#steel and flesh 2 mods
Text
Steel and Flesh 2 Mod APK {unlimited health} 2023
Steel and flesh 2 is blend of action and strategy games. Choose apkslover to get such an exciting mod.
1 note
·
View note
Text
sidestep scar map
here's all the physical scar mentions of step's ive discovered so far that aren't choice dependent! (choice dep scars will be in another post). lemme know if i missed any!
edit: hi people from r/hostedgames o/
edit 2 (nov 8th): added some more i missed!
(cw for sh/sui mentions and graphic injury description)
general
"Have you seen me?" You don't bother to hide your sneer. Even with your clothes on, there are enough scars and marks that many people would pay dearly to remove them. (ch 22, argent meetup)
Regenerate…the notion is a tempting one; could it work on your tattoos? You've tried cutting and burning, but there's just too much, you'd be scarred and mutilated before you were done, but this…this prototype, could it help you too? (ch 19, etc, regenerator discovery)
"What?" A moment's confusion and then—finally—he adds up the dots. His frown deepens, and he looks between your face and your chest, marred by scars and brightly orange tattoos, marking you as other. As not human. "Are you saying that—" (ch 22, flystep apartment scene)
"Do you like scars?" you tease, taking one of [Daniel']s hands, tracing it across one on your chest. An ugly one, a remnant from an angry attempt to carve away your tattoos until the drugs couldn't keep the pain at bay any longer. (ch 22, flystep apartment date)
It's a slow, circling motion over the small of your back, palm against skin, warm fingers tracing the deep scars you both know are there. And a few that ${he} doesn't. (ch 17, hoots makeout)
${his} hands are running over your skin, over your back. You know ${he}'s tracing scars, the same as you, and having an easier time of it. No fancy hospitals for your body, just your own skills, and no need to make it look pretty. (ch 21, chargestep apartment nsfw)
autopsy (incision) scar(s?)
"I obtained…pictures." He lets out a sigh, rubbing his face. "Classified. Highly classified. I assumed they were from the autopsy." He focuses on you. "Your autopsy." […] "The damage from the fall was horrific…you looked dead. Opened up." (ch 22, steel bar meetup)
legs
You remember that [Psychopathor] fell against the wreckage, and it moved and caused you to scream out loud as it dug into your leg. There's still a scar there somewhere. (ch 2, warehouse fight)
face
"Yeah, things changed. For me." You touch your face without intending to. The thin scars there are the most obvious legacy of your fall, of the window tearing into you like memories. (ch 21, hoots)
"I'm not the only one with scars." He rubs the side of his face as he looks at you, and you have to fight not to do the same. You can feel your own face itch with the need to pick at your scars.
"Yeah," you admit with a tired sigh. "Looking into the mirror is not fun." For more reasons than one, but you'd be lying if the scars weren't one of them. Bad memories imprinted on your flesh, a reminder of nightmares you can't ever forget.
It's interesting, really, the way they see you as another vet. Are you looking out of place enough for that? A helping of scars. The nervous awareness.
(ch 22, steel bar meetup)
hands/wrists
"Does it say that the scar on your hand always itches when you're stressed?" (ch 22, flystep apartment date)
"I'm not sure about this," he says, looking down at your scarred hands as if he could read your mind. Soft. Human. He doesn't want to hurt them. (ch 25, post puppet crash step leg rights, chen apartment minddive)
You let Ortega take your hands in [theirs]. Warm. Calloused. Scarred. Just like yours. You can't help but trace the edge of ${his} mods where they break the skin, strangely cool to the touch. (ch 21, trans mc ortega apartment reveal)
You look down at hands so much cleaner than your own. $!{puppet_name} hides all scars. (ch 18, puportega stakeout)
"It feels like they do," you say, scratching one of the scars on your hand a little nervously. "I wish I could tell you, but I can't."
[…]
Your hands are clenched. Hard enough that your knuckles are white. There are a few scars across them, memories of punching things you shouldn't punch. People. Armor. Walls.
[…]
You press two fingers against your wrist, feeling your pulse, feeling the scars. It's a familiar sensation, but instead of the weight pressing against your shields, you feel like a balloon, ready to burst.
(ch 17 - finch therapy scene)
arms
tattoo removal attempts
You tried to get rid of them after your first escape. A specialist, suitably coerced. You still have the scar on the inside of your arm where the lasers didn't quite take. Too deep. Something she had never seen before, and she wasn't lying. Almost as if they were regenerating. (ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag )
You've tried lasers to remove them. You've tried dermabrasion. You even flayed off a piece of your own skin, and while that worked, it left another scar, a deep one. You know it's not possible to do that for your entire body. It's too much surface area; the process would kill you or leave you maimed. Not exactly the life you want. _(ch 15/ch 17, reader regenereveal tag / ch 19, puppet auction)
You tug at your sleeve; it keeps clinging to your sweaty skin. The small hairs on the back of your arm stand on end. The scars are visible now, the ones you made yourself. The ones where you tried to remove them. (chapter 19, argent regene reveal)
"I'm not lying anymore." You very slowly tug your sleeve up, rolling it past the scars, past the places where you tried to obliterate the tattoos, up to where they peek out beneath the fabric. Sharp. Orange. Inhuman. Like you.
You look away, regulating your breathing, keeping a straight face as ${mhis} fingertips trace the edges of the design. There's a slight "tsk" at the burn scars that cut them off, no doubt ${mhe} is adding the clues together. […] "I tried to burn parts of them off," you say, […] so ${mhe} doesn't need to ask. "Didn't work too well. Needs third-degree burns, or they'll grow back."
"Really?" $!{mhe} bends your arm, and you shift to allow it. "Fascinating."
"Flaying works if you cut down to the flesh." Your voice sounds dispassionate even to your own ears, and Dr. Mortum takes a step back with a shocked look on ${mhis} face.
"I'd hate to know how you found that out."
"Other arm." You tug your sleeve down now that ${mhe}'s stopped touching you. (ch 20, "good" mortum mc reveal at the lab)
Holding your breath, you raise your arm in front of you, watching the pale green hospital robe slip back, revealing the intricate tattoos etched into your skin, broken only by scars. Neon orange.
(ch 24, mccrash, revoked legrights)
dog bite
Some [dogs] were kept to guard the perimeter; you got bit once for straying outside. You still have the scar on your arm, a reminder that things that are hurt inevitably turn on each other. (ch 15, 1st boneyard scene)
general arm scars
It's so easy to feel human around ${him}. So easy to ignore the fear. Your sleeves are rolled up to your elbows. Anything more would risk revelations you aren't ready for, but even like this, the scars are enough for conversation. […] *if suitag: The bubbles hide most; you keep them buried deep in the soapy water to make sure ${he} doesn't look. (ch 21, ortega apartment dishes)
sh scars (suitag dep)
The scars on your arms are hidden under your sleeves, and maybe they would be something you could talk about. Something she would expect. A safe revelation of self-harm. *if suitag: Across. Not lengthwise. Your one deal with yourself. Not yet. You have things to finish first." (ch 17, finch therapy scene)
138 notes
·
View notes
Note
I've got some questions about your cyberpunk reader sagau idea like—
What exactly does Reader's body mods allow? Like, how do they enhance the body? Why abilities do they grant to reader? What limitations are there and do they limit Reader's in ways an organic body wouldn't
Before and during the hunt for Reader, how do they maintain their artificial components? Do any of them break beyond repair forcing reader to leave them behind?
Also the Reader having body mods for conquest is a great explanation for why it takes so fucking long for them to bleed. They're too fucking invincible to bleed unless they get done in real hard.
What do people like Dainsleif or Dottore's think of reader and their body mods? I mean the body mods were compared to Khaenri'ah's machinery and Dottore is Dottore.
Is anyone against hunting down Reader? If so, for what reasons?
These are some good questions but I haven't thought all of them through, but so far:
1. When writing the first idea, I imagined the reader being a bit like militech version of Adam Smasher, with bits of my own V from cyberpunk 2077 mixed in i.e. 60-70% of the body being converted to metal with only the head and chest organ area mostly fleshy. So the reader would be durable AF, capable of shrugging off a couple of blows from the archons assuming they didn't use elemental powers, incredible strength and speed, increased jump height and other combat mods like mantis blades or rocket launchers.
2. As for limitations; cyberpsychosis would be the main problem because of just how many mods they have. From a more physical side — blending in is damn near impossible, and all that cyberware is heavy, so it's going to be a challenge not waking up half of teyvat when going for a walk and swimming would also be difficult/our of the question as you'd just sink to the bottom.
Also, the electro element would be quite dangerous, as any attack would act like an EMP blast which could short-circuit important life-preserving systems.
2.5. currently I'm also headcannoning that the combat cybermods require A Lot of energy, and if you don't have that, the body will forcefully shut down for like 72h to generate energy, regardless of where you are...
3. I haven't thought about mods breaking, but I think the reader might be able to MacGyver old Khaenri'ahn tech to replace broken/lost pieces, though it wouldn't be a perfect match — like wearing boots two sizes too small. Before the hunt the reader really wouldn't need to do that, as their tech is durable as all hell and would have only needed cleaning once in a while.
4. Dottore, as a scholar, would be incredibly intrigued. He didn't believe in the divine, though he acknowledged their existence, but the reader would be something else... Like the pinnacle of human evolution, the seamless blending of flesh and steel would entrance him past the point of obsession. He may have enough self-control not to try and disassemble the reader, but be prepared for days worth of ceaseless questions, and his experiments would only grow more gruesome and brutal if you do not put a stop to it.
As for Dainslief... He would be conflicted. The reader's body would remind him too much of the horrors Khaenri'ah and it's leader inflicted on others, and of the war machines still wreaking havoc across Teyvat. But the reader bearing similarities to said machines, which once protected his home, protected him, would also make him feel...comfort? Idk how to describe it, but it's like the feeling of knowing someone is looking out for you, even when you have lost everything.
5. As for who's against the hunt; Barbados comes to mind because he too is an impostor and would be a hypocrite if he felt otherwise, though he keeps such thoughts to himself.
Nahida because she is connected to Teyvat so deeply that it's feelings would mingle with her own, and she couldn't shake the wrongness she feels when near the Impostor.
Alhaitham too, but his is more logical deduction; why would a creator try to fit into the standards made by their creations? It's utterly foolish to base their belief off an imagined appearance when it is your actions they should see.
Also the harbingers and the Tsaritsa, but those I'd say are pretty obvious as they seek to destroy Celestia, and a betrayed creator seems like the perfect rallying call.
______
This was reallyong and it's all up for change if I actually end up writing this, but this is just by thoughts rn lol.
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
Mod Idea: The Plains of War (Part 2: The Tunnels)
(This is just a collection of ideas I'm keeping; I don't plan to do anything with them at the moment, but if you'd like to, please let me know so I can help you flush out the details if necessary)
I won't bother with the Overview or How to Access this dimension, that's in the last post under the Deadlands.
The Tunnels Introduction + Incline to visit:
The Plains of War do not have caves. Any that existed in the past were either collapsed by explosions or filled in to make room for buildings or bunkers. All that remains now are miles and miles of interconnected tunnels with rooms situated every so often. New recourses include things such as the Gunmetal and Fuelcrystal Ore, rooms made for extracting pools of Liquid Coal, or research facilities located within fields of Suffering, Wailing, or Damned Crystals
Gunmetal is used for...the crafting of firearms, Plates used in Plated Armor, or smelted again (in a Blast Furnace) to create Steel, which is used for the creation of vehicles.
Fuelcrystal Ore drops Fuelcrystals when mined and can then be brewed in a Brewing Stand with buckets instead of bottles to create Fuel. Fuel powers the vehicles and can be used in a furnace to smelt up to 500 blocks before the bucket finally drains.
Liquid Coal functions exactly like Fuel, but can't be used in a furnace.
The 3 crystals can be used in a new crafting block, the Compressor, to create a Hollow Shell. When a Hollow Shell is in the player's inventory, it will absorb all gained experience from the player similar to the Mending enchantment. When the Hollow Shell is full, it can be placed in an Enchanting Table in lieu of Lapis to select what enchantment goes onto an effected piece. Afterwords, the Shell breaks, and a new one must be crafted.
Orders can also be found within the barrels, crates, and chests within the Tunnels. Reading said Orders grants a small amount of exp, and has a chance to unlock various Plains of War crafting recipes.
Mobs-
The only faction that dares to step within the Tunnels are the Unknown and the Undead, leaving all sorts of nastiness to marinate within the dark, cramped subterrain.
THE UNKNOWN'S KNOWN TUNNEL MOBS-
Skitters: Tiny bugs that travel in duos, Skitters serve as a food source within the Tunnels for other bigger predators. They drop nothing.
Darkened: Soldiers forced by the fighting down into the Tunnels eventually are driven mad. Physically warped by the darkness, Darkened can attack from a much further range than would be expected. Drops a Tarnished Medal, and Rotten Flesh.
Spotlight Fowl: A light in the darkness may not always be an exit. Spotlight Fowl bear large eyes that emit light, and use those eyes to spot prey that they then run down at horrific speeds, before using their beaks to tear prey apart. Drops Black Feathers (used to brew) Potions of Blindness) and their Spotlight Eye, which can be held in the off hand as a directional light source.
Crystalisk: These large lizards make themselves home within gatherings of crystals and are incredibly violent. They are able to lunge at incredible speeds towards prey, and their level of hunger indicates what ray they can fire them their mouths. A Crystalisk's hunger is indicated by the crystals on their backs, red means it's starving, purple means hungry, and blue means well-fed. Well-fed Crystalisks are neutral but will fire a scorching hot ray of light at offenders. Hungry Crystalisk are hostile, and their rays weaken and wither targets, while starving Crystalisk rays are very powerful and slow targets. When killed, they drop their Variance Crystal, which can be crafted into a Ray Gun that is powered by full Hollow Shells.
Coalective: A mass of living Liquid Coal, Coalectives are only found within the vicinity of Liquid Coal. Coalectives are able to fire blobs of themselves at offenders, causing blindness if they hit, and allowing the blob to slowly approach for an armor piercing fist. Coalectives can be bred with Coal Blocks, and their babies can then be bucketed and raised in their own pools of Liquid Coal. Should a Coalective be kept outside of their pools for more than 2 minutes, they will revert back to their baby form, which will then die 30 seconds later if it has not been pooled or bucketed. Coalectives within Liquid Coal will make more Liquid Coal source blocks. Drops Coal Blobs, which 8 of which can be crafted with a bucket to make a Bucket of Liquid Coal.
Teethers: The Tunnels are commonly uniform, seemingly made by the same company whenever a new system is discovered. However, smaller tunnels made by a colony of Teethers can be found as well, and Teethers don't share. Resembling Mole Rats, Teethers use their enlarged front teeth to power through stone, creating a small labyrinth around their Queen's Chambers, where the Queen Teether sits and awaits food. Teether Tunnels are 1 block tall, and always consist of a Queen's Chambers, a Pup Room, and a Food Room. Auxiliary rooms such as Guard Posts, Lounges, or Mushroom farms (Such Colony Mushrooms make Potions of Absorbtion) are only available if the colony has reached Level 3. Teethers harvest Residue from creatures they kill, or certain blocks they break, which is then brought to the Queen Teether. The Queen then turns the Residue into 2 'Paste', which is then eaten by 2 Teethers, and causes them to boof, making a Chiplet (baby). Teethers will collect until their Pup Room (5 'slots' for Chiplets) and Food Room (10 Slots for Paste) is full, and will simply wait until need arrives for more Residue. Players can drop food when attacked by a Teether, which will cause them to scamper off and produce Food Paste, which causes boofing Teethers to produce 2 Chiplets instead of 1. A full Colony is passive unless attacked or the Food Room's storage hits 5/10 slots, so keeping Teethers fed is more worth it than it seems. Drops Teether Meat, which fills 3 Hunger when cooked.
Twisted: When a company of soldiers is given no other choice, they descend into the Tunnels for something resembling safety. Due to the many elevators, weak floors, or other natural causes, they get stuck down there, and eventually die together. Twisted are what happens when an unknown parasite pulls apart and reattaches those bodies together into a horrific monster that only grows the more it kills. Coming in 3 stages, Twisted hunt by hiding in the shadows until any entity comes close, or a player puts their crosshairs on it, before rushing at them and attacking. Stage 3 Twisted can fire poisonous spines at their prey to wither them down before they come in for the kill. Drops a Malformed Chunk, used to craft the Black Death (A weapon able to fire the same poisonous spines), and the Puppeteer Worm itself, able to be used on a mob to create a tamed Twisted that grows at a slower rate, and must be fed or it will turn on its master.
0 notes
Text
Steel And Flesh 2 v1.5 MOD APK (Unlimited Money, Menu, God Mode)
Are you ready to step into a world where medieval history meets captivating gameplay? Look no further than Steel And Flesh 2, a thrilling mobile game available on the Google Play Store. Developed with passion by [Developer’s Name], this game offers an immersive experience that combines strategic battles, character customization, and open-world exploration.
Gameplay That Transcends Time
Dive into…
View On WordPress
0 notes
Link
1 note
·
View note
Video
youtube
STEEL AND FLESH 2 MOD DINHEIR0 INFINIT0 ATUALIZADO v1.5
0 notes
Link
Steel And Flesh 2 Hack 1.0 (MOD,Unlimited Money) Apk + Mod - Android and Steel 2 Android Normal version + Mod version (infinite money)
0 notes
Text
Homecoming, Part 2: Bosph, Ch 2
Chapter 2: New Friends, Found & Lost
Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars
Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender-Neutral Reader, Mihcas (OC), Nameless dozens
Words: 5.1k+
Warnings: Canon-appropriate violence, Injuries, Death & Destruction, Angst adjacent, Fluff if you squint
Summary:
I make friends where I can. But apparently, I don't get to keep them long when the bounty hunter's around.
Fraggin' buckethead.
Homecoming Masterlist
Just before the rusty pink dawn broke, we made it to the bottom of the ravine. My hands were bound once more, but this time the cuffs were loose, giving me room to wiggle out of them. The hunters’s blaster was still in its holster and the rifle slung across his back. He didn’t draw the pistol until we were out of the ditch, picking our way around craters and abandoned mech. A pile of service droids marked the gate into the compound, and my guts wrenched at the sight of them. There were many out there that didn’t see the sentient robots as living things, no matter what personality or skills they developed outside of their programming, and it hurt to think of the terror and confusion the service droids must have experienced before being destroyed.
Repressing the urge to vomit, I stood silently beside the bounty hunter as the merc at the gate scanned the ID fob and took the puck containing my arrest warrant. While the scan was processing, another guard stepped forward and ripped the goggles and respimask from my face, chucking them behind her. I scowled as menacingly as I could, but she just laughed, waving her hand dismissively at me. The scanner beeped an all-clear, and the merc triggered the gate, ushering us into the yard. The Mandalorian’s blaster barrel pressed into my side as we followed the merc through a low tunnel and into the building itself.
Once inside, we were greeted by several more mercs, each carrying weapons in plain view. Flanked on both sides and the back, the mercs guided us into a short hallway that contained a single door.
“Oh, no. After you,” I replied to the prod from the Mandalorian’s gun. I was rewarded with a slap upside the head that left my ears ringing. The merc who administered the blow grinned humorlessly at me with very sharp pointy teeth. Sighing in exasperation, I held my bound hands up. “I don’t know the code to open the door.” I wiggled my fingers emphatically and received another smack to the head. A pale orange Twi’lek shouldered her way forward, tapping a string of digits into the control panel. With a hiss, the door slid open.
The room was smaller compared to some of Mihcas’s other boltholes, but it was still elegantly furnished, and expensively. Carpets and furs decorated the floors and walls, and richly cushioned couches and chairs were spaced evenly around the center of the room facing the extravagantly massive fireplace. Servants, of varying ages, mods and species, lined up against the wall on either side of the fireplace, eyes downcast and arms politely tucked behind them. In the midst of it all stood Mihcas, dressed in a well-tailored formal tunic belted at the waist and Sullustan leather pants that ended inside tall black shock boots, his shoulder-length silver-blonde hair tied neatly at the back of his neck. He turned as we entered, a wolfish grin on his otherwise averagely-handsome pale features.
Acknowledging me with a curt nod, he greeted the Mandalorian with wide arms. “Welcome, fierce beroya! I do hope the journey was not too wearisome.” A sharp glance to one of the attendants procured a tray of cups and cold tea and Imperial delicacies.
I eyed the tray longingly before forcing myself to look away. My eyes met Mihcas’s, and his humorless grin widened, showing off his perfect teeth. The Mandalorian stepped around me, blocking my view of my ex-boss.
“Do you have the credits,” he stated in his not-a-question way, fingers tightening imperceptibly on the blaster’s grip.
“Ah. Yes,” Mihcas replied, voice hardening. “If you would be so kind as to hand my errant employee over to my guards, I will get you your payment.” He walked to a table standing in the corner of the room and unlocked it with a finger scan.
The Mandalorian turned to me, cloak blocking all but my view of his hands as they tested the cuffs and slipped the blaster into the pocket at my hip, hidden by my baggy tunic. With a helmet tilt to the guards at the door, he stepped back and watched as two of the mercs flanked me. I was lifted up by large hands clenching my upper arms and swiftly dragged from the room.
The door closed behind us as my two brutish companions, a mountainous blue-green Twi’lek male with a mean looking modified disrupter slung across his back and a rough-looking tawny Wookiee carrying a heavy reconfigurable blaster and a long knife strapped to its belt, hauled me bodily down the hall for one long droid-operated freight elevator ride and tour of the underground tunnels before depositing me into a barred holding cell. The Twi’lek bastard gave me a hard kick to the knee, sending me tumbling to the cold stone floor. I yelped in surprise and pain, feeling the cartilage pop in protest. The Wookiee barked a guttural laugh and slammed the barred door closed after the Twi’lek exited the cell. I waited until I heard their heavy footfalls disappear into the darkness, praying to the Maker that there was no one else down here with me, and sat up.
Holding my breath, I slipped out of the cuffs, tucking them into the pocket at my thigh. Mother of Moons, was I thankful for my jumpsuit. There was no other piece of clothing as versatile as this in the galaxy, nor any with as many pockets. Touching every pocket in turn, I let my fingers trace their way to my left knee. It was throbbing dully, and the heat from the rapidly swelling flesh only mildly concerned me at the moment. There was a secret pouch at the back of the knee, hidden in the baggy folds of the tough fabric, and I needed to get at it before the pain intensified. I unbuttoned the leg of the jumpsuit to just below my thigh and fished out the tiny set of tools I’d hidden.
Unrolling the palm-sized piece of leather on my aching knee, I selected a thin, pointed hook pick and a flat length of metal with a zigzag end I liked to call a squiggle, more colloquially known as a worm rake. I carefully folded the other tools back into the leather and returned it to the secret pouch, buttoning only three buttons at the bottom of the leg out of convenience and the need for speed. Rising painfully to my feet, I limped over to the metal door to inspect the lock close-up.
It was a simple deadbolt-type lock. Smirking mirthlessly, I knelt on my right knee, letting my left leg splay out sideways to avoid being bumped. Snaking my arms through the bars, I closed my eyes and let the tools become natural extensions of my hands. I could see the mechanism clear as day without actually looking at it, my body attuned to the scrapes and taps of the tools.
A gentle push here, a light rake there, and the lock clicked. I retrieved the little tool set from the knee pouch and replaced the pick and rake, returning the now-complete set to its home once more.
I allowed a small groan as I stood up. White-hot pain stabbed at the tendons at the inside of my knee when I put weight on my left leg, and I cursed the skug of a Twi’lek who'd kicked me. The Mandalorian had told me nothing of a rendezvous, let alone an escape plan, but I took the borrowed pistol as a good sign he wasn’t leaving me as sarlacc fodder. However, the knee was going to slow me up quite a bit if there happened to be an end goal I wasn't aware of.
The space between the tunnel wall and the holding cell wasn’t all that wide, and I made it in two one-legged hops, landing heavily against the wall. Using the tunnel as support, I limped awkwardly back the way I’d been carried. Landmarks were few and far between down at this depth, and it took a few attempts before I found the first freight elevator.
Relief flooded my senses as I stumbled over the gap and onto the steel platform. The tiny cylindrical service droid meeped in surprise when I entered, but quickly returned to its base programming to ask what floor I required.
“Ground level,” I replied dryly.
The droid beeped a confirmation, several small lights flashing brightly across its face. The guardrail swung down as the cage doors slid shut, and we began our ascent to the surface. The trip up was going to take a while, so I slid against the wire-paneled wall and sat companionably on the platform next to the droid.
“Do you like working down here?” I asked sincerely. Other than this one, the droids I’d seen so far were all non-functioning piles of metal.
A whir and a set of clicks confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t have the more delicate tools needed to give the elevator droid a proper diagnostics test, but I had a small dropper of oil and a few slim-handled stiff bristle brushes.
I emptied my pockets, setting each item neatly in front of the service droid. It meeped and whirred.
“It looks like your vents are stiff and your utility arm could use some grease. I’d like to clean them for you, if you’ll let me.”
A lone light blinked as the droid processed the information. A few seconds later, it clicked excitedly.
“No problem! I like doing this kinda stuff.” I smiled, adding offhandedly, “I’m a mech.”
With mindful fingers, I popped off the droid’s front access panel and loosened larger bits of caked-on gunk from its bolts and heftier gears. Taking up one of the smaller brushes, I swept away the rest of the debris and pinched the stiff bristles together to work out a little bit of rotted oil gumming up its more delicate gears. Leaning back, I took one satisfied look at my handiwork before picking up the small oil dropper.
“A little lube, and you’ll be as good as new, burc’ya,” I said, dusting off the top of its domed head.
I finished oiling the droid’s joints and other recalcitrant parts by the time we arrived at the ground floor. The elevator juttered to a stop, and the little service droid whirred happily, moving its arm in a smooth back and forth motion that showed off my mech skills. I couldn't help but smile at the droid. Knowing that my work was being appreciated was the best thanks I could ask for.
"Looks like this is where I get off," I said, pulling myself stiffly to my feet. "Don't let those kung-breathed dosh-heads get you down, friend."
The droid beeped in a succession of trills and tweets, and I patted its dome in a friendly parting. The droid pulled the door lever, and I stood back as the guardrail raised and the cage door slid open. It took a moment for the outer facade to recognize the command, but when it did, I found myself in utter chaos.
At the end of the tunnel, oily smoke curled languidly out of a Twi'lek sized hole in the sliding metal doors. One of Mihcas's elegant chairs lay broken halfway down the tunnel, and the body of the Wookiee guard was crumpled against the wall. Wide eyed but not naive, I slipped the blaster from my hip pocket and edged out of the elevator.
"Get out of here, if you can," I whispered to the little service droid. It meeped worriedly, and I reached back into the freight elevator to tap its domed top in comfort. "Don't worry about me, the goons can't hurt me; the boss reserves the right to kill me himself."
The droid trilled frantically, lights firing circles around its small head.
“Um, no. You are not coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”
Another set of trills and lights, but this time with a short honk.
“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when some fraghead takes a potshot at you and fries your servers,” I replied. Glad as I was to have company, and friendly company at that, I worried about the little droid coming to harm.
It beeped solemnly at me, disengaged from its dock, and whirred happily ahead of me.
"You, too, little friend," I murmured.
Limping as quietly as I could, I followed my new droid friend. It stopped a few feet short of the merc laying in the hall. I slowly approached the prostrate Wookiee, blaster drawn, taking a position in front of the service droid. The merc wasn't moving, which was good news for us. But by the size of the hole in its chest, it didn't look like it took that news very well. Stooping cautiously, I reached out a hand and poked it in its glassy, half-opened eye.
Yep. Definitely dead.
Tugging at its belt, I spun the leather strap around its waist until the forearm length blade came into view, still in its sheath. The knife was more like a sword in my hands, but it was better than a gun. Shoving the Mandalorian’s blaster back into its pocket, I straightened and glanced towards Mihcas's sanctum. I began to limp towards the door, the small robot rolling closely behind. We were almost to the broken door when something caught my eye.
I froze, and the droid followed suit. A shadow flickered in the haze of smoke, masking whether it was friend or foe. Fingers tightening on the grip, I shuffled forward leaning heavily to the right. If I had to fight my way out of here, I couldn't count on my knife skills alone. My knee was too badly damaged to be of any use in hand-to-hand combat, and I cursed the Twi’lek once more before steeling myself for a possible attack.
Someone grunted angrily on the other side of the smoky room. Inching towards the door, it was impossible to see more than two feet inside. Frustrated, I patted my pockets with my free hand, searching for something to cover my face.
Bingo.
Unwadding the crusty oil rag, I tucked the knife under my arm and tied the rag around my nose and mouth. It wasn’t as good as a respimask, but at least I wasn’t going to immediately fill my lungs with soot. I got a surer grip on the large knife, and leaned up against the wall beside the door. The hole was large, all jagged edges and fused metal, and I knew that no amount of finagling was going to get the control panel to open it. By this time, I was well aware of my knee; the sharp, throbbing sensation that traveled up and down my leg every time I took a step made it kinda hard to forget about the damage. I couldn’t put much weight on it, which made the idea of stepping over the bottom of the damaged door all the more unpleasant.
The acrid smoke roiled, disturbed by movement farther into the room. I wasn’t sure if this was the only exit, but seeing as I didn’t have any other ideas, I was going to have to try my luck with whoever was occupying the space.
“Think you could get me one of those rugs if I set you over the door?” I asked the droid blinking beside me.
It beeped a response, and I nodded.
With as much ease and grace that I could muster, I hefted the droid through the hole and onto the other side of the door. Its fans whirred faster as it encountered the dense smoke, and I could see its squat shape rolling further into the room. Silence fell for a brief moment, and the worry began to eat its way back into my chest.
Just as I was about to force my way over the broken door, a set of colorful blinking lights greeted me through the dimness.
Leaning into the hole, I snagged the edge of the fur my little droid pal had retrieved. I laid it over the lip of the hole, taking care to not fall over. I was frustrated and scared, and it took more than I had to bite my tongue from shouting in pain. Gingerly, I sat down on the edge of the door and tipped over backwards, landing with a healthy whuff on the other side in a pile of discarded carpets. The droid blinked silently in concern, and I patted its head before flopping over onto my belly. Pushing to my knees, I hissed out a string of curses in as many languages as I could muster. My knee was shrieking in agony, but I had to keep going if I wanted to get out of the compound alive. Flinging potential tripping hazards away from me, I used a broken chair leg to rise wobbly to my feet. The room was eerily quiet, but I could still feel the presence of someone else.
I was rewarded for my paranoia by a clatter in the center of the room. I stopped and held my breath. Another grunt sounded from the same direction
Instead of running in the direction I thought the door was, I decided to try my luck with the being at the center of the room. The droid flashed red in alarm, but I ignored its warnings. I may have been hoping that it was Mihcas making that noise, slowly dying in a puddle of his own bodily fluids. It would have made a fitting death for a skug who caused untold amounts of despair in others.
Picking my way carefully through the wreckage, I held the blade at the ready. If anyone was going to pop out of the smoke at me, they were going to be met with a very big knife. The droid stayed as quiet as it could, leaving plenty of space between us as a precaution. It wouldn't do anyone any favors if it got underfoot in a fight.
A noise nearby made me jump. Boots scuffed up ahead, followed by another groan. I couldn’t see over to the other side of the couch, the smoke being too thick and stinging my eyes to tears. Everything had taken on a blurry, hazed look, and it was a miracle I didn’t trip over the leg that came sweeping across the floor at me.
“Frag!” I yelped, arms instinctively coming to a defensive position.
I heard my name rasped through a vocoder. "You're alive."
"No thanks to you, buckethead," I replied, squinting down at the Mandalorian. "You're lucky I've got skills. What happened to you?" He was propped up in a scrunchingly uncomfortable way against the couch, an unfamiliar pistol in his hand and his rifle at his side. I tried again, waving the knife at the smoke. “This your handiwork?”
Ignoring me, his visor focused on a point just over my left shoulder. "Let's go."
With effort, I help him unsteadily to his feet, looping an arm around his torso. He leaned heavily into me, favoring his right side. From the looks of it, his arm was useless, dislocated maybe. A dark wet splotch had bloomed underneath his armor, and there was a strain on the floor to match.
Adding his weight to mine caused my knee to buckle ever so slightly in the wrong direction. The searing pain brought bile up the back of my throat. The sourness mixed with the metallic taste of the smoke already residing there, making me gag a little in response. Anxiety emerged from underneath my guts, clawing its way to my chest.
I swallowed in an attempt to keep the panic from setting in, and immediately regretted the decision. It dropped like a stone back into my stomach. Now I was queasy on top of the pain and the panic. Things weren’t looking good, and I could feel my heart begin to race at the thought of being smothered by all the smoke in Mihcas’s compound. Just as I was getting lost in the tangle of panicked thoughts and feelings, the Mandalorian muttered something.
“What?” I gasped, brought rudely out of my waking nightmares into reality.
“Amban. Need it,” he breathed.
Oh, right. The rifle.
Inhaling as deeply as I could, I ignored the nausea and the ever present pain and reached down for the discarded rifle. When I came back up, lightheaded and not a little dizzy, the bounty hunter wrapped the strap once around his good wrist and slung it over his helmet and shoulder. Blinking a few times, I exhaled explosively. Taking his weight back on, I guided him in a stumbling, winding path across the room.
"Fragging sake, you way as much as a bluurg!"
The Mandalorian grunted under his breath, gloves fingers digging into my shoulder. "Blaster," he muttered.
"Hold on. " I stopped, letting go of his arm and fishing for the gun in my pocket. "Here, " I said, showing it to him. "But how are you gonna-"
An excited trill of beeps sounded off to my right. With a heave, the hunter dropped his arm from my shoulders, taking the pistol in his good hand. Without looking at where he was aiming, the Mandalorian fired off two succinct rounds in the direction of the noise.
“What do you think you’re doing?!” I cried, lunging toward the crumpled droid. It meeped weakly, its blinking lights slowly fading one by one.
“It was helping me.” I held the droid’s small, blocky body in my arms as more of its functions began to shut down. My knee was screaming, but I didn’t care; my new friend was dying, and there was nothing I could do for it.
The Mandalorian stood sentinel behind me, blaster at his side. “We should go.”
“I can’t leave it alone!” I snarled back at him. “Why did you shoot?” My voice wavered, the fight draining out of me as fast as the droid’s little lights winked out. It didn’t take long for my little friend to beep its last.
I stood up from the remains of the droid, wiped my face on my sleeve and limped back toward the Mandalorian. “Ready when you are,” I said coolly.
He checked the charge on his blaster, powered it back up, and collapsed against the wall. “Exit. There,” he said with a tilt of his helmet. Squinting against the smoke and the tears, I couldn’t tell how far it was, but I could feel a breeze that stank of the outside.
Huffing, the Mandalorian pushed off of the wall and onto my awaiting shoulder. I may have been carrying most of his weight, but he was still in total control. He steered us the short distance to the smashed door and into the short, low tunnel.
“Not sure how we’re gonna get over that ravine,” I said conversationally.
“You worry about getting us there, I’ll worry about what comes after.”
“Got some magical flying Tauntauns up your sleeve, do you?”
“Shut up and walk.”
More than a little irked, I shuffled along under him until we got to the mouth of the tunnel. The body of the guard who’d laughed at me lay twisted against the curved wall of the tunnel, eyes open in astonishment. The merc was nowhere to be seen. Stopping a few steps from the outside, I helped the Mandalorian sit down against the curve of the tunnel wall, his breath coming out in rough, painful gasps over the vocoder. I glanced nervously at the dead guard. “What’d you do with the other one?”
“Do you... really... want to know.”
“Just making sure I’m not gonna get blasted once we step outside.”
“I took... care of... them.”
Nodding again, I look out across the compound’s yard to the gate, still closed but unmanned as far as I could tell. The Mandalorian’s breath began to slow from ragged gasps to mostly even puffs. He shifted against the wall, and I reached down to help him stand.
Synchronized, we stepped cautiously out into the muddy sunlight. The warmth felt good on my face and neck, and my shoulders relaxed fractionally. Mother of Moons, I never thought I’d see daylight again.
"I think you've seen better days, Mando."
The bounty hunter was fast. As I was turning my head around to see who had spoken, the Mandalorian had his blaster trained on the interloper.
Mihcas
Surprised as I was to see that the Mandalorian was standing in front of me… was he trying to protect me?... I was more so by the appearance of Mihcas who, I’d falsely assumed, had been killed with the rest of them.
Serves me right for not asking the correct questions.
Mihcas strode forward, the Twi’lek’s disruptor drawing a bead on the bounty hunter. His clothes were torn and singed and he was covered in blood, some of it drying darkly in his loose, silvery hair. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t his blood, and the thought of whose it could be made me sick. “I’m willing to let you carry on your merry way in exchange for my employee. We have business to discuss, and I would hate to bore you with all of the gruesome details.” The wolfish smile pulled at his lips again. He looked absolutely mad.
“I don’t negotiate,” the bounty hunter replied. A slight tremor in his right arm told me he wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer. I was going to have to do something, something incredible stupid in order to save the buckethead who got me into this mess, and I was going to have to do it fast.
“But I do!” I said brightly, stepping around the shocked Mandalorian.
On Mihcas’s lips, my name sounded like a curse. His long, thin hands tightened on the rifle, bringing it to bear on my chest. I could hear the power buzzing through it from twenty paces away.
“What are you doing?” the hunter whispered urgently.
“Shut up. I’ve got a plan to plan.” It had sounded so much smarter in my head, but I couldn’t take it back now.
Refocusing on Mihcas, I held up my hands and dropped the purloined knife. It landed, extremely pointy point down, in the semi-soft soil between my feet. “If I assume correctly, this scruffy-looking buckethead took out all of your hired goons while I was down below. Right?”
Mihcas’s head tipped imperceptibly, eyes darting to my helmeted shadow then back to me.
“‘Kay. Even knowing that, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s not gonna turn right around and kick your doshing ass once you’ve shot me? That doesn’t seem remotely smart or calculating, Mr. Bossman.”
Face reddening, Mihcas hissed, “I’ll take my chances.”
“Really? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re half a dozen charges away from an empty rifle. No, don’t check,” I bluffed reasonably. “Take your eyes off me, and who knows where this crazy Mando’s gonna go.”
I could practically see the steam rolling off of my boss, his temper getting the better of him the longer I pointed out the obvious. With any luck, I’d get his focus entirely hazed by anger, and hopefully that would be enough for one of us to take him out.
The Mandalorian huffed behind me, and I shook my head. If only he could be patient for a moment longer.
“So, with all this stuff not in your favor, I can see only one real option for you.” I paused for effect, holding my breath as I watched Mihcas shift uncomfortably. Then I waited a little bit longer.
“Well?” Mihcas snapped. The gun’s barrel dipped a fraction lower, and I inwardly congratulated myself on pissing him off enough to lose focus. If he was interested in what I was saying, there was an even better chance of making it off this rock alive.
“You die.”
Shoving me roughly to the dirt, the Mandalorian rushed forward, guns blazing. With his right side useless and probably in considerable pain, the shots were a little off-centered, hitting the other man in the hip and shoulder. Mihcas went down with an angry scream, returning erratic fire from where he lay. A burning sensation bit at my side as I rose from the dust, and I doubled over. Must’ve landed wrong when the hunter pushed me. The Mandalorian yelled something in my direction, but I didn’t catch what it was as I straightened up. The adrenaline surged once more through my veins, and I ducked, pulling what I now considered my knife from the ground. From the corner of my eye, I could see the bounty hunter flat on his belly behind the pile of dead droids, returning fire with Mihcas. For the heck of it, I picked up a decent sized rock as well.
Stumbling forward, I switched the large blade to my dominant hand, the silvery sharp edge slicing into my palm. From my vantage point, both the Mandalorian and Mihcas were highly visible to me, but not each other. I tested the weight of the rock in the other, finding the best grip I could at such short notice. I only had one shot, and I needed to make it count, otherwise...
Well, I didn't want to think about that.
With an underhanded swing, I lobbed the rock inexpertly at Mihcas's head. It shattered against the gatepost, showering him with mean, gritty pebbles and dirt.
A string of swears erupted from Mihcas as he dropped the barrel of his gun and wiped frantically at his face one-handedly. Those bits of debris had to sting; the air on this planet wasn't the cleanest, and it undoubtedly had leeched into the soil.
Steeling myself, I straightened to my full height, filling my lungs with the dry, tangy air.
“HEY MIHCAS,” I screamed, the words tearing my throat raw. “CATCH!” I flicked my wrist, sending the large dagger singing through the air. Mihcas’s eyes went wide when the knife appeared, sticking out of his chest. He immediately slumped over, cradling the hilt in his death throes.
Taking one last look at Mihcas’s body, I limped hurriedly toward the dead drones.
The Mandalorian’s helm gleamed violently in the sunlight, and I shielded my eyes, coming to a stuttering stop in front of his cover.
“Got ‘im,” I said with a smile.
I may not have been able to tell what his face looked like under that visor of his, but I could feel an air of disapproving astonishment coming from him. I relished in it.
“I… have… so many questions,” he replied, frustratedly flabbergasted.
“So do I, but I’m sure we can get that sorted once we get back to the Crest. That is, unless…” I stopped, scrutinizing the tilt of his helmet and the grip on the blaster. “Unless you’re leaving me here?”
A violent huff sizzled over his vocoder. “There’s speedbikes in an alcove inside that tunnel,” he said tersely, pointing back the way we came. “They should get us back to the ship before midday.”
“Thank you, Mother of Moons,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. I was going to voluntarily stay at the compound if it meant not walking all the way back to the ship at his speedy pace.
_______________________
Notes:
beroya - bounty hunter
burc’ya - friend
#moose writes#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfic#the mandalorian fic#the mandalorian fanfiction#din djarin fic#din djarin fanfiction#din djarin fanfic#fanfiction#fanfic#fic#mando fic#mando fanfic#mando fanfiction#star wars#star wars fic#star wars fanfic#star wars fanfiction#din djarin x reader#mando x reader#mandalorian x reader#mandalorian#disney's the mandalorian#disney+#canon violence#angst adjacent#character injury#character death#death and destruction#star wars universe
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
How much do weapons weigh?
Not as much as you might think.
Games often overestimate how much a sword or an axe weighs, and the assumption that many people make is that this lump of steel in your hand is a great burden, although this assumption has been working is way out.
The simple fact of the matter is, medieval weapons are quite light.
The medieval Arming Sword, the single most common sword of the middle ages. One handed, ext to carry, you wouldn't expect this one to be that heavy, and it isn't. Arming Swords tend to weigh between 3 and 4 pounds / 1⅓ and 1.8kg, that's it! This particular example weighs 3 lbs. 11 oz / 1.6kg.
The Longsword, a much longer weapon than the Arming Sword, as the name implies, and obviously much heavier. But it's not.
Standard Longswords, especially later period ones designed more for thrusting (like the one pictured above,) can be shockingly light. They can weigh in the same range as arming swords, although they can weigh more as well.
Longswords tend to sit between 3 and 5 pounds / 1⅓ and 2.25kg, and this example is 3 lbs. 7oz. / 1.5kg meaning it weighs less than the Arming Sword pictured before!
The Rapier, a famously light and nimble weapon that is also clouded in a fog of incorrect assumptions. The rapier is a long weapon. This example measures 45 inches in the blade and isn't even among the longest I've seen.
Including all that weight from the steel basket around your hand, and it starts to add up. Rapiers can however be quite light, so including the extremes of the spectrum you end up with a range of between 2.5 pounds and 5 pounds / 1.1 and 2.25kg. This particular example is on the lighter side, weighing 2 lbs. 13 oz / 1.3kg.
The Zweihander, the famous greatsword, surely this is a much heavier weapons! Well of course it's heavier than the others, the entire thing is five and a half feet tall, however they are deceptively light.
Zweihander weigh, on average, 6 pounds / 2.7kg. That's it, only 6 pounds. Some on the heavier side weigh about 7lbs / 3.1kg, but they rarely exceed that. This example weighs 6 lbs. 2 oz. / 2.8kg.
Moving away from swords, axes will surely be heavier, won't they? Think again.
There is an important distinction between battle axes and wood cutting axes. Battle Axe heads tend to be thin, very thin, good for cutting flesh and bone, and easier to wield. Wood cutting heads are wider so as to be more robust, and split wood open more efficiently, and let’s not even talk about splitting mauls.
As such, one handed battle aces like this tend only to weigh between 1 and 4 pounds / 0.45 and 1.8kg. They can be very very light! The example is 1 lb. 7 oz. / 0.65kg.
Warhammer even tend to stick to that same range, between 1 and 4 pounds / 0.45 and 1.80. This example is 2 lbs. 8 oz / 1.15kg.
It's only once you reach polearms that you begin getting heavier weights. The weights of a polearm is greatly changed by the length of it's shaft, which can vary greatly, so these numbers will be somewhat more flexible.
Spears tend to be the lightest polearms, often weighing between 3 and 6 pounds / 1.⅓ and 2.7kg, with this example coming in at 4 lbs. even / 1.8kg.
Poleaxes, tending to be on the shorter end of polearms, also tend to be lighter. Interestingly, the examples I've seen are quite consistent, and all weigh between 6 and 7 pounds / 2.7 and 3.175kg, though greater variation is possible. This example weighs 6 lbs. 9 oz / 3kg.
Halberds tend to be even heavier, though examples in museums tend to have hafts that are too short simply for storage and display purposes.
As such, the weights tend to be somewhat off, however we know from period sources and good modern reproductions that properly sized balberds tend to be about 8 pounds. This museum piece fits the "too light" mould, and weighs 5 lbs. 10 oz / 2.5kg.
For the purposes of giving you (the reader) a proper appreciation of what the pike is, I elected to not use a museum photo for this one, so you can see their full scale.
The pike is a massive weapon, and these piles being used by reenactors in this photo are quite short. On the shorter end, they measured over 10 feet / 3m in length, and on the lookout get end occasionally hit 30 feet / 9.1m !
These could be the heaviest melee weapons typically used in medieval/renaissance warfare, and even these only weigh between 5 and 13 pounds / 2.25 and 5.9kg.
With your heaviest weapons only weighing 13 pounds at their most extreme, this paints a good picture of how light these hand weapons tended to be. Something for RPG and video game developers to keep in mind in the future.
- mod Armet
41K notes
·
View notes
Text
Steel romance snippet 2
SInce I am hopeless today, this is for @ratastrofiend
Steel and m!Sidestep (Marco if you squint), soft and filled with spoilers and not safe for work at all.
---
"So how long did you know?" you ask, watching Chen's hand as it is tracing your chest, fingertip precise as it follows your tattoos. It makes you shiver, but not in a bad way. His mind is at peace now, unlike the thunderstorm it was earlier.
You never would have thought he would stand up for you.
Against the accusations.
Against the reveal.
...
The reporter had been a surprise, an unwelcome one, cornering you at the park. The risk of starting a habit. The risk of starting a relationship.
Spoon had barked, but a happy bark, not understanding why people were shouting, and you clung to that feeling while Steel stepped in, stonewalling the reporter, face blank in the accusations tossed.
That you were a danger. A villain. Not human.
Of all of them, it was the last one that stuck home, the angry shout of "just pull your damn sleeve up you freak..."
The Marshal is not supposed to deck people. He did it anyway. For you? For himself.
...
"I didn't." He keeps tracing the designs as if it was a mantra, fingertip slightly cooler than normal. His soft hands. His civilian hands. He could have broken them on the reporter's chin. How much does he feel? You're not sure, but you feel too goddamn much.
"Could have fooled me." You tilt your head, still a bit weak from your earlier panic attack. If you hadn't been at the dog park you could have taken half a city block with you, as it was, the only one you hurt was yourself. And Chen, who is sitting on the floor beside you where you're sprawled on the couch in his apartment.
He hadn't asked until you were safely back, until you had spent an hour shivering with half a pack of cigarettes and Spoon pressed up against you. He hadn't asked until you finally stubbed the last cigarette out on your hand and stripped off your shirt without a word.
Revealing the truth.
He didn't look surprised.
He didn't feel surprised.
"I knew something was wrong," he admits, frown deepening. "Just not that..."
"That it was me." You don't open your eye.
"It wasn't on my list."
"Is it now?" Spoon has draped himself across your legs, a trap more secure than any cell.
"I think we have moved beyond lists, don't you think?"
"You heard what he said." Outing you, how did he even have access to that kind of information?
"I did. I just don't trust why he said it." Steel shining through Chen's amiable surface, he knows something is wrong, of course. Barking up the wrong tree.
"That doesn't mean he was wrong."
"A random reporter finding out where you are and just deciding to corner you with that kind of information? In front of me? Someone is trying to provoke a reaction."
"And they succeeded."
"I meant what I said back there." Chen's face darkens slightly. "You're at least as human as me."
"Bullshit." You bite back the laugh when he keeps looking at you. "You've got replacement limbs. That doesn't make you less human."
"You've got tattoos... does that make you less of a person?"
"I'm not, though."
"You are."
"Chen..." You want to sit up, but that would mean disturbing Spoon. "Just because you believe something doesn't make it true."
"I don't trust their narrative more than I trust yours."
"I am a Re-Gene." You reach up and grab his wrist, feeling the joint where flesh meets metal. "He wasn't lying. Everything was true."
"That you were sent here to destroy us too?"
"Well, technically not."
"What is it that you want? Condemnation?"
"A reaction?"
"I'm still processing..." He sighs deeply, fingers gone still as you hold his hand. "It's a lot to take in."
"Why do you keep touching me?" You let go of his hand, shifting gears since the flat of his mind refuses to give you what you want. "I'm not even human."
"Why should I believe that?" A moment's pause as he meets your gaze and holds it.
And then he leans in and kisses you.
It feels like falling, pressed back into the couch, his weight resting across your chest, Spoon shifting as you do, leaping out of the couch, heading out towards the kitchen for a snack. You remain, trapped by lips and a body heavier than it should be. Steel's inhumanity is as clearly written on his flesh as yours, your hands grip his shoulders, one flesh, the other cold and unyielding.
"You're not going to hang yourself on my watch," he whispers as the kiss breaks, staring into your eye with an intensity that makes the heat in your stomach sink lower. "You're not going to give up and take the cowards way out, we're going to find out what's going on, and we're going to solve it."
"Chen," you say, your mouth hanging you while the rest of your body protests. "I do know what's going on. I'm the bad guy here. I'm Paradigm. You know that, right?"
"I do," he admits, keeping you trapped, gently stroking back the hair covering half your face, staring down at you. All of you. Still no condemnation, just slow deliberation. "You're a thief. The city doesn't end up in this kind of chaos just because of a single thief. One that used to be a hero."
"We do what we need to, to survive." You look away, uncomfortable with the scrutiny, your hair falling back into place.
"I know. And don't think that I don't have a few choice words for how you've handled... or rather not handled this, but..." A twitch of his face, and you can feel the guilt stabbing him in the gut. "I can understand why telling us... would not be your first choice."
"I was about to, back then," you admit, your fingers tracing his back through the tank-top. "I overheard you and Ortega. Talking. About the Special Directive."
"Oh." Shame now, stronger than the guilt.
"About the Re-genes you saw in the army..."
"You're not like them."
"But I am," you say, your voice hardening. "And you don't get to decide that. The only difference is that I'm a cuckoo, made to fool people. People like you."
"I'm sorry." The apology comes with a pained twitch of his face. They don't come often. "I didn't know what I was talking about."
"And you do now?"
"No," he admits. "But I know I was wrong. And if I was wrong about you, maybe I was wrong about other things as well."
"What did you find?" You can feel his thoughts flutter away, wanting to protect you, keep you safe, and the notion is ridiculous. The Marshal protecting a criminal. "What did you find when you went looking for me?"
"I can't tell you," he whispers, leaning close, pulling you into an embrace. "You need to trust me."
"You need to arrest me," you say with a choked laugh, leaning your head against his shoulder, the soft one. Flesh. "You know that, right?"
"I am the Marshal of Los Diablos," he says, scarred lips twitching in what's almost a smile. "I don't have to do anything. Judge. Jury."
"Executioner," you add, and you feel his thoughts recoil so this time you kiss him.
It's become neutral ground between you, Ranger, Thief, there's a balance when you kiss, tomorrow put off for tonight.
"You've died enough." He brushes back your hair again, no questions asked but you can feel them. "I couldn't do that to you. To Ortega."
"To yourself?" you ask, but you know the truth. He could cut out his own heart and serve it up as a sacrifice if he has to. He's doing it now, wrecking his career one blow at a time and for what? For you?
"What is Project Stripes?" you ask, feeling him flinch at the mention of the word, plucked from his mind in an unguarded moment.
"Later," he lies, because he's never going to tell you, knowledge buried deep down among his darkest secrets, where you used to be. The fact that he might be in love with you.
"How long," you ask, and he's not sure what you're asking, lacking the almost telepathic ability Ortega has to read your conversation. "Did you want me before..."
"Maybe if I had let myself." Chen looks away, and you reach out, tugging at his tank-top. There's a moment's pause as he looks at you, then something clicks inside him and he tugs it off.
It's not a big thing. You've seen his chest before, helped with his mods a few times when there were no other options. You always took the shivers for disgust, but now you wonder. How much have you misread? Sidestep playing himself one final time.
"And now?"
"You know the answer to that."
"I did. And then you learned the truth."
"I want you," Chen admits, with a sigh as heavy as a condemnation. "For my sins."
That's all you need, sliding up to a seated position, long legs wrapped around the kneeling marshal. Your heart is calmer than it has any right to me, it's always that way around him. A rock, a pond to sink and drown yourself in, a tree to lean against. He kisses you again, more carefully this time, hands running over your shoulders and back, a faint frown and you can feel him thinking about the state of your spine. Ribs. You need to eat more, and you almost swallow a laugh as he pulls away.
He's concerned about you. It's absurd.
Absurd and intoxicating.
"Just let me shut the door to the kitchen." Chen gets to his feet with careful deliberation, cybernetic legs at no risk of falling asleep. You hear him speak a few words to Spoon, the rattle of his bowl, and then the door gets carefully shut.
Alone.
It hits you right in the gut as he walks back to the couch, shirtless and scarred, seeing you in a way so few others do, open and vulnerable and so very, very dangerous. It makes your mouth twitch a little, he might want to do this, but he's still aware exactly of how dangerous you are.
Of how close Paradigm came to beating them all back at the museum. Almost. Not him. You haven't fought yet, and you find that you are grateful for it. So is he.
"It's been a few years," he admits, and you can feel the images crossing his mind has faded, faces forgotten, encounters carefully remembered for no other reason than to get him off when he needed to. No connections. None of this sort.
"Longer for me," you admit, because what's the use to deny that you have no idea what you're going to do. Luckily, he does. "That means your pants go off first."
"Really?" His face twitch in a smile, the first one tonight, unfamiliar enough to transform his face. You don't think anybody has looked at you like this before, seeing you, seeing your flaws, your scars, your tattoos and yet somehow finding it not ugly. Attractive even. The same image, different judgment.
His pants slide off all the same, undressing with the same brisk routine you're used to from the training. No flair, just the same wry smile, the first time you've asked him for anything and it's for his pants. There's a lesson in there somewhere.
"You're going to have to tell me what you want," he says, standing in front of you like a man that's used to be inspected and finding it a little awkward. But you're not an officer, or a doctor, or a technician, and you touch his legs with a softer touch. They don't pretend to be human, a blackish gray, the armored synth-skin more nanoweave than flesh. You recognize the logo, you think you robbed that company once, and the thought makes you smile. "What is it?"
"Bad thoughts," you say, running your hand over his boxers. He's straining in them, and you should be embarrassed, but it's matter of fact to him, so it's easy to steal some courage from his conviction. "Boxers off."
"Bossy," he mutters, and you have to stifle a laugh with a hand over your mouth because there's the first flare of fond embarrassment, of losing his cool.
And then Chen's naked in front of you, and your heart does a funny little twist because he keeps looking at you as if the other shoe finally has dropped but didn't hurt as much as he feared it would. So you do the only thing you can, you lean in and kiss his stomach, ignoring the heat that presses against your neck as you do.
You have no idea what to do.
This never factored into your planning, not even in your wildest dreams for a better life.
It's just for tonight, you settle for that thought because it makes things easier. Tomorrow you need to go on the run, there's no way to make this work because Chen is Chen and you are you. It's just tonight, and that means you want as much as you can possibly get.
And you've learned one thing from your new career. You can be surprisingly greedy.
Maybe it's not surprising, they never let you have anything of your own.
And now you do.
"Please undress me," you whisper, pulling back on the couch again as he kneels before you like a benediction. Artificial hands reach out to pull you in for a kiss, then sliding down to your pants. They come off too easily, narrow hips providing no obstacle.
Handsome.
That's a thought, vocalized through Steel's mind and he's looking straight at you. You were meant to hear that, a compliment offered willingly, and you can see yourself reflected in his mind, too tall, too awkward, gangling body marked by orange patterns. Dangerous, there's that word again, and he runs his hands over you. Not as if you were a weapon, even though he treats you with respect. He sees you. Too much of you.
He sees the lip you suck in when he reaches out to wrap his hand around your cock, pausing as if to check that you trust him with it. But you've seen him with Spoon, you trust his touch more than you trust your own.
So careful. Too careful almost, you whine a complaint, and watch his mind open up in a smile, the first truly open one you've seen from him. He wants you, and that is almost intoxicating, more pain than a cigarette could cause. "I want you," you whisper, willing him to get your drift, sliding lower on the couch.
"If you're sure?" he asks, and you nod, because you do, if you're having this you're having everything. Too greedy, and if you get hurt, well, that's nobody's business.
You're not even human.
But he treats you like one, touches your skin as if he could tear it, hand working your shaft until you are a puddle of feelings, slipped back in dreams that for once are not nightmares. The finger is cold when it slips inside, coated, its inhumanity evident now that you surround it. You bite back another whine, because you can see yourself in his mind, spread out, wanton, a suppressed memory of other people, lonely people, a one night stand and a kiss goodbye and he thinks that this is different.
You think it's not, but you don't tell him that, because you're greedy and you want it all. Wants him.
"Come on," you mumble, not afraid of the pain, afraid of the moment breaking, of reality falling back in place once more. He shares that feeling, fumbling on a condom while you watch his face, watches your own through his.
A funhouse mirror making you someone worth loving. You blink away the tears and reach out to pull him close as he pushes inside, the burn accepted, relished, because you're alive, and he's inside you, pressing you down in the couch, your legs wrapped around his back.
He's more careful than you thought, almost tender, unwilling to hurt, but more than willing to fall into your soul and fill it up with something almost human.
Almost.
Maybe if tomorrow would never come that could change.
But it always does.
392 notes
·
View notes
Text
AN ANNOUNCEMENT, AND THANK YOU
First and foremost, I would like to give the biggest thank you to everyone involved in this MKG and to everyone involved with the MM trial. You've all had wonderful muses this killing game, amazingly executed through your writing.
Unfortunately, I must announce that MKG8 is the last killing game of Continuous Calamity. Killing games will no longer be hosted on this server. The mods have discussed this through, and we sadly don't have the time or energy to keep this group up. I apologize if you were looking forward to the next MKG(s) and for any inconveniences.
The server will be kept up as an archive, and you may stay here if you wish. We plan to archive the general channels as well, just a heads up.
.
.
.
With this end, the moderators have a personal message to this server:
I cannot express how much I am grateful for you all joining along with these MKGs, whether you joined since the beginning or later, I can’t believe it grew into this fun community with funny and emotional moments brought forth by the roleplay.
Of course, I’m quite sad that it had to come to this conclusion, but this server will still live on through its memories.
Seeing everyone’s skills shine through and seeing everyone’s passion put into the characters they play brings a sense of joy to me, and I hope others feel the same way. I’m in awe in the raw talent displayed MKG after MKG, along with the persistence after the rough moments.
I thank the mods and anyone who helped GM in time of need, I thank the MKG artists for helping bring more life into the killing games, and I especially thank you all who roleplayed and watched for sticking with us through the ups and downs. I can’t express how much I can thank you all from the bottom of my heart.
I enjoyed the moments made by this server. I’m really grateful that I met new people and created bonds with you all.
Thank you, really. - Lexi
.
.
back then i hadn't expected this roleplay server to go on for so long. most of the rps ive been in have usually only been one game or so, and the commitment that ive managed to work with my friends to have paid off. this server has given me so many opportunities for writing, character design, and so much more. not to mention that being mastermind had really steeled my creative flow in writing once again and made me more excited to try new things-- and unfortunately, it seems like that’s the case now that the server is ending. but im ok with that, because i know that not only did i enjoy my characters, but other people did as well, which makes me really happy! Even through the rough times or the roleplays that didn't stick, it all ended up being very fun at the end of it all. i will keep the memories of continuous calamity with me as i move on and try different things, it was the journey i needed and thoroughly enjoyed. I hope this sentiment is the same for everyone else. love u all! this is likely not even the last time i'll see any of you of course but just to let you know! - mars
.
.
I Didn't Think We'd Have 8 Whole Ass MKGs In A Row When Lexi Made This Server Over A Year Ago (Coming Onto 2 Years In A Couple Months O_O) But Here We Are Lol! I Have A Handful Of Happy And Emotional Memories With This Server… I'm Glad I Was Able To Hone My Writing Abilities So Much And Develop A Lot Of My Once Bland And One-Dimensional Concepts Of Personalities Into Much More Fleshed Out Characters I've Grown To Love So Much… Not Only That, But Having Them Form Bonds With Other People's Characters, Too! I've Had A Lot Of Laughs, Smiles, And More, But As Much As A Part Of Me Wants To Continue, Continuous Calamity Seems To Have Come To A Premature End D: Not So Continuous Now But The Memories I've Had Will Surely Continue With Me And Everyone Else (: Thank You Gang For Writing With Us! This Florence :D
.
.
.
Again, the biggest thank you all for sticking with all of us until the very end. I'm sorry that it had to come to this and I hope you understand. I'm sure you all have journeys to look forward to moving on.
A big thank you to @zoranhero for making this video for the server!!
youtube
The server will be archived Monday night, PST.
With that, the server is now open to the public. Clicking on this link will send you to the server where you can see archives and chats of all previous RPs!
3 notes
·
View notes
Note
For a prompt for you, a red heart one perhaps? Steel realising he may have a crush on MC as they help him with his mods or perhaps they're just spending time together and he suddenly notices. 2nd perspective neutral please?
Fallen Hero; Romance Steel/sidestep; 2nd perspective; Steel realizing he has feelings for sidestep (more like Steel in denial lol)
(on a belated note I have discovered I have no idea if Steel curses or if he even likes cats)
Steel Perspective:
Sidestep scrunches up their face, concentrating as they work on repairing an old laptop; before letting out a string of curses as it sparks. They move away from it glaring and shaking their hand trying to ease the pain. It almost makes you laugh… almost.
“Whose laptop is that?” you ask placing your own tools down on the table next to theirs.
They shrug, “I don’t know. I just repair the shitty tech not deal with the customers.” They continue to glare at the laptop, scrunching their nose in disgust.
“..deal with…Wait you have a job?” you ask surprised and they turn their glare upon you. Admittedly they more look like an offended cat than anything dangerous… it’s kind of cute…
Wait… No no no no no
You did not just think Sidestep was cute. Where the hell did that thought come from?
“Yes, Chen I have a job,” they say as they stand up and strut forward until they’re standing in front of you. They…are standing really close… “What did you…” Their eyes narrow as they look you up and down. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Nothing,” you grit out through your teeth because why the hell would you ever think they were cute. And why do you feel… flustered? No no no no this is not happening. Your mind is playing tricks on you or maybe it’s Sidestep playing tricks on your mind.
Your eyes narrow, but all Sidestep does is roll their eyes and move back to the table they were working at grabbing tools. “Sit,” they say pointing to a nearby chair.
You cross your arms across your chest, “And why would I do that?” Yes, it has to be Sidestep, you knew they would try to pull something like this.
“Chen you’re not putting your full weight on one of your legs which either means it’s hurting or it needs to be adjusted or both,” they seem exasperated already, “Just sit down and I can help fix it.”
“Oh? You mean like the laptop?” You refuse to budge; you’re not going to fall for this trick.
“The laptop is a piece of junk,” they laugh a bit and god does that sound good. NO you are not thinking that. “I hope the military has better tech than a shitty laptop,” their smirking; throwing and catching a screwdriver.
You clench your jaw and instead of backing down you sit stiffly onto the chair pulling up the leg of your sweats. You can always double check it after their done or at least have someone you trust check it. They let out an exasperated laugh as they sit cross-legged on the ground next to your leg; silently getting to work.
“This looks new,” they say as they open the mod studying it carefully. You grunt in response trying not to think about how close they are, how their hand feels as it moves gently between where flesh and mod combine and… Fuck no. You are in control of your thoughts and you do not like Sidestep in that way.
Your jaw begins to ache; your teeth clenching your mouth shut. It feels like its hours before Sidestep finishes. They stand up brushing off their pants than motion for you to stand.
You stand carefully testing your weight on the leg; no more pain. You nod your head towards Sidestep and their face brightens into a beautiful smile…. Fuck.
64 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Lore of the Skyrim Nymph
So what exactly is a Nymph in Elder Scrolls lore?
http://elderscrolls.wikia.com/wiki/Nymph_(Creature)
A Nymph is a magical creature that looks like a beautiful naked female, and is essentially just a monster type in Daggerfall, much like Orcs were. They can't be hurt by mundane weapons (iron or steel), and can drain fatigue. They have their own language, and if you know how to communicate with them, they are less likely to be hostile.
A side-note and my explanation why I have not given any similar stamina draining powers to the Nymph Races: Fatigue is similar to stamina, but if you run out, you collapse. I can't help but wonder whether this was deliberate innuendo on the part of the developers: the other creature that drains fatigue on touch with the same spell is the Daedra seducer (equivalent to a succubus and also appearing as a naked woman). Think for a second, what activity with a naked woman would cause someone to use up a great deal of energy and then pass out?
Nevertheless, I have been quite surprised that in all the time Skyrim has been out and people have been modding it, no one has touched on this part of the lore that is so definitely full of potential, both for flavor and depth, and, let’s be honest, also for sexiness.
So here's where I come in. I have built up a foundation for "fleshing out" the Nymph as a playable race, and deliberately left some aspects unexplored in the hopes that other modders will eventually be interested in adding their own kinds of Nymph. Hopefully it will seem reasonable, both as a rational argument, and as a framework that fits with the overall Elder Scrolls Lore.
If you have no interest in the background lore or maintaining the cohesiveness of a "lore-friendly" world, feel free to skip over this. There aren’t any in-game details about the mod in this post.
What follows is a rational attempt to expand upon a part of the elder scrolls canon to introduce new possibilities relating to one particular creature only briefly appearing in Daggerfall, the Nymph
(sidenote: for the purposes of this mod we are defining the plural of Nymph as “Nymphii” similar to elven races, Aldmer -> Aldmeri, despite the real world plural being either the English “Nymphs” or Greek “Nymphoi”, to designate this specifically as an Elder Scrolls Race instead of the Greek mythological creature)
The argument is quite simple, but the supposition that follows can seem somewhat convoluted.
Based on the following four canon elder scrolls facts
1. Nymphii are naturally existing creatures rather than supernatural creatures created or controlled by some Divine or Daedric force
2. Nymphii are all female
3. Nymphii are very sexual creatures
4. Nymphii can be killed
It is therefore logical and reasonable to conclude: that since as a species
Nymphii were not willed into existence by oblivion, have a distinct female gender but no males, are sexual creatures, and can die
They must reproduce somehow, since there would be no reason for sexual behavior in a mono-gender species, and without reproduction or spontaneous generation through Daedric Will, there eventually will be none left.
a. Therefore, the theory this discussion is based upon presupposes that a Nymph will mate with a male of another species to produce offspring, though just like with any other species, this may not always be the explicit purpose for mating.
b. Since there are no recorded instances of Nymph/Mortal half breeds of other races, and the fact that they possess a different material composition than mortal races, it is reasonable to assume that all resulting offspring of this mating must exclusively be Nymphii, given that the concept of “Demi-Gods” or half-immortals, is not present in the Elder Scrolls lore.
c. Since Nymphii apparently mate with males of any sentient species and maintain long term relationships with these males, are highly selective in choosing mates, and ultimately exhibit the social concept of courtship behavior, they must have some purpose or reason for selective mating.
d. Thus, it seems logical and reasonable to conclude that since there must be a reason to distinguish between mates, this reason would come in the form of traits or properties inherited, else selective mating is meaningless. Stated another way: If every Nymph that results from a mortal/Nymph pairing is an identical Nymph who does not inherit any traits or properties from the male, it does not matter who or what that mortal is, and the documented examples of courtship behavior and pair-bonding make very little sense.
e. Finally, despite every resulting offspring being a Nymph, they must differ from each other in relatively small ways based on the traits inherited from the male parent, and if these traits are consistent amongst specific groups of mortals, there will eventually emerge distinct categories of Nymph relative to the group of males she is descended from.
First, a couple disclaimers
I admit, this is an attempt to apply scientific reasoning to the fantastical and fictional, which is a concept some people naturally resist, so please keep an open mind and do not read this as any kind of gender/sexuality bias, purely as a rational conclusion driven by the principles underlying biology in our own world.
Additionally, while it is possible to propose alternative non-biology explanations to this conclusion, none of those allow for a similar expansion of the lore, which sort of defeats the purpose of exploring the subject at all. Stated another way: if any given Nymph can magically wish a new fully grown Nymph into existence, there's nothing new to add to the topic in this regard, so please keep that in mind.
Therefore we are presenting our "unofficial Nymphii lore" as follows:
1. Similar to the Asari from the Mass Effect series (another all female fictional species), Nymph/mortal pairings will produce a new Nymph that is phenotypically a Nymph but integrates some characteristic, trait, or essence, of the mortal race.
This characteristic may not be any kind of inherent property of the mortal race itself (ie it is not genetic inheritance), but is a trait that the Nymph acquires when integrating some part of that race into her magical being. Therefore, a Nymph with a Nord father may not necessarily inherit her father’s racial resistance to cold and frost.
This characteristic may even be seemingly totally unrelated to the male in question, but comes from some racial magical essence that influences the composition of the new Nymph. Therefore, a Nymph may inherit properties seemingly unrelated to her father, and a Nymph could in theory, inherit a property of “heat tolerance” or fire resistance from a male parent who possesses no such property.
Whatever it is or wherever the trait comes from, it is universally consistent amongst all Nymphii that result from this pairing of Nymph + Race of Male, thus, any given member of a race that produces “Heat tolerant” Nymphii should produce a similar Nymph.
Most, if not all, variations of this inheritance will be the result of mixing of different kinds of magical essences. So a Nymph who is composed of 50% of one race and 50% of another may have completely unique traits as a result of this mixing, but all Nymphii that are within a range of 80-90% of one race will inherit identical traits.
2. Unlike the Asari from Mass Effect, there is no such thing as a “pure-blooded” Nymph, as they presumably cannot reproduce with each other, nor have they developed in isolation from other species, thus all Nymphii MUST be the result of Nymph + non-Nymph mating
The sole canon scholar writing on this subject does mention the lack of any other writers reporting a Nymph seeking out "him or her," at the very least suggesting that Nymphii may form relationships with female mortals, and we are not implying that this be ruled out as it may manifest through social behavior.
Simply, if they could reproduce with each other through conventional anatomical sexual intercourse (in whatever way that may occur), as opposed to a direct genetic exchange, it would make very little sense for Nymphii, as a mono-gendered species, to mate with males at all.
3. Given the centralized distribution of indigenous racial populations in Tamriel, distinct subtypes will exist based upon the region they live in and what race or species of males they have access to
for example, after mating with males from hammerfall for many generations eventually there will be few Nymphii in this area that are not essentially Redguard-Nymphii
the proposal elaborates on this distinction by declaring this a full subtype of Nymph, the Desert Nymph
comparatively, Nymphii that have many generations of Nymph-bosmer pairings become the Wood Nymph
given the typical "fey" description of both mer and Nymph, we suggest the possibility that some fey traits (pointed ears, dainty features) are actually mer inherited traits, not specific to the Nymph herself
In terms of appearance, the ratio proposed for this subtyping would be something like 95% Nymph, 5% subtype race, although some traits may be highly exaggerated (long pointy fae ears on a Nymph vs. pointed humanoid ears on the woodelf source)
It is likely that the more “mono-racial” subtype of Nymph will display some sort of mild to moderate preference for males of her dominant race, and a Wood Nymph will accordingly prefer Bosmer males over others. This is not to suggest she will ONLY be interested in Bosmer males, merely that she would view a Bosmer man as being more her “preferred type” than an Orsimer male would be.
Sidenote: it also seems reasonable to assume that there may be a distinct difference in dunmer-Nymphii (dark Nymph?) and the rarer chimer-Nymphii (elder Nymph?), although as we have described under the Night Nymph race details, it does not make much sense for a Nymph to directly inherit Azura’s curse in terms of appearance.
4. Additionally, in the transition between one major subtype and another, there will exist hybrid Nymphii
These hybrids represent the blending of two major racial sub-types through successive generations of mating with males of different races or species
The phenotypic ratio proposed here is then 95% Nymph, 2.5% subtype A, 2.5% subtype B, making both subtypes very subtle individually, and she may favor one over the other in appearance, or even have a completely unique appearance as the result of this hybridization.
Consider - in Skyrim, both Bretons and Nords have co-existed for a long time. Nymphii in this region will have established a medium between the Nordic Nymphii (for now, let's call her a tundra Nymph) and the Bretonic Nymphii (high rock is the only region with established in-game Nymph appearances so for now we will call her a "common" Nymph) the result will be what may be termed the "Sky Nymph."
other examples may be Cyrodillic/Dunmeric Nymphii in Morrowind (which we term the Night Nymph, rather than using the awkward sounding "Morrow" Nymph)
These hybrid Nymphii will essentially be indigenous to these multiple race regions, unlikely to exist elsewhere except as migrating individuals.
Sky Nymphii would thus not be commonly found outside Skyrim since each successive generation that is not a Nord or Breton pairing alters the evenly split balance
thus, they should only exist in regions that have maintained multiple population bases for hundreds of generations, long enough to produce precise 50/50 traits
A. so while skyrim has had both bretons and nords since before the first era and would have Nymphii hybrids
B. The Summerset isles has only had any significant non-Altmer presence living there for a few hundred years, brief in the lifespan of a Mer, let alone a Nymph, and would likely not have hybrids.
C. One must keep in mind that given the unlimited lifespan of the Nymph, and the tendency for solitary habitation (ie although they have a shared language, they don’t form Nymph societies or build Nymph cities), it is entirely possible to encounter an individual Nymph in a region that would not support her, but encounters should be limited to these unique individuals.
5. Finally, there should exist points of diffuse characteristics such that the Nymph resembles none specifically, or all of them blended together (the following contains the largest logical jump of this "lore", so pardon my suppositions)
These "blended" Nymphii are probably indigenous to metropolitan regions such as Cyrodiil that has many races/species living together
We are also suggesting the idea that due to the very similar appearance and behavior these Blended Nymphii would have to mortal races, it is therefore conceivable that some of these “Blended” Nymph girls may not know that they are a Nymph
These Nymphii ignorant of their own backgrounds may have been separated from child rearing mothers, but given the great lengths the Nymph species goes through to select a mate, it is highly unlikely that these mothers would ever abandon their offspring in normal situations.
Additionally, given the “supernatural” properties of the Nymph species, this ignorance seems unlikely unless the Nymph believes herself to be a member of a particularly long lived race and/or is still young enough that she would not be aware of her immortality. Put another way: although the Mer have far longer lifespans relative to Humans, they still go through visible stages of aging, whereas the Nymph does not, and once fully matured she will stay youthful in appearance indefinitely.
These unaware Nymphii would also require some way to explain the magical nature of their background. Possibly as divine favor, or Daedric Curse, or simply a belief that they are "special" or "different" in some way. The longer they live the more difficult this belief may be to maintain, so it seems reasonable to conclude that this state of being unaware of what they are will not exist perpetually.
To conclude, we are attempting to establish with a "lore-friendly" background the concept of types of Nymphii that are not heretofore known in elder scrolls canon as well as the possibility of both "secret" Nymphii living amongst mortals, and of women who are Nymphii but do not know it.
The extent of this mod's exploration of this topic is to introduce the framework and define the subtypes relevant to the characters present in the mod itself, not to produce a comprehensive list of everything related to the Nymph, this includes
the Wood Nymph (Bosmer-Nymph)
the Night Nymph (Imperial/Dunmer Nymph Hybrid)
the Desert Nymph (Redguard-Nymph)
the Beast Nymph (Beast Race Nymph)
and the Blended Nymph (the mixed or all-race Nymph)
***This, the exploration of the Elder Scrolls Nymph, was never meant to be a project of which I am the Sole Author, nor do I intend to be the Authority on all things Nymph, I am only interested in creating a starting point to inspire the modding community to explore the topic more fully using the groundwork that has been laid out.***
We will invite other members of the modding community to eventually take it upon themselves to flesh out other unexplored subtypes of Nymph so long as it makes sense within the argument presented here and the overall elder scrolls lore.
Truly, I hope you find this concept and the framework described here to be engaging enough that you might want to design your own Nymph Race, and I will encourage you to do so! This, to me, is the most important part of this project.
The discussion was fairly lengthy, but hopefully it seemed reasonable.
Ultimately what this boils down to is a way that lets you add Nymphii of all sorts to your game that still fits within the game.
If you're like me, you may have a hard time adding supposedly "lore-friendly" content to a cohesive world that takes an idea based in lore but then turns it into something that requires a Deific/"extreme magical" explanation (you are the chosen of Dibella or Mara or Sanguine or Molag Bal, ad naseum), excessive suspension of disbelief (it’s magic so it just happens), or simply makes no sense.
Thanks for reading!
#Skyrim#Skyrim Mod#Skyrim Race#Custom Race#Racemod#Skyrim Follower#Lore-Friendly#Balanced#Classic Elder Scrolls#Sexy Followers#Nymph Followers#nymph race#Nymph Girls of Skyrim
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Steel And Flesh 2: New Lands - Версия от 5 мая 2021 г.
https://updatedro.ru/strategy/4335-skachat-steel-and-flesh-2-new-lands-mod-menyu-besplatno-apk-ru-versiya-13-na-android.html - По этой ссылке можно скачать Steel And Flesh 2: New Lands на Андроид
https://updatedro.ru/strategy/4335-skachat-steel-and-flesh-2-new-lands-mod-menyu-besplatno-apk-ru-versiya-13-na-android.html
0 notes
Last Seen Blogs
teenagecollectorartisan
Untitled
babakrahimii
Babak Rahimi
rubenwrites
Ruben Writes
khotrkuy
โคตรกุย
teenagecollectorartisan
Untitled