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sbi-au-ideas · 2 years

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Wilbur hasn’t felt safe in months. Everyday feels as if his very world could come to an abrupt end, and he would be forgotten, lost in the piles of bodies that roam the Earth.

It’s a very bleak existence. Danger on all fronts, constant paranoia crushing his mind as he fears becoming one of them.

They’re not quite husks, not quite zombies. They’re mimics. Or, as the public has named them- underwalkers. They act and sound exactly like people- when they are anything but. Wilbur doesn’t trust them. They’ve hunted him for his entire life, and anyone who lets their guard down is a fool.

Phil hums to himself, carrying his bag along as he carefully pushes past the horde, exclaiming the occasional “Sorry!” when he bumps into one. They grumble back with a “Whatever,” before moving on to shuffling with the horde.

He smiles to himself. They’re pretty friendly, all in all, and Phil has never felt endangered around them. He brushes against a particularly decayed underwalker, and their arm falls off.

Phil hurries to pick it up, meeting the underwalker’s rotting eye with an apologetic smile. “Oops! My bad mate, here you go!”

The underwalker coughs, grabbing their arm before giving Phil a melted grin. “Thaaannnnkkksss Phhhiiilllll.” Their voice is shrill, and they have to wheeze out a crackly whisper to make any sound. Phil pats them gently on the back before trodding off, continuing his endless battle to reach the end of the crowd.

He squints when he finally gets out of the cluster. In the distance, a tall man with healthy brown hair is trying to climb a two story house. Ah! A neighbor! Phil should come say hi.

Techno wields his sword with a battle cry, cutting another wretched beast in half as the bloodthirsty bodies hurl themselves at him with a vengeance. His clothes have been bloodstained for months, and he hasn’t known peace since the beginning of the Under Rising.

He cuts down the last Underwalker and swiftly sheathes his sword, stepping over the putrid bodies with a sneer. Subs, what he would do for a shower and a bed. Sighing, he sets his bag down to take a drink of water, feeling substantially safe enough to let his guard down.

Unbeknownst to him, an underwalker spots him in the distance. They take a second to observe, before shrugging and wandering off in the opposite direction.

They’re looking for something that tastes a little more like fear anyways.

Tommy runs into the street, right in front of the giant, breathing mass of underwalkers. Tubbo said that it most likely used to be from the old days, when bodies were tossed into big pits, rather than having individual graves. Now, they’ve merged into one giant, hulking pile of corpses that wanders the streets with the mind of a whole. Many thoughts congealed into one.

“HEY- YOU GIANT ASS FUCKER!”

It pauses, all of its hands, knees, and feet halting to listen. “CAN YOU TURN AROUND PLEASE? YOU CAN’T GO THIS WAY!”

The sound that it makes is deafening. A moaning, agonized cry that rattles the windows of the nearby buildings. It sounds like it’s mourning, hundreds of years having been spent melting into its friends and family. Some of the cries sound fresher, and Tommy doesn’t doubt that it’s recently added a few victims into its rotting hug.

“NOPE! PLEASE TURN AROUND, I’M SURE THERE ARE PLENTY OF PEOPLE TO EAT ON THE NEXT STREET OVER!” The response is quieter and more grumbly than the last, and its limbs begin sluggishly shuffling in the opposite direction.

Tommy makes sure to scream out a “THANK YOU!” right before it leaves. It groans back something that- if you were blackout drunk and had never heard a real person speak- sounds vaguely like a ‘you’re welcome.’

Tommy starts walking back to office building where Tubbo and Ranboo are hiding. Tubbo is great at feeling safe around the underwalkers most of the time, especially because feeling safe makes him literally safe- but Ranboo has really bad anxiety that makes him a beacon for any passing undead.

So their plan is usually- Tommy, the most fearless fucker alive, goes out and asks as politely as he can for the underwalker(s) to leave. Meanwhile, Tubbo and Ranboo hide in a far off building so Tubbo can comfort Ranboo and make sure he feels as safe as possible.

They’ve only had a few incidents, and that was at the beginning when Ranboo first joined the group. Now his anxiety has been getting better as his feelings of safety proves to be effective.

Tommy watches a man approach him in the glaring sun. His hair is pink and covered in rotting goo, and his face is covered by a gas mask.

He stops in front of Tommy. They stay at a standstill for a moment, examining each other, neither wanting to make the first move. Tommy is sure he looks completely out of place. He’s got relatively clean clothes on, and his blonde hair is still bright and fluffy from the lake he cleaned it in.

The pink haired man looks hesitant, and Tommy can hear the beginning of a word on the edge of his throat.

Then the ground starts shaking. The thunderous pounding of hundreds- maybe thousands- of underwalkers, as they migrate in one massive herd. They migrate in herds for community, Tommy learned a few weeks ago, and they don’t particularly think about the murderous part of them until they get a whiff of fear. Then, the herd turns into a horde, and they become unstoppable.

Pinky spins around, creating a sword out of nothing and taking a step in the direction of the horde. Tommy grabs his shirt, because he knows; has been near enough hordes to know their size from their strength.

This horde? A sword won’t be able to stop it. A freshly sharpened blade would sooner dull than cut every single underwalker down. Only confidence, safety, and unwavering strength will save them today.

“King,” he begins, “You have a fucking death wish if you think that sword is gonna save you from this horde.”

Pinky glances at him. “I’ve taken out plenty of hordes kid. You should run off though, this is gonna get messy.” Tommy shakes his head.

“Nope. I have my own tricks for dealing with hordes, and they’re pretty damn effective. So you better fucking listen to me, or you’re going to join their ranks as Pain in the Ass #1.” Pinky sighs, ready to argue, but he looks down at Tommy’s clean appearance and hesitates. Tommy sees the first few underwalkers start to peek over the horizon and swears.

Tommy quickly yanks on Pinky’s shirt, dragging him over to the buildings opposite of where Tubbo and Ranboo are. They know that Tommy will be okay, and they’ll have felt the horde already. Hopefully Tubbo can keep a wrap on Ranboos anxiety long enough for them to pass.

Pinky follows, and Tommy begins explaining. “So- think of this like a game. The underwalkers are a boss fight, and they have this exploit that very few people know about, and it lets you bypass the boss fight completely. It’s weird, and you’re going to have to trust me on this, because if you don’t- you’re going to get yourself killed.”

Pinky hums along, and Tommy aggressively begins searching the building, which just so happens to be an apartment complex. Thankfully, one of the doors is unlocked, and he pulls Pinky inside.

“This exploit is really simple, okay? If you think you’re safe- bam! You’re safe.” Pinky goes to lock the door, but Tommy stops him. “Nope. Confidence is everything boss man. We are going to chill in here, with the door unlocked and everything, and the underwalkers are gonna leave us alone.”

Pinky grimaces, nervously gripping his sword. “I feel like you’re leading me into a death trap kid, not gonna lie.” But Tommy is looking at the sword.

The horde is drawing closer.

“Okay-“ he breathes, taking control of the situation. “First off, take your sword and put it in the closet over there.” Pinky reels, but Tommy doesn’t stop. “Next, you’re going to breathe, and I’m going to start singing, and we are going to be a-okay. As long as you trust me, and have full confidence that the horde outside can’t get you in here- they’ll ignore you.”

The rumbling outside worsens as the horde tramples through the streets, and Tommy looks into Pinky’s gas mask eyes.

Pinky sighs heavily, unsheathing his sword and putting it in the closet. Tommy grins, bounding over to him and harnessing his carelessness. He clears his throat, grinning.

“JUMP IN THE CADILLAC-“ Pinky is so startled that he almost falls into the closet, while Tommy continues belting out the lyrics in a show of pure confidence and control.

The rooms shaking grows worse, and the abandoned pots and kettles clatter and fall to the floor as the apartment complex rattles and groans with the force of the horde. Tommy grabs Pinky’s hand and starts dancing, kicking a fallen pan in his way.

Pinky swallows and Tommy laughs wholeheartedly. Pinky relaxes as the rumbling doesn’t stop in front of them, instead passing over the carefree apartment.

Pinky lifts his gas mask off his face and Tommy shrieks in dramatic shock, ridding the room of anxiety. He cackles, ignoring Pinky’s young face and picking up in song again.

This goes on for several minutes, occasionally broken off by Tommy loudly asking Pinky distracting questions like “what’s the worst swear word you know?” And “dogs or puppies?”

It’s a good day. They also survive the massive horde, which means it’s an even better day! Although Tommy only lets them both leave when the vibrations completely disappear. Time to find his friends!

Wilbur watches from his perch on the windowsill as a short blonde man stumbles out of the horde. Without getting attacked. Clearly this man is secretly an underwalker, a wretched beast, a horrible freak of nature, and- oh fuck he saw him.

^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^v^

Inspired by @sunnyvicky’s dream!

#I focused on the safety trick more than anything. but I do have an idea that sneegsnag is in the crowd w Phil pretending to be undead #just as a gag #wilbur soot centric #Tommyinnit #philza #Phil watson #technoblade #sbi fic idea #sleepy bois inc #sleepy boys inc #zombie apocolypse au

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iironwreath · 7 months

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Danger [Orla]

[cw: runs concurrent with cadiana's 'wounded', so wow can you believe it, more war and gore]

At first, the silverware rattled. Then, a series of crunches. The windows shattered in a hailstorm of glass and the ceiling burst inward like a puncture wound. There was another wrench as the dining table caved in the middle; a draconic figure rose from a crouch amid the splinters and broken ceramics. A dozen more flooded in through the damage and poured down the stairs. They wore masks that resembled stars, pointed in five directions, but each a different colour. They belonged to Tiamat.

Krusk’s blade was longer than Orla was tall. It started carving through the cultists like they were soft fruit. Pulpy gouts of blood—not just red, but black and green and blue—painted the furniture, stained the artwork, and spattered their breakfast.

It was nothing like when Krusk trained Ragnar. There was a fury in his eyes that could’ve stopped the heart of a dragon. The cultists flung themselves at him with reckless abandon, having no regard for their lives.

Bryn threw punches and kicks that caved in skulls and broke bones so hard they split skin, his knuckles coming away coated in blood. They both struck to kill, and they did it with ease.

Ada grabbed Orla by her arms—she was on the floor, dazed, her ears ringing, but the touch snapped her back to reality. Her skin stung with thin cuts, she had a skid mark on her elbow, and she might have had a burn somewhere, but her scales had absorbed the worst of it. Ada hauled her to her feet and sprinted with her towards the stairs by her hand. Shrieks echoed down from the floor above. Bryn covered their backs, shouting at the staff to move.

They funnelled into the basement. Two of them were unaccounted for and nobody was unmarked, all of them bearing a unique constellation of nicks and burns. The fight reached the top of the stairwell, but it was a choke point; in less than a minute the cultists inside the house were dropped bodies. The sounds of a bigger battle bled in from beyond the manor, bells and horns and the war cries of combat.

The folks at Brambleview had taught Orla about the tunnel connecting them to the Underwalk Ward early on in case of emergencies. Despite knowing who the Gilded Thorns were, she never expected to use it. Ada and Bryn shepherded them onto the path that cut past the bathing pools. Krusk took up the rear, sword still drawn, dripping blood like a red pebble trail in their wake. Ada led Orla along by the hand and Ragnar held Ada’s ahead of her, creating a short chain—she hadn’t let go since they’d escaped the dining hall.

Normally the basement was pleasantly cool and damp, filled with the comforting steam of the springs. Today it was dry, with heat emanating from above. The steam resembled smoke and the torches fit into the walls were like baleful eyes staring out of the darkness. Orla had never been this far or properly explored Westruun’s nether world before, and part of her regretted that; now her introduction was tinted by a life or death scenario.

They passed the wine cellar beneath Palebloom Hall. Ahead of them, the voices of the Maallinen’s drifted down the passage. Bryn called to them, and they joined up, creating a small herd.

“Strength in numbers,” Orla said to no-one, but more like a prayer than a statement.

“Krusk, Bryn, and Kishore count for more than three,” Ada replied. Orla squeezed her hand.

The Maallinen’s explained that the attack went beyond Brambleview. The cultists had young dragons and drakes and experimental monsters—a whole army. Orla chewed on a knuckle.

What sounded like thunder rumbled above, occasionally snowing dirt down on their heads. Sucking in shallow, pinched breaths, she strained her ears, competing with the rush of blood. Her imagination went wild with the muted sounds: were those screams? A stampede of dragons or civilians? Fire devouring the buildings? Fire was loud.

The cultists and dragons had scales like hers, like Elspeth's, like any dragonborn. Her magic couldn’t do anything more than nettle them. She didn’t need proof of that to know that she didn’t belong on the surface.

The tunnel joined the Underwalk Ward proper. Orla stumbled against the current of people; they frothed with fear and alarm, knocking into her back and side to side as they searched for friends and relatives—but Ada had a grip like steel and stopped her from being carried away. She was probably used to holding onto Ragnar. Orla refused to believe all of his strength came from Krusk.

People were dragging in bodies—some dead, others badly injured. Healers were clearing space for cots and gurneys to ferry them to the Temple District. Orla averted her eyes. Before today, she’d never seen the dead before.

Kishore mentioned the Thorns arriving—Krusk added needing to go to the center of the city. Word of the Gilded Thorns spread among the crowd, and with it, cries of hope and relief.

Orla held a hand to her chest, equal parts terrified for them, herself, and everyone around her. The Thorns were back, but that meant they were in danger. The Thorns couldn't take on an entire army, could they?

Ada tugged her back into the Brambleview tunnel, out of the immediate crowd, and sat her down on a curb. Krusk kissed his wife, pat Ragnar on the head, and left with Bryn and Kishore. Without Ada’s hand, Orla hugged her knees to her chest and caught her breath.

When Orla had been undergoing treatment, Iona would sit on the bed with Orla’s head in her lap, run her nails through her scalp, and hum. Her mother had washed and braided her hair, played cards with her when she could sit up. Eireann had even stopped by, adding flowers to the room and tickling her until she cried with laughter. She desperately wanted them there, even if Eireann and Iona also would’ve thrown themselves into the fray. Iona would’ve been with the Thorns, loosing arrows into the skyborn beasts while Eireann tended the wounded with her magic.

Orla had been in danger when she was ill, had been on and off her whole life, but this was new. Her magical entropy had come from within, something she’d passively absorbed from the environment. The Cult of Tiamat came from outside. It was out of her hands, out of her control.

She had never wanted to die by her sickness, but she had always understood that it was a possibility, and in that, she had accepted it. She’d forgotten that she could die any other way up until then, that the stories of the Gilded Thorns weren’t just stories, but their lives.

Her fear made her ashamed, but she tried to stifle it. She never would have shamed anyone in the Thorns for being afraid, and she had to extend that courtesy to herself. She was a civilian, not a hero.

She focused on breathing and settled into her magic, reaching for it just to make sure it was there.

#promptober #promptober 2023 #writing tag #writing: orla #orla #krusk #ada but not my ada #kishore #ragnar #bryn #tal'dorei #me: i feel bad killing some the staff #el: do it. kill them.#wrestling with myself every step of the way like 'not every sentence needs to be a masterpiece you dumdum'

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whentherewerebicycles · 8 months

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goooood afternoon. I spent 7:30-12:30 drafting this program proposal for my boss, which was a ton of work but also means I can take most of Friday off for the wedding without using vacation time whoohoo. I had another frustrating meeting with her last week and am still steaming about it a little… I am going to refrain from delving into work drama in my public diary but hoo boy life is just offering me so many illuminating examples of Different Management Styles this year lol. I can feel my blood pressure spiking just thinking about it so I am going to SET THAT ASIDE and try to switch now into relaxing/recharging mode. this week is going to be my personal hell (3 days of high energy interactive conference programming from 8am-5pm with an hourlong commute in rush hour traffic on both ends) but I am going to try my best to approach it with calm resignation rather than active full-body dread. hoooo boy. relax recharge recuperate jes do not think about what lies ahead!!!!

mmkay I have ~6 hours before possible goodbye dinner with bec tonight. I think I am going to eat leftovers for lunch, read fic in bed for a bit, and then haul myself up around 2pm to do a long walk with the dogs. these poor critters have been so underwalked the past two weeks with so many guests in and out!! mm maybe we will drive to the first trail then walk through the neighborhood to connect with the larger trail system. I’d like to try to walk for an hour as I am also very underwalked lately lol. also my body kinda feels like crap after eating badly and drinking too much yesterday… I really don’t want to drink a ton at the wedding this weekend but am not very good at moderating my alcohol intake in social settings esp with grad school pals. bleh we’ll see. maybe reading a lot about the impact of alcohol on fertility before will help me resist the sense of social pressure lol.

ok ok. lunch! reading! long walk! lie around some more or maybe go grab soil and repot these plants! shower by 4:30/5ish for possible dinner plans! try not to fall into a despair about the long & trying week ahead!

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melinatsalikis · 7 months

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Radical Theory and Practice Project Mood Board - two

I am sort of looking to my backyard for this piece as well, but I am mostly riffing off of a video that I worked on over the summer. For this piece, I would take the storage tubs scattered around my backyard and project video footage of me trying to talk underwater. This work would be accompanied with the audio of my underwalk talking, very likely a rumbling, semi-discernible string of words and phrases (TBD). My approach to this work is a combination of my home as subject and my interest in language and communication obstruction, as well as a the first time I am attempting a piece that I had conceptualized about a year ago (a different piece, but something focused on my vocalizations contained in various vessels [glass jars, for example]).

First image is work by Bill Viola

#art school #limitsfall2023 #Youtube

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b0ytemper · 1 year

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how am i supposed to seduce my way into developing friendships if i can’t go outside by myself bro i feel like an underwalked dog

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bradleyenfield · 1 year

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Dark Ambient Soundtrack - Atmospheric - UnderWalker 138

#youtube

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babyawacs · 1 year

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.@law @law .@judge @judges .@harvard_law .@sun @ap @reuters @bbc_whys @france24 @snowden @haar etzcom @deutschland @dw @phoenix_de @bild @sz jarmixes showedac o n s t a n t effort over hoooowma nyyearsonly the findeableredbagmix onfloor radiospectroscopy and realdeal only s o m e of hooowma ny y e ar sconstanteffortedhad i not charged itagainst their ok nut the poisoningthemmmmmmmmmmmplay the victimand the sssexxxsleaze of their germans doing eachother raiding a bgb chamber/////the heart is brink again since badenser and underwalk trainbackleg heart drenage maybe on locked guts plausible deniability trickerycheckalso kidneyfunction heartinflammation and the udnerwa yhearsbi osensorstrombosis emboly stroke heartbackleg backlegheart//////support canyoupublish late effects of the exposure to these and these and these substances cannot e v e r be removed and will always remain in tracesthisinthiscasefrom poisons nervegas irradiated nanofinedustsdioxingroundcumulation sasbestosgreenmixthese things they intensified in allout anytrick killit trickery mid2010s to lat e 2010sshifted to other harmsand backleg heart disease make was partof thetricksetnotarstamp publis h because now.them. play thevictimand them. demonise supportthem!!!!!lookwhattheyvedoneas effort show audiovisualtooas whenthey relativated itis only intraces then later findable sooo itisnot pois on enough thenelsetheywouldhave foundmore ofiteachofthese ihad tosurvive firstand support risked t heirlives against warmethods to avert whatis govt agendagovt causedsystem causedas all trick theyhad

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mikahorror · 1 year

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Dark Ambient Soundtrack - Atmospheric - UnderWalker 59

#dark ambient music #atmospheric black metal #atmospheric music

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oasisofpassion · 2 years

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DreamXD is the creator of all and the controller of unreality, but he also has physical assistants on the mortal realm. They are the dreamons. Dreamons are often conniving shapeshifters who assist DreamXD in his dreamwalking. They are nocturnal and all have their own unique blob form. They are also less like religious creatures and more like people in the sense that they have their own personalities.

Many dreamons oversee a specific person or group of people, but some just skip from person to person across regions and like to travel. The dreamon has the ability to influence dreams, like their leader, and can choose whether or not to give the person they're overseeing at that moment happy dreams or nightmares.

It's a bit foggy on what plane they exist on, be they simple invisible spirits under the command of XD or completely divine entities.

On the contrary, the daydreamons--the descendants of a group of dreamons who mixed with mortal DNA to create a unique species. Like their name suggests, they're awake during the day like most animals. However, the term "daydreamon" is just an umbrella term for all mortal-mixed dreamon-related hybrids. Daydreamons could be mixed with any animal--human, sheep, dragon--and usually give the descendant in question sapience and any specific dreamon-related ability¹ (immortality, invulnerability², dreamwalking, spirit-form, shapeshifting, telepathy, etc.). This also suggests any daydreamon could be nocturnal, though uncommon.

This creates a class of "underwalkers," or daydreamons who have one or more of many divine abilities attributed to the dreamons. Because daydreamons are scattered across multiple species, this creates a diverse group of underwalking subclasses. The split between underwalking daydreamons and entirely mortal daydreamons is around 50/50, save for daydreamons with dreamon DNA less than 10%, in which the ratio drops to about 75 mortal to 25 underwalk.

Clarifications:

¹An underwalker does not have to have all listed dreamon abilities to be considered an underwalker. They could have any assortment of powers, even just immortality.

²Invulnerability as a power is not to the level of a full dreamon. Daydreamon underwalkers with this power can still be wounded.

Daydreamons are not under XD's command in the way that dreamons are. They are more like every other species of animal.

Dreamon DNA does not influence the outer appearance of daydreamon offspring, so if the dreamon parent were to have an animal offspring like, say, a sheep, the sheep wouldn't look any different to a normal sheep. The only thing about it different would be its brain function.

#dream smp #dreamsmp headcanon #dsmp headcanon #dreamxd #dreamons #dsmp theories #yes enderwalking is a subsect of underwalking and yes im hcing ranboo as an underwalker daydreamon #fight me

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vespertine-legacy · 4 years

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If I could please just make this damn jump for the Makeb endurance datacron, that would be gr8

#swtor #november plays swtor #self-inflicted fall damage will always be the death of me #and not only are there jumps there are underwalkers #and theyve got knockbacks!#so scaling cliffs balancing on beams making terrifying jumps and walking up on cranky eldritch horrors who will fling you to your doom #thanks makeb!#oh but the pubside heroic with getting yeeted up the canyon by the broken steam pipes? that was fun!

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rainofaugustsith · 3 years

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Rain Plays SWTOR: Why Do We All Hate Makeb?

Viri has been going through the GSI dailies on Makeb to bump my GSI reputation up to Legendary, and it's given me time to really think about the planet, and the Rise of the Hutt Cartel story as a whole. I tend to take my characters through Makeb just to spend more time with them, and to enjoy the scenery. Having said that, most players seem to detest Makeb and skip it. It's weird. Makeb has: 1. Some of the most beautiful scenery ever seen in the game.

2. Some really stunning design for the houses and gardens. Seriously. Look at this.

3. Really, really nice decos available from the reputation vendor. 4. Other really nice decos' designs are based on Makeb. 5. A departure, mostly, from the Imps vs. Pubs!! storyline that some of us had grown so bored with. 6. Some interesting creatures such as the exoboars and underwalkers. We all love the exoboars in Vaylin's palace, don't we?

And yet, it's still loathed. The question becomes: why do we hate Makeb? There are a lot of very valid reasons. 1. We don't get to bond with the NPCs we meet, nor do they play any critical part in story before or after. With the exception of Doctor Oggurobb, Darth Marr and Chancellor Saresh, the NPCs with whom we interact in the entirety of the Makeb expansion are neither seen nor heard from again. We're kept at arms' length from them. This is different from both the class stories and Shadow of Revan, where the characters we meet become regular presences in our toons' stories. 2. The romances...aren't. When RotHC was first released, Makeb was called "the gay planet" and a lot was made of the fact that the expac contained the game's first same-gender romances. Considering LGBT+ players got absolutely nothing in the class stories, this was a Very Big Deal. However, the romances fall very flat. For one thing, they're restricted by class. If you're Imperial, there's no wlw for you. If you're Republic, there's no mlm. The moment that a male OC can have with Lord Cytharat feels like it can work - it's essentially an "I was so scared for you, and I care, and don't ever do that again" sort of moment. The wlw romance, on the other hand, really doesn't feel like one, at least to me. Lemda Avesta never seems particularly into the player's character. As a wlw, I usually avoid this romance because it feels so awkward and forced. 3. It's really grim. Almost the entire time you're on Makeb, you know the planet is about to be destroyed. Anything beautiful you're seeing is about to disappear. People have lost their homes. It's pretty grim. There's no happy ending on Makeb. Like, none. The planet dies. Even though it's physically saved, nobody can live there anymore for any length of time. Lots of people die, including some that work with the PC. There's no way to save them in some cases. Even though each side does have a win - the Makeb citizens escape in the Ark; and the Empire gets its isotope -5 - it's very empty because so much tragedy surrounds it all. While Star Wars isn't sunshine and rainbows, there's usually something positive to perk up a reader/player even in the darkest storylines. At the end of Revenge of the Sith, there's the promise of baby Leia and Luke, both being raised in safety. At the end of Empire Strikes Back, Luke's got a nice new hand, he's safe on a Rebel Alliance ship and he's reunited with Leia and the droids. At the end of SWTOR's class stories, the player has triumphed somehow in their own field, and they usually have controlled their own destiny in some way. Makeb doesn't have that, and I think it makes a difference for replays. 4. It may hit too close to home. Makeb is dying because people exploited its natural resources for profit. Hmmm. We've heard that before in our own world, haven't we? The mining causes groundquakes. In our world, fracking is said to cause earthquakes. Not only that, but seeing the houses crushed by groundquakes can hit a little close to home to anyone who lives in an area with lots of earthquakes, or has witnessed the destruction they can cause. While I don't think any sort of environmental message was intended with Makeb, I do think there are things about it that can, even subconsciously, make us feel uncomfortable. 5. The maps and mobs.

For me, the maps of Makeb are not nearly as frustrating as some of the ones on Taris, Balmorra and Hoth. For one thing, the land is divided into individual little mesas so you're not covering large swaths of ground the way you do on a planet like Alderaan or Tatooine. Having said that, they can still be daunting. And unlike other planets, there's often no real way to go off the beaten path. If you do, you just might plunge to your death over the edge of the mesa. Making this more problematic: the mobs. There are a lot of enemy NPCs, and they are everywhere, and you often have no choice but to plow right through them. This makes navigating very tedious. If you're a lower level, it can also make getting from Point Aurek to Point Besh very difficult. Also, if you have a fear of heights, you may really, really hate this planet. It's nothing but sheer drops and light bridges across chasms in this nook of the galaxy. 6. The gameplay can be very repetitive. A number of the quests just have the player doing the same or similar actions over and over again. It gets boring. 7. The heroics are hell. Makeb heroics are incredibly long, complicated and overly tedious. They can literally take as long as some of the very short flashpoints, with ridiculously high difficulty in some cases. I don't think most of us bother with them. 8. It feels very detached from the rest of the story. Nothing we do on Makeb matters. Or so it seems. What our characters accomplish in the class story, or Oricon, or Shadow of Revan seems to make an impact. RotHC, on the other hand, is something we can literally skip over without it having any repercussions. The only time it seems to come up with any significance is in Onslaught, where it's mentioned that the Empire still has some ships fueled with isotope-5. But even that is said in passing...and if your character never did Makeb, the ships are still fueled. If you're a Republic character, Oggurobb has very little to say to you about Makeb - except to tell you that you've aged badly since then (thanks, dude). 9. Some of the classes don't seem to fit. Oddly, you would think the underworld characters - the smuggler and bounty hunter - would be peas in a pod here. They're not. You really can't find much of a reason for the smuggler to suddenly be interested in saving a planet's humanity. The bounty hunter isn't given any clear targets to assassinate. It's one of the times where certain classes seem to be really out of place. 10. And there isn't much said about our individual classes. Each class does get an individualized intro cut scene, as well as some NPCs referring to them as Master Jedi or Dark Lord or whatever, but there's really not much difference doing this as a Jedi or a Trooper, a Sith or an Agent.

11. The Force isn't a part of things. It's weird. When things in SWTOR are entirely focused around the Force, it does exclude the non-Force using classes to some extent. When it's completely absent, though, it feels wrong, too. On Makeb, our little space wizards find that there's nothing specific to the Force for them to care about. The alignment of the planet isn't mentioned. No ruins. No weird artifacts someone's left in their mansion. Nothing. It feels slightly disconnected taking a Force user through these areas. To me, Makeb feels like it had more potential than it received. I've read more than once that there were several other planets intended for expacs that were scrapped; perhaps with them, and a wider arc, Makeb would have played differently. All the same - come here for the scenery. You probably won't want to stay for the gameplay.

#swtor #makeb #makeb spoilers #onslaught spoilers #rise of the hutt cartel #rise of the hutt cartel spoilers #rain talks swtor

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hanadoesstuffbadly · 3 years

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Daughter of Giants

"You should move along, Giant, we don't want your sort around here." The bartender's voice was low and authoritative, the voice of a man not easily ignored, but one didn't need the ears of a bat to make out the tremors coursing through it. Everything about him was a well made manor with good foundations, but Aravis could tell it was built on sand. Give him a little shake and everything would start slipping.

Aravis smirked and tapped her fingers idly against the bar's puckered wooden surface. A part of her cursed how ineffective her disguise had been proving recently, even after she's taken to covering her folc markings. The last thing she needed now was to have word of a nomadic folcwoman travelling the Engle Lands like a sad silk trader. Her tankard's rim just brushed her lips as she held it there and she concentrated on the fact that the man had not moved along, still standing just out of sight behind her mustard coloured hood. If he just needed a shake, why was she feeling inclined to rattle him until the very bricks of his character were dust to be scraped off of her heel. Maybe she was too tired for this today, too done with walkers and their sloppy, indelicate ineptitude. But at the same time, her ichor was roaring through her veins, violet and rushing. It made her lungs burn like magma beneath the island's crust. Her titanic heart yearned for a fight. It had been too long.

"My sort?" Silk dropped into her tone inadvertently, turning her deep, hoarse, broken voice into an almost mechanical purr. Fear rippled through the room like ribbons. It was a cool breeze in a suffocating glare of self-importance and Aravis breathed it in.

"You're a bounty-hunter!" Not the bartender, but a nasal, underdeveloped voice called from the crowd of patrons that had interrupted their own meals to gawk like a gaggle around what had been a peaceful evening drink. Aravis didn't bother seeking out the speaker (though she suspected one of the pasty, mealy shepherds seated closer to the entrance. An easy escape, she mused, smart choice.) Her brow, however, creased at his choice of words. Bounty hunters were perhaps the lowest of the low creatures grovelling on the earth's filthy surface. Turning in fellows of your kind for the reward of others? Had they no sense of honour or kinship at all. Had a folcman or woman acted in such a way, they would be plunged beneath the clouds to the endless oceans below and ripped to shreds by the wild, Bacchic merpeople of the depths. Honour, trust, loyalty; mere dramatic concepts to be learned and forgotten by those thugs like poor poetry.

"Now what would give you that idea?" Likely her stature or lack of ladylike grace. Maybe-

"The ends of your hair. They're white." The thought died before it even took shape in her mind. A chill crawled up around her shoulders, turning the thick muscle there into cold stone. She was frozen in place, barely able to open her mouth to reply through gritted teeth, her head bowed lower toward the counter and her tankard rested against her suddenly ringing forehead.

"Why," she ground out, "would that," turning slowly like a tin doll, her eyes flashed, "mark me out?" Moonlight flashed against a bronze knife behind the bar and it set the room aflame. The man- boy really- stood and quaked like a tethered kite before the entrance like it was a headwind. He had a round, dark, unfinished face; the face of a scholar or bard, not a warrior. Nevertheless, Aravis wanted nothing more than to turn it blue with bruises.

"I've heard stories," He shuddered and searched any face but hers for help "my father's a pepper merchant, he told me about you and your kind." The idea of some miserable, slimy, slithering underwalker's tongue speaking of her ‘kind’ made Aravis' fists curl. "Your hair is dark and- and blue, right?" He was slipping, but didn't run. Yet. "He used to say, when- when what was inside your head became darker, your hair literally started paling in comparison... Making the tips turn white... And- I-I thought..."

"Tom Tom, that's enough." Hissed the bartender.

Aravis was very still. Whispers are meant to be lost in the chaos. Aravis’ words were like breaths, yet each one rang in the floorboards and out of the door like the echoes of screams.

"Your father is well-learned. Darkness seeping into every crevice of the mind, turning you into a miasma veiled in flesh? What better fits that description than a callous, underhanded criminal? What could be so dark, so evil, as to turn the tips of my hair so pale?"

With one hand she tore the hood from her head. And not a breath was drawn as their pathetic faces took in the blank, dull cascades, the colour of new snow. Cold and dead. White to the roots.

She closed her eyes when the whispers started seeping into their fear, and as always, before her there stretched a great gash in the clouds on which she, still an adolescent wrapped in sunlight, stood. Beneath that crevice she saw the island of the underwalkers. But she wasn't looking at them. Instead, all that filled her vision was the great, massive warrior lying like unwanted venison beside the hulking, grotesque, monstrous corpse of a Beanstalk. And the underwalkers were dancing. At their head, leading them on there stood a creature of pale flesh and golden hair. To others he might have looked like a child, beautiful and beaming. Aravis knew what he really was. The axe was still in his hands. That smiling, glittering face was the last thing she saw before the vision cleared and Aravis opened her eyes to the bar counter.

Shards of metal and broken wood lay before her. Her hand was bloodied by purple ichor. Still lodged within the cut were some remains of the crushed tankard. But it was her eyes that were burning with pain.

The whispers had ceased. And so had the roar in her veins. She was ice.

Standing, she swept her cloak aside to rest both hands on her hips, her feet apart. She was taller now than she had been when she entered, and now the crest of her ringed headband just skimmed the ceiling. Everybody in the room cowered below her. It felt right.

"Indeed. I am a hunter. But what I'm after is not the reward of a slippery, stupid nobleman. It is justice. And it is mine alone." the low rasp of her voice grew full and round as pride swelled within, "as a daughter of the mighty Laestrygonians."

At the name of her folc, new horror trickled into slow running red blood all around her. So many eyes darted to the door, for escape. Many more became fixed on her lips or, more specifically, on the teeth that lay behind them. Aravis didn’t need to be a mind mage to know they were wondering how much mortal flesh had been shredded upon them. That stout bartender was the first to finish quivering.

"Who do you seek, great Giantess? I will tell you all that I know, just don't hurt any of my customers, I beg of you!" Ugh. Begging. Typical underwalkers.

"I'm hunt Prince Jack of Gaul. As I have for almost ten years." Voice rising such that everyone might hear, she let fear carry her words. "He has taken something very precious from me, many things in fact, and I intend to exact justice."

“But, he’s been missing over three years! Many young princes have been.” Aravis was well aware of that. So close. She had been so close she could see the ridiculous peak of his hair, illuminated under dragon fire. But the presence of one of the more powerful fae had forced to keep her distance. But she had him cornered. It was almost over. And then he was gone.

“Haven’t you heard? They’re back, now.” Every head turned back to the scholarly boy by the entrance. “Yeah, the entire Fearless-”

But Aravis was deaf to the world.

They’re back now. He’s back now. He’s back. Again, and again, and again. The sound of clouds being split down the middle and the shining eyes of the blonde, beautiful murderer. And dancing. Aravis’ eyes were filled with axes, ichor and dancing.

Her bident spear was in her hand one moment and whistling across the room the next. The boy- Tom Tom he’d been called- was pinned between its prongs like a fish, flailing and panicked. He grasped at the twin spikes which were twice as thick as his arm. As Aravis strode over, he just resisted going limp.

With her feelings crashing and shrieking in her head, Aravis paid no attention to the fact that the ceiling had splintered around it. She didn’t notice the splinters to timber that clawed at her waist, nor the frigid night air whipping her face as she waded through the bar like mud. People the size of dolls scurried for the exit, while the one she wanted remained pinned. Until she knelt down and gripped the long handle of her weapon, pushing it closer into his throat.

“Where?” Was all she managed. Everything inside was a storm that even she herself was becoming lost in.

“I- I don’t know! I was told by a friend!”

“WHERE?!” Her bellow ricocheted off the dark sky itself like thunder and the bident spear-head pressed harder against his trachea until he gasped for air.

“STONEBURY!” Violent sobs wracked his body but Aravis did not relent, “GLASS STONEBURY! MY FRIEND HORNER IS IN GLASS STONEBURY! HE CAN TELL YOU!”

Only then, with a grunt of dark satisfaction did she pull the spear from the wall, releasing him. With the first real, tangible feeling she had felt in years melting into her veins, she shrank back down until she was practically the same stature she had been when she had arrived. The bar’s roof was gone, allowing freezing wind to howl through. She cared not.

Aravis finished a drink that had been abandoned on a table in the panic. It was revolting, crude stuff, typical for underwalkers. But a smile was curled on her face regardless.

"What will you do once you find the prince? He's a hero, and has many powerful friends!" So the bartender had stayed, she hadn’t counted on that. She graciously turned to look at him, feeling lighter than she had in almost four years.

"Simple. I will rend his arms from his sides. I will cast his broken body across the air until each and every bone is ground into dust."

"They'll see you coming, people have already run to tell others of you."

"You speak as if I’d intended this to be a slaughter. You are wrong.” Aravis’ hood fell to the floor and her hand reached into her satchel. She sighed softly when her fingers met the gentle, rippling fabric of her cloak. Her mother’s cloak. “It’s an execution.” she pulled it free, letting it grow in size until it could wrap around her completely. Her legs and torso disappeared from sight. “And I must have him know his sentence.”

Turning, she vanished behind the concealment of the cloak and into the darkness of the night. The Engle Lands were solitary, located deep in the marshes of Fairytale Island.

It wasn’t far to Glass Stonebury. And then all that was left was to find this Horner.

Just an intro that I couldn't get out of my head since creating Aravis (her name was Astrid originally). I kinda want to write a whole fic about this but I'm not sure since it would be pretty much all my ocs... I'm imagining basically zootopia but with a Giant princess and a bounty hunter.

Also ive already started about two big projects with no third chapter soooo.....

#beginning of something??#maybe #red shoes and the 7 dwarfs #red shoes and the seven dwarfs #red shoes movie #red shoes fanfic #hana writing #my ocs #standing on the shoulders of giants #SotSoG #red shoes fanfiction #horner appears in my gwen fic red cloak #the third chapter of that is in the works #schools just been pummeling recently #laestrygonians are the cannibal giants featured in the odyssey #they pretty kuch hav a culture that's 2/3 celtic 1/3 ancient greek #aravis #red shoes oc #giant oc

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voidendron · 3 years

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Shenanigans™️ from last night's ops:

we ran SM DF and DP cause two of our buddies needed them for Oricon story. we started out with only five (one tank, three DPS, and I got to try solo healing them both for the first time - another friend joined us on DPS right before Grob'thock)

In true Catz fashion, SM = meme run...

First add pull in DF resulted in the tank getting yeeted off the bridge. He started laughing, rezzed.... then IMMEDIATELY died again to one of the underwalker's AOEs

Nefra was pretty uneventful, but no one paid attention to the add so it came for me every time it spawned. I was running around like a dumbass to stay out of the AOE while also trying to stay in range of the tank

Grob was...well. Grob. One of the sorcs got fire the first time and she, while giggling, drops the fire right under me. But guess who got fire the next time? 😈 so we just kept trying to sabotage each other while laughing like dummies. At one point the DPS jugg ignored fire and promptly died cause they didnt move out of it and I couldn't heal them thru it

Draxus was chaos as he usually is, but surprisingly uneventful considering who we are alssksksk same went for Corruptor Zero - tho, there was an add that wouldn't get off me, so one of the sorcs goes "COME ON ME, YA BASTARD" *long pause* DPS jugg repeats it in ops chat and she groans, cause she realized what she said only after saying it, and had hoped no else caught it

Then Brontes.... ah, Brontes. so, a little note: we brought in a new raider we found in a flashpoint and have been teaching him the ropes and stuff. in true Catz fashion, when it comes to SM we just kinda explain as we go while dragging him thru the fights. Brontes actually went well, buuuut...... during the reaches, the sorc says to the new guy: "gotta run between them for the next mechanic"

new guy: "oh okay"

everyone else: "NO, DONT LISTEN TO HER" *laughter, while she starts cackling*

...surprisingly, there were no deaths on Brontes

All in all, DF went surpsingly well considering who we are alalsks

Then came DP...

Bestia was going well, but then the new guy started taking MASSIVE damage all of a sudden

Me: "NERDZ. NERDZ GET OUTTA THE YELLOW. NERDZ. DUDE YOU'RE IN AN AOE I CAN'T HEAL YOU"

"...huh?"

....and he promptly died. *sorc, heals, & tank laughter, including the one who died* I rez him, he backs out of the yellow...then promptly stands in another puddle. I started laughing and he stepped out after that and didn't die again during Bestia. Both juggs (the tank and a DPS) ended up dying after Besta hops down, new guy is actually the one to rez the tank since I'm still on CD for it, and it pretty much becomes "out-damage Bestia before she kills us first" the PT is running around like a madman thru all this cause one of the adds decided he's its new best friend and it doesn't give a shit about the actual tank (fortunately the PT has a hybrid experimental build he came up with himself, so he's got defensive stats to be not as squishy as pyrotechs usually are)

Tyrans.... heh, Tyrans is always fun with this group 😂 most of us, when we get simplification, our goal is to sabotage someone - usually heals or a turret class - by dropping it on their tile. Let's just say the arena looked like a total mess by the end, and Tyrans, the tank, and melee were on a secluded island tile with no way to get off of it. One of the sorcs actually pulled the PT off the tile because he had no way to get out of fire. SOMEHOW no deaths to Tyrans, tho I was struggling to keep people up by the end cause they were running out of places to go to get out of fire/Tyrans cleaves

Calphy was...interesting. First portal goes fine, but between healing I'm trying to arrange ops frames for the second portal phase (was gonna put the two sorcs + tank on left since self-heals, while taking the DPS jug and PT right with me)

...and then the DPS jugg rearranges frames into a single column just to be a shit 😂 so come phase 2, everyone's confused about which portal to go into. I run right with the PT-

everyone else goes left

cue my "oh fuck" as I realize there's only two of us on the right, and one of us doesn't do shit for damage

let's just say I'm really fuckin glad the PT did good damage + had that experimental build, or our side would've been fucked. I'm actually surprised we beat Calphy there

after that, cue me and the jugg fighting over ops frames. I rearranged them back how they should be, then they just threw everyone into random spots-

aaand because of how I have my 8m healing UI set up, the way they arranged it made it so I could no longer see one of the group members in the frames. AND since I keep friendly nameplates turned off, the person who go dragged off-screen was kinda fucked for the Drouks since I couldn't see their health nor click on them with everyone stacked so close

and ah- turned out it was the one fucking with frames who I couldn't see aksl;djlk so they died within seconds of pulling the Drouks and I couldn't help but start laughing because KARMA

I rearrange frames correctly again, they fuck em up again, so I revoke their LT privileges and one of our sorcs just busts out laughing "oh, that's COLD" (I gave em back LT partway thru Raptus, and they didn't mess with frames again after that akls;djlk)

ANYWAY

it was so much fun and my stomach hurt from laughing so much 😂

it's a wonder how we get through HMs when we wipe in SMs from being dumbasses (legit, we've wiped on SM and HM Bonethrasher so many times cause we've been laughing so hard), but goddamn is running with this group fun aklsd;jkld

#swtor #blitz plays #blitz rambles #oliver vs ops #if you want a legit serious run.... we're def not the group for that 😂#we call them meme runs for a reason aksldjl #i WISH i'd been streaming last night cause omg #i swear it seems like the really fun runs are always the ones i forget to set up obs for

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