continuing with my last post on, magic mecha
imagine how that'd fit in with the mechsplo genre/trope?
A pilot, who, once was a powerful magi, the face of a cabal of mages who would defend kingdoms, villages, homes
Until they met a normal human,
someone devoid of magic all together, but has such an innate understanding of how magic can be disrupted, they manage to shut down the pilot's magic all together, spoon feeding it back to them bit by bit until the mage becomes dependant on the human for their magic, the only way they're allowed to use it being vicariously through the mech they now pilot
would yall be interested in me workshopping something like this?
I know i'm doing Farlight right now, and doing some stuff with a few other things, but this idea has really gripped me for some reason, so, if yall would maybe want to see something in this vein, even if its just a one off short thing, please, let me know! <3
continuing with my last post on, magic mecha
imagine how that'd fit in with the mechsplo genre/trope?
A pilot, who, once was a powerful magi, the face of a cabal of mages who would defend kingdoms, villages, homes
Until they met a normal human,
someone devoid of magic all together, but has such an innate understanding of how magic can be disrupted, they manage to shut down the pilot's magic all together, spoon feeding it back to them bit by bit until the mage becomes dependant on the human for their magic, the only way they're allowed to use it being vicariously through the mech they now pilot
Painting a target with a laser guidance system. The target frantically looks to the sky for incoming missiles, preparing its anti-air capabilities. As it searches, it gets slammed from the side, a quadrepedal mech chasing the laser as the pilot inside purrs
I want to see Mechs, but, Magic, you know what i mean?
Mechs who's power comes from like, a Lich's Phylactery, Canons who are fired when a spell sigil is completed.
Instead of thrusters, it has a magically generated Gravity well that it can manipulate to some extent to move itself around.
maybe something to work on after i finish Farlight (shameless fic plug)
When Farah awoke again, she wasnât on the operating table anymore. Instead, she found herself on a bed, within a small room, dimly lit by a single bulb above her head as she laid there, naked and cold. The light was just enough for her to get a decent grasp of her surroundings without having to move too much.
On the far side of the room, was a door, simple steel, with no window, but, at the same time, no knob, or handle, or even a control panel. Beneath her was a small bed, just barely large enough to fit the woman on top of, and directly to her right, was a sink, a toilet, and a chair with a desk.
A holding cell, she thought to herself, this place is a holding cell.
She tried to shift, half expecting restraints, but instead, found pain. Aching, searing, burning pain going from the back of her head, down her spine, and along her arms; intense enough to lay the Sgt. back down flat as she yelped out, which, truthfully only slightly lessened the pain.
Blearily through the pain, Farah noticed a sound, from the other side of the door. Movement, faint and quiet, but distinctly movement. The sound of clothes moving, a foot shifting on the hard floor.
So, thereâs guards.
She stayed there, laid flat on her bed for a long time, quietly groaning and whimpering at every small movement as it elicited red hot pain across her body, But, in time, she grew⊠Numb, to it. At least numb enough to finally, properly sit upright.
Her back felt odd, as did her arms. Painful, yes, but that wasnât the whole of it. There was a strange disconnect, as though her movements were lagging behind just a little, not enough to be debilitating, but enough for her subconscious to notice it.
She outstretched her right arm, wincing and gritting her teeth as a shock of pain went through her arm and up to the base of her skull. She wasnât imagining it, there was a strange delay, as though her arm were just a millisecond behind her input.
As she stared at it, trying to understand, she twisted her arm slightly, just to test it again, when she sees something on the back of her arm. Two, strange metal protrusions, one at her elbow, the other at her wrist. They were circular, about as big around as her palm, and seemed to have some sort of indent in the center.
They looked like ports to her, or an outlet of some kind. Sheâd seen the internals of a few ships in her time, and they reminded her of the massive ports that some of the large electronics would be plugged into to power certain functions of a ship. But sheâd never truly paid much attention, she was a soldier, not an engineer. Though, these seemed smaller, only a few inches across rather than nearly a foot across like sheâd seen on the ships.
She turned her head, pushing through the pain as she lifted her other arm, turning it over to see those same ports on her left elbow, and wrist.
âWhat the fuckâŠ?â she muttered softly to herself.
These must have been what was causing her so much pain. She couldnât see her back, but she figured it was safe to assume they were along her spine too.
Her mind flashed back to the smiling face of Briar, leering over her as mechanical limbs splayed out behind her before Farahâs mind slipped into the bliss of unconsciousness. Briar must have done⊠whatever this is.
She let her arms drop, falling to her sides which only served to elicit another wince out of her, and that same odd feeling of disconnection.
Something about that feeling nagged at her, pulling at the back of her mind like a plague that she couldnât combat. It felt so intensely wrong to the woman, A feeling of her body not being her body, something else taking her own inputs and looking over them, before letting them through, it made her skin crawl with a discomfort she couldnât shake.
Farah spent, what could have been hours, or days, sitting there, slowly testing her movements, learning to deal with the pain, the discomfort of this odd disconnect, until she could walk mostly comfortably, pacing around her small cell.
At some point during her testing, she discovered ports, similar to those on her arms, on the sides of her thighs, knees, and ankles. Sheâd discovered as much when sheâd accidentally bumped into the chair with one, an incident that sent so much pain through her that she collapsed to the floor, crying out in agony for several moments, before it slowly faded. Outside she heard more movement, and even a few words, though the door between her and the sound muffled it to the point of incomprehensibility.
Eventually, she was sitting once again, on her bed. Her leg still aching with the memory of agony playing along her nerves, as she began to try and rationalize what was happening to her.
Was this some, strange torture method of Briars? Most of the records on the so called âdoctorâ were, conflicting, some stating sheâd been around since the beginning of the war, some 200 odd years ago, some stating that she was an opportunist, and others stating that Briar wasnât a person, but a position, one passed down periodically. But very few spoke of Briarâs methods, only of Bricorps, which, that alone was ruthless.
Most of Bricorps business was entirely around Mechanics, leading to the corporations early stages as one of the foremost creators of advanced technology, but, as the corporation grew stronger over time, and they learned of the elusive âFarlightâ, their goals seemed to shift.
Their work shifted towards war, the creation of new ships, weapons, and even advanced combat tools such as Exoskeletons.
That caught her attention, as she thought about it. Exoskeletons⊠Was that what this was? Was briar testing some sort of new exoskeleton on her? Surely that wasnât itâŠ
And what of those machines Farah had found in the containers back planetside. Briar had spoken as though those things Belonged to her. Not in the sense of a thief claiming something was theres simply by right of being the one who held it, but as though theyâd always been hers, as though it was the Coalition who was the thief, not the other way around.
âAnd weapons need someone to use themâ Briar had said, right before Farah had been put under. Does Briar intend to-
Farahâs train of thought was cut off, as movement occurred outside her room, clearer this time, as footsteps reverberated outside.
Someone was approaching her room.
For a moment, all Farah could think about was the fact that she was still utterly naked, the only things adorning her body were the ports that still faintly ached, so long as she remained perfectly still. But, before she could do anything about it, even pull the thin sheet from her bed around her body, the door opened.
Sheâd half expected to see Briar standing on the other side, looming in the doorway like a malevolent shadow, but she was instead met with another familiar silhouette.
The doctor, or, nurse, or something, that had been by her table when sheâd awoken the first time stood, staring at her blankly, with a clipboard in her hand. Her hair was still tied back in a neat bun on the back of her head, and her face remained impassive, the dim light of the bulb above their head casting faint shadows on her face that accentuated her deep-set eyes.
âGood. You seem aware this time. More so than the last time I came to check on you.â Her voice remained just as flat as it had before, so much so that it took Farah a moment to fully register what was said.
âLast time? What do you mean the last time? I only just woke up a little bit ago⊠I thinkâ
The woman flicks the clipboard to the side, as though to dismiss Farahâs confusion.
âUnimportant. You can stand, correct?â
Farah doesnât answer, only glaring at the woman, not content with that answer.
The nurse sighs, the first sound of something resembling a proper, human emotion Farah has heard from her.
âIâve come in here to check on you four times now, over the last two days. The first two you were still unconscious, the third you were awake but catatonic. This is the first time youâve been upright, and cognizant. Happy?â She doesnât give Farah a chance to affirm or dissent. âCan you stand?â
Two days. Itâd been two days since whatever Briar and this woman had done to Farah. Some part of her mind fades out, trying to comprehend that, But, when the nurse snaps her fingers, suddenly a few feet closer to Farah, she nods, somewhat shakily pushing herself upright.
It still felt strange, wrong, and so, stars damned painful, but she stood.
âWhat did you do to meâŠâ Itâs not a question, not really.
The nurse doesnât answer, of course, instead turning to walk back out, obviously expecting Farah to follow.
She stares after for a few moments, numbly weighing her options. She could stay here, just not leave her cell, but as she stares, she sees a hint of something moving next to the door frame. A gun barrel, then a boot. Guards, right. So, staying wasnât an option, they would just drag her out. Escape wasnât possible here, especially not in her current state.
The Nurse glanced back, still impassive, but something about the way her head turns, but her body didnât, exuded impatience, just enough that it pulled Farah out of her stupor, as she slowly, shakily, and painfully followed her, still excruciatingly aware of her own nudity as she passed the pair of guards outside her room.
As she stepped out, the door silently closed behind her, as the guards stepped in behind her. An escort, in case Farah tried something, of course.
The hallway they stepped into was long, brightly lit by painfully white lights in strips across the floor and ceiling. Along the hallway on her left, were several more doors identical to her own, though none of them had guards posted. It seemed she was the only one being kept wherever this place is.
A few hallways split off on the ride side, continuing down deeper into, whatever this place is, off to, who knows what sorts of things, But Farah, the Nurse, and the two guards continued down the same hallway theyâd started in.
âWhere are you taking me?â Farah asked, hoping that sheâd actually get an answer, but was only met with stony silence, the only sounds following her question being the sounds of boots hitting metal, and the soft sounds of her own bare feet touching the same metal flooring.
She debated silently to herself whether or not asking again would be worth it, considering the last time sheâd been indignant, it actually provided her an answer, but, as she glanced back at the two guards bearing chemcoil rifles, she decided against it. Better to wait until she found out herself than to push her luck at this moment.
In the back of her mind, she kept track of where they had been, and what sheâd seen. In the seemingly more and more unlikely scenario that she finds a way out of her cell without getting caught, it was best for her to memorize what she can of this place, in case something here leads to a way out.
Despite her pain riddled and bedraggled state, she was still a soldier, and a damn good one at that. She was the only of her squad that had survived, after all. If only she hadnât gotten cockyâŠ
Despite her best efforts, her mind drifted back, to the cold, snow covered valley Epsilon-2 had been nestled within. The snow gathered around her legs, the very same legs that now ached as sheâd propped up her pilfered rifle on her knee, the reticle of its built-in optic centered on Briar's face, with her finger curled around the trigger, ready to take the shot.
A Hero. She would have been âA HeroâŠâ
Her own voice startled her out of her reverie. Sheâd said that aloud, she realized, as the woman in front of her turned her head to look at the sergeant, with a faintly bemused expression, before turning back towards a large door the group was approaching.
The door opened silently, just as the door to Farahâs cell had opened, and led into a room that took Farah several moments to properly understand.
The ceiling went high into the air, at least 300 feet above the sergeant's head, and continued even farther into the distance, with the farthest wall marked by what seemed like a large door. It felt like a hangar, one sheâd seen time and time again, but most Hangars are built long and wide, so several ships can fit inside, but this hangar is different, long but skinny, only about 80 feet wide. On the left side, about 60 feet up, a platform that jutted out from the wall, a control center.
But all of these details left Farahâs mind almost instantly, as her eyes fell upon the true centerpiece of the Hangar.
Hanging from chains and hooks, only a few dozen feet from where she stood, was something towering. Something she recognized, or at least recognized pieces of.
The Machine. Built from the very pieces sheâd witnessed on Ipira IV, was massive, standing nearly as tall as this room did, sleek metal panels almost as big as some ships making up its exterior, with metal internals visible where pieces were still being attached by massive cranes. It was painted a deep blue and a dark, nearly black red, as though a piece of the dusk light sky had been harvested to paint this massive machine⊠this weapon.
âWeapons need someone to use them,â Briar had said. And as Farah looks upon this weapon, a sinking feeling fills her stomach.
portal turrets were so ahead of their time actually because theyâre autistic lil robogirlies who are ever so slightly chuuni and theyâre adorable and polite and even though they could kill you in 10 seconds theyâre incredible instant-lossbait and they go ahahaha >:3c and aaaa-auuu D: and awawawawa @_@ and other such noises
The engineer was always more interested in machines than humans and she only agreed to date the handler because she wasn't allowed to do anything with the new mech in the bay. But now that she met the hound, she sees more and more of the machine in her.
The hound is at the boot of its handler and does not understand why it's being shown affection by someone else since people usually fear it and avoid it at all costs.
The handler is quite happy with the situation, her bed filled with a pretty girl who also loves the dog that sleeps at her feet.
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