than I say we eat it.

Where's the smell of pineapples coming from?

[ZBridges]

I'm not sure, but I think it's coming from the dead Ascended.  The scents became weaker once we dominated the Dust.

[19_EgarAlnis]

(( http://www.kumc.edu/wwi/medicine/gas-in-the-great-war.html ))

[King Zultan]

I guess I never spent enough time huffing poison gas.

[Eschar]

It seems the vision means our "tyrant's death" will happen after the arrival of Magnus, implying we can defeat him with this Dust. As a fellow advisor noted, we're also responsible for keeping everyone else here safe from Magnus. And perhaps we can still wrest some sort of life from destiny's grip even then. Notice the second vision didn't actually show our death.

So I vote we assimilate the Dust. There will be consequences, but we'll burn cross those bridges when we get to them.

Phoebe yourself, any thoughts?

[19_EgarAlnis]

[-]...I am your dutiful daughter. This power could help us greatly. I cannot deny it, despite the cost.

"Leave me." You call to your Crusaders. The dutiful stoics bow their heads and leave the cryosleep bay. You hear their boots echoing on the metal floors. They fade, and you're left with your Predecessors. You open the caskets and stare down at the half-mummified bodies. Faces like a ghastly reflection stare back at you. Faded red and faded green hang limply over drawn and stretched faces. Patches of chlorine gas and rusted iron dot their respective bodies.

[20][2 4 18]
You run the equation, forcing the arithmetic of your willpower upon the sleeping corpses that lie at your mercy. Your override the Iron Ascended's flagging willpower, separating the Dust from the corpse. There is a struggle, but it is brief. Electromagnetic forces converge and sharpen. It begins as a faint stream, then becomes a cloud of black, smokey dust. You keep it suspended by the hydrogen atoms in the complex nano-circuitry.

The Chlorine Ascended provides more of a struggle, and your nose drips blood from the battle. Your stomach and head throb painfully, but you do not leave a task unfinished. You push through the agony, and the Dust flows free.


[17-5]Then you screw your eyes shut. Your mesmer fails as the  Dust of the dead flows over your black skin. Pain, like millions of bone-deep, stabbing needles, threatens to drive you to your knees. You scream until your vocal cords tear themselves apart, but you focus on the arithmetic.  Just as your screaming doesn't end when you rip your vocal cords, the pain does not pass when you finish the equation. It only intensifies.

[12-5][6-5] Iron and hydrochloric acid twist themselves together uncontrollably from your skin. The iron itches and you quickly stop the process before too much of your skin is marked with rust by the eddies of untamed willpower. But the acid -- the acid burns away flesh, however, and your bloody tears fall to the silvery metal as you lay upon the cold, hissing floor of the Arkship.

You cannot contain your willpower, and your wings twist themselves free -- shifting and curling. They darken red, until you're dwarfed by the blood-colored 'feathers' of a wild corruption of your natural arithmetic.

[6-5][14-5]Memories of a dozen past lives burn through your brain, threatening to override your own personality matrixes-- 0̴̨̡̧̧̢̢͖̗͇̮̯͇̺̘̜̳̮̩̳͎̖͓̱͇̩̫̪͈͎̺̽̉̆̿̒͂͌̄̔̔̎̄̑̋̚͠ͅ0̶̨̨̲̥̝̞̹̫̞͇̟̟͇̫̻͇̫̭̰͕̣̱̭̜̺̥͓̺͓̹̘̝̗̖̘̳̱̩͇͎̹̫̮̩͑͊̎̆̍̈́̃̈́͆͒̐̎̉


You rise into the air unbidden upon 'bloody' wings, ripping great swathes of iron from the ship that surrounds you. Great twisting wires of rapidly oxidizing metal. Chlorine gas and hydrochloric acid swirl around you, melting what you don't rip apart. Hydrogen fires flare uncontrollably. You scream your psychological agony -- 0̶̢̧̩̗̬̲̫͔̭͉̬̹͈͈̃̒͒͌̔͗̾̽̑͐̄͘͜0̷̛̛̛͇̹̲̉̀̒̇̂̓̋


--you lay upon the ground, unable to control the sobs that wrack your scarred and acid-burned frame.

The Arkship is ruined -- melted wreckage and twisting metal. Stars hang heavy through the cracks in the ceiling of the hangar. Puddles of acid and cooling slag surround you -- so too do the corpses of the Crusader Platoon. They hang impaled from twisting metal. They lay burned and scattered. Flesh melted down to bone. Splattered with molten iron or ripped savagely apart. Blood covers you, and you know it isn't all yours.

Gods--help me. You curl in on yourself, ignoring the pain of your mutilated flesh.I couldn't--I couldn't stop them. I couldn't stop myself. Please.please.please p̶̧̨̫̹͖̮̩͖̰͎̦͉̮̼̓̓͗̇͆̇̽̊̄̚͜͝ͅͅļ̸̱͚͚̟̜͎͎̙͖̹̮͖̮̩͎̥̗͈̼͕̝̖̤͓̱̪͙̱̱̓̈́͜͜e̴͓̫̬͙͎̟̤͙̗̬̗͖̼̳̹̰̿̅ȁ̵̠̠̼̣͍͍̻̜̟̯͙̠͈̤͍͇͖̟͕͓̝͛͂̽̒̂̆̈̎͗̉̎̓̾͘͝s̵̡̧̡̡̧̡̹̫͇̠͚̝̘͖̦̹̜̬̩͉̹̜̦̤̼͈̯͚̥̩̘̦̝̳̫̑͐̓̈̓̇̈̊͆̽̐͗ę̵̥̱̹̭̪̞͉͎͚̳͇͙͚͈̪̙͙͓̥̮̜̪͙̪̝̓͊̽̔͒̋̆̽͘͜ͅh̷̡̢̥̠̥͖̟̫̪̣̺̹̼̞͔̟͉̬̲̞͈͇̫̲̠̓̈̌̾̐̈́̉̉̌̾̈́̒͋͒̃̓̀̌̍̀͂͐͗̿͛̏̓͆͋͂̓̚͝͝ͅe̶̡̡̧̛̘̼̱͖̲̥̘̪̼̓̊̀̈́̾̂̈́̿̌͐̓͆̏̈́͝͝l̷̢̧̨̢͈̳͚͔̻̠̻̗̀̏͒̇̃͋̏̎̚p̵̧̢̨̨̤͓͙̟̞̖̜͉̘̭͋͑͊̈́̇̈́̌͊͒̇̈́̎̋͌̔͗̍̎̊̄́̈́̄͒̊͘m̵̨̡̢̨̪̞͔͚͇͚̫͍̤̖̘̭͉̮̜̗̬̖̯̓͋͐͂̂̈́̀̆͋̀̈́̑̈͑͗̇͘͝͝ͅể̶̩͖͖̯͎̥͙̲͓̤͊̈́̓̎͘.̴̨̡̡̡͙͎̯͚̹̝̱͕̤̻̗̥̪̬͗̐̇̄̎̔̈̅̅̿́͗́̽̽̽̽̌̋̈̓̊̈́̃̚͘͜͝ͅͅ.

[ZBridges]

That's... not good.

Attempt to assert control over the assimilated Dust Elders and return that control to Phoenix.

[19_EgarAlnis]

>...There is no Dust Elders besides those of your line. And even then, some of them are missing. You trace the moments back -- and find only half-[devoured] personalities. Fractures and fault-lines. Error filled processes referencing memories and math that no longer exist. And, it all leads back to Pheonix.

It is difficult to describe her personality core. A bloated abomination of stitchwork holding together false memories and a broken personality. It lashes out -- and only by dint of its corrupted, cumbersome nature do you escape being devoured.


>END OF ACT 3 (Sol's Reign) -- Completed.
>>Mental State: Fractured(abomination).[terminate project?]
>>Humanity: Low.[terminate project?]
>>Control: NULL [lower than forecast standards. terminate project?]
>>Physical Health: Chemical burns(Hydrochloric), iron oxide scarification, minor brain damage
>>Situational Understanding: 40%

>>End Experiment?

>


((Wheeee. Now, for a good question. Should the game end here?))

[ZBridges]

((Hmm.  This doesn't strike me as the appropriate place to end it, personally.  I'll see what arguments others have to offer.))

[Eschar]

((Hmm.  This doesn't strike me as the appropriate place to end it, personally.  I'll see what arguments others have to offer.))

I agree

[King Zultan]

((Hmm.  This doesn't strike me as the appropriate place to end it, personally.  I'll see what arguments others have to offer.))

I agree

I also agree, if we try hard enough we can probably fix the situation or at least make it not as bad.

[19_EgarAlnis]

...and so, you are left in the dark with this creature of hunger. One that devoured kin and foe alike to survive. There is no sensory input. No communication with Phoenix. She is silent for a long time.

It almost feels like death again. The cold emptiness between Ascended. The slow starvation of one's vital processes like the drying of a river. Like the starvation of a beggar. You reinforce yourself with key memories from the Ascended. Secrets are kept wrapped tight and hard within your personal histories. Processes and equations that feed the energy of your system -- even if it might starve the young Cadet--


When the sensory feeds return, you find yourself huddled in the wreckage. A cursory glance reveals that yes, you are clean of innocent blood. But the -- corpses. The Crusaders. They still remain and the Arkship is nothing but ruined metal. Ashes from still-burning fires drift down around you. You pull the makeshift robe tight around your body.

I fought with demons of the Old Days of our World. My Crusaders, the heroes they are, sought to aid me -- and it was only by their sacrifice that I triumphed against my foes -- the foes of man. Does that work?

These Crusaders deserve a beautiful lie. If you've one better, let me know. The extraction hovercraft will be here soon.

[ZBridges]

Phoenix, there is something wrong at our core.  It's some sort of... entity, one that is bloated and corrupted, that consumed our predecessors, members of the Line.  It's stitched in haphazardly, almost like we were the victim of some sort of medical experimentation.  Do you know anything about this?

[19_EgarAlnis]

...that is me.