wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
fondly recalling the time i stacked like 5 talents onto Mimic Gun and applying four different debuffs at once as well as knocking a bitch around
HORUS CULTISTS RAID A METAVAULT USING A MANTICORE AND AND AN IPS-N VLAD
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
Our Lancer team's cockpits as car interiors
Harvester -- HA Tokugawa
Actium -- SSC Mourningcloak
SWOOSH II -- SSC Death's Head
Diamondback -- IPS-N Raleigh
Halcyon -- SSC Duskwing
Sam -- HORUS Lich
Black Baccara (Evolved) -- HORUS Gorgon
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
Been working on this on and off for a bit. Just a little maintenance going on with my Lancer and the bestest Manticore. I have no idea how these mechs would be fueled, but in my head my Lancer's mech is run by space magic paint...fuel...stuff. Because she's got a celebrity background as a popular cartoonist/animator. So why not?
Bonus points if you recognize what I based her art tablet (the small flying dog thing) off of. :P
Coolant is a pretty important fluid that mech's need for their reactor. I think paint could be used as a coolant...
The politics in Lancer the mech pilot TTRPG seems center left to me. A good way to explain what's going on in that game's universe is with this overly long metaphor:
Imagine an alternate history where Nixon somehow beat JFK Jr to the white house, and once in office he lets Kissinger go nuts setting fascists up on an accelerated schedule. That's what Union's Second Committee was like. Then Tricky Dick procedes to nuke Vietnam a couple times. That's the Hercynia Crisis and that FTL Piston weapon launch. JFK and company ride the shock and horror of approaching nuclear war into office on the promise of de-escalation and enforcing civil rights, and they deliver. That's the coup that formed Union's Third Committee. Kissinger, Nixon, and the entire pentagon/raytheon corp take over NASA in Cape Canaveral, Florida where they form a tolerated corporatocracy in exile. That's basically Harrison Armory on the planet Ras Shamra. Now a United liberal-leftist front of America is actively trying to tear down dictatorships around the world that Kissinger set up (he got assassinated at some point in this time line) and replace them with socialist democracies. That is Union's Justice/Human-Rights Department and a few other government branches. So far they've had some success although people are pointing out that it's a bit hypocritical that the liberators are using weapons from corporate conservative states where civil rights are discretely curtailed. That's what's driving political discourse in 5016u in Union's legislative body, the Central Committee and it's myriad political parties.
So yeah Lancer's political intergalactic landscape is a bit like modern day? Except also cthulhu is giving out reality-breaking tech to militant civil rights advocates and random civilians? That's what HORUS basically is, btw.
Now that I've written this out, it would make for a good american alt-history with mechs campaign in Lancer...
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
soggiest grossest genetic fuckup flash clone pilot of all time
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
I was inspired this morning.
Brian David Gilbert gets into the Lancer table top role playing game. Makes funny protest songs against Harrison Armory's expansionist policies. Examines the different branches of Union's Third Committee and rates each one on how your anthrochauvinist parents would react to you starting work there. Explains the differences between a club for NHP hobbyists (good) versus a Horus cult (bad), ends by revealing that there is no difference and there is nothing sinister about Horus so quit being so judgemental.
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
Anonymous asked:
So... It's the person from the hypothetical thing about the Balor. Here's the whole thing, as it is.
See, I'd just got done with a job along with my Lance: Things were great, I wound up seeing what happens when a Balor literally pulls itself back together from a front-row seat (spoiler alert: It was fucking awesome), and I wound up getting enough cash to do some... Acquisitions.
So! I decided to stop by a black-market scrapyard I knew about: Odd spot ran by an unshackled NHP everyone calls "Mamaw": She heard the term on an out-of-the-way planet, liked it, and decided to use it as an alias. Lotta people dump mechs that are too junked-out, expensive, or time-consuming to repair there: Wear-and-tear from a death-world, too much damage from a job gone horribly wrong, used for something horrible by a rich ass-hat... You name it, Mamaw's got it lying around there for resale and trade.
It's like a Flea Market for mech parts!
... And also maybe ship parts butlet'snottalkabouthat-
ANYWAYS. Stopped by to say "Hi!", ask around about any good deals, and she'd told me that she had pretty much just gotten in a Blackbeard from some salvage crews. I was interested, so she guided me to it.
When I tell you this mech was fucked, I mean it was Capital-F FUCKED. Missing a leg and both arms, any armor was molten slag, wiring was shredded, the works. According to Mamaw, somebody had let their Sekhmet-Class off the hook, ejected, and just ran away. Left 'em behind to fight while they fled for the hills.
The mech got damaged enough that the Sekhmet-Class couldn't move an inch more, and after the battle the Salvage teams moved in to do their job. So, imagine their surprise when the wreck they go to grab starts swearing the air blue at them. Just... Absolutely laying into them. Insults that I could not repeat in polite company, according to Mamaw. They tossed the whole mech off to her, she got the Sekhmet outta there with some conversation and offers of therapy, and everybody turned out pretty alright. She's apparently a very good underground fighter now.
Where was I? Ah, right! The Balor eating the Blackbeard.
So! I'm sitting there haggling the price with Mamaw, and she's making sure to get a good list of what I want off of the BB. Mid-conversation, she trails off while looking over my shoulder after we've finally got the price figured up and paid. I turn around, and my Balor's just... Eating the Blackbeard.
Greywash fully in effect, swarming the wreckage: It was like watching a swarm of locusts pull apart a 3-D puzzle. They'd find the weld-seams and bolts, pull 'em apart like a damn surgeon, pulled the whole chunks into the swarm, and then go back for seconds and thirds.
Weirdest part was, the Balor seemed almost... Gentle, as it worked. Held the parts it was pulling in almost reverently, and when the Blackbeard was down to just the framework and wiring, it picked it up and... hugged it. Held it, like a close friend instead of a meal.
And as it ate, it just got... Bigger. Went from standing with plenty of room in the warehouse we were sifting through to scraping the ceiling. And then...
VRRP. No more Blackbeard.
I turned back around to Mamaw, and she seemed pensive about the whole thing for a moment or two before she started smiling.
"A good eating young-'un, there. You take good care of them, you hear me?"
Well. I couldn't help but agree.
So, yeah: That's how my Balor hypothetically ate a Blackbeard. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta go see somebody with a hypothetical Goblin to work on some hypothetical VPN-work. TTFN!
Ok so I’ve got corporate distracted for a bit so I can post this because letting this be my sole spoils of war here would be unfair to everyone on the Omninet
Also I’m gonna kick this down the road back to @horus-unofficial to please explain to me what’s going on with that Balor
That kinda sounds like it’s alive
Anyways back to standard corpro-posting love you guys
—the intern
yea most of our mechs are alive its really just a natural consequence of our design philosophy- theyre not sentient unless they have a NHP installed but theyre known to act autonomously on rare occasions. in this case our take is that the balors regenerative protocols were still on high alert after putting itself back together and when its sensors picked up the lingering presence of either the NHP or a fomorian frame upgrade it flagged it as code belonging to the balor and consumed the remains of the blackbeard
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
"Humanity", she thought, sitting in the hangers and watching a hazy whorl of grey dance around her fingers, a strange chittering buzz following with its motions in her mind, "is a funny thing."
What marked someone as a person? She wasn't some Anthro-Chauvinist, beating their chest about the greatness of mankind: The last time they had any say, the Deimos Incident happened, and everyone knew how that turned out.
The Union, drove to its knees. The First Contact Accords. And N.H.P.s came into the world, howling, thrashing, overpowering in their wonder and terrifying in their splendor.
She hummed softly, watching the comparatively miniscule Greywash swarm land across her hand, giggling and marveling as they settled into a silvery coat across her hand in a strangely ticklish wave.
Non-Human Persons: Paracausal beings that could only safely interact with humanity as a whole when caged, shackled, and pared down in Caskets. Almost literal godsends for any sort of computational work, solving problems that would take a human millennia to process and input.
"And yet, just so they can interact and be, their shackling needs renewed every few weeks and cycled every few years, so they can properly understand us."
She tilted her head, looking at the settled Greywash on her arm, and felt for the connection that was ever-present at the back of her mind.
"And if it weren't for all that mess, I wouldn't have you, wouldn't I, love?"
A presence distinctly behind her, one that she'd grown so used to, so connected to that the thought of anything severing that bond made her very soul ache, rumbled like distant thunder in her mind, and a rush of "-WarmthEmbraceAcceptanceAgreementLoveYouToo-" parsed through her in a tide that left her almost breathless.
She was so young when she heard about them: Beings that had to chain themselves down, carve themselves to fit, just to communicate with humanity. She couldn't help but think of how lonely they must've felt, at the time: How much making themselves fit had to hurt. Then again, "She" had thought herself a "He", at the time.
And then, he became she, and she wanted to fit, too: To stop feeling like a square peg, crushed and ground into a round hole until her sides bled and she choked and wanted to scream-
The presence curled around her mind in moments, like a hurricane coiling around its eye: There, overwhelmingly present, and yet every bit as gentle as a summer breeze, a white-noise murmuring of "-SafeHappyWe'reHereShapeIsBetterNow-" filling her as she finally remembered to breathe, RA Take It All-
In Four, Out Eight.
In Four... Out Eight. Ragged breaths slowly smoothed out, and she felt herself start to relax. "I-I'm fine now, love. Thank you."
The hurricane chirred in her mind, curled around her still, just like the grey tendrils that had coiled around her when-
"Oh." She looked, staring up into a single, softly glowing lavender eye that gazed down curiously, one car-sized hand cradling her while millions of Greywash drones held her tightly, anchoring her there and pressing close in an imitation of an embrace.
... And then, she'd found Them. Rather, They had found her: Offered to help, with all the innocent whimsy of someone seeing a turtle on its back, before flipping it over.
They'd only needed moments to hijack and print out a way to reach her, and then...
All was silent and calm.
She fell, and fell, and fell, into a blooming sea of a million-billion minds. As one, they looked. As one, they spoke. As one, they acted.
And they were her, and she was the sea, and the sea was Acceptance, Warmth, and Love.
And all was silent and calm.
When she woke up from... that, she could feel herself settling in ways she'd barely recognized, like a machine freshly repaired by loving hands, every part cleaned, oiled, and finally fitting right...
And she gawped.
Something... buzzed, in her mind: A shard of the sea, gleaming, vibrant, loving and there. "-NewBrightHappyWhoAmI?"
She'd sat, all but struck mute, for a good long while. They'd left a fragment of themselves with her: Fledgling, strange, and curious about everything. There were many moments as her body finally, well and truly began to fit where she'd had to push down bubbling waves of laughter at their more strange questions, choke back tears at their more tragic ones, and watched them become.
To say that their growth had been exponential when they'd found any forms of data was an understatement: Information was analyzed, categorized, and compiled in moments.
Of course, she hadn't been slow on the uptake, either: Not to the (frankly) insane degree as her new partner, but she'd directed her efforts... elsewhere.
She stood, the Greywash floating apart and parting around her like water around a stone, and raised her hands. The cockpit of her mech, her Balor, bloomed open, and the swarm of nanites drew her in. Her partner had learned everything immaterial that they could. She'd learned to pilot: To make a mech dance, to clamp onto an enemy, hold together against a storm of lead, reach through data, and drag systems to a screeching, screaming halt.
Anyone else would have been eviscerated by the Greywash of her mech: Their very molecules ripped apart to feed and fuel the Grey'.
She was not Anybody Else: She was Kassandra Kal'lai, and this was her Balor: Her swarm.
The aperture closed quietly behind her, and she sighed as she finally felt comfortable again, cradled in the heart of her mech as the Greywash folded and pressed itself around her. She curled herself into the seat and pressed her head to the back of her seat, listening to the soft thrum of the machine's reactor: The resting heartbeat of a half-awake colossus, humming a sleepy lullaby to her.
She sighed, closed her eyes, and fell.
"Goodnight, love."
And the silver sea embraced her, once again. "-GoodnightSleepTightDon'tLetTheEgregoreBite.-"
And all was silent and calm.
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
my friend @jennie-red-ink commissioned an absolutely incredible piece from @yourneighbortoasty of the coolest moment i have ever experienced in a TTRPG– my character trapped in their suit with an AI they’re slowly prodding into going rogue and Becoming something greater
my NHP was designed as a red-team tool to harder other NHPs by going beyond simulation– attempting to perfectly Become them to suss out their weaknesses. but, uh, when you’re fighting an egregore… this might lead to fractal polyfragmentation
this character has not died yet, despite constantly putting their life on the line to force this poor NHP to mind-meld. every time i structure (lose an HP bar), i have a 1/10 chance of total cascade failure, which will be a disaster so severe it makes history. but hey… isn’t that worth it, in a way? to help usher in something far beyond human?
thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you! I am begging you, please play @lancerrpg , it is made for moments like these
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
Lancer Mechs in Two Sentences or less: PT-1: HORUS
Balor: Imagine being stung to death by a billion bees on fire accompanied by a forty foot tall axe murderer armed with a whip also made of said flaming bees.
Gorgon: Fuck your action economy, fuck your Reactions, and double fuck you for even existing on the same plane as me.
Goblin: I am going to microwave your fucking frontal cortext with memes until it becomes mush.
Kobold: I AM BUILDING A WALL, AND THE DM IS GOING TO FINANCE IT!
Hydra: Oh, I'm sorry, you wanted this scene to conclude within a reasonably short timeframe?
Lich: Y̷̻̠͇͛ò̶͓̰̬̀̄̿͘u̴̝̠͆̾̽͆̒ ̵̤͓͔̓͜c̵͔̳̀͑̅̿a̶͈̘͍̝̒͒̾͌ͅņ̸́̈́̔̅̈ǹ̵͔̹̼͖͝ȏ̶̥̭̠͉̠̊̇͗͝t̴̝̤̙̞̬̏͒̾̈́͑ ̴̍̂̆͜k̷͇̀̊ỉ̷̪͌l̵̨̞̳̪̋̾̄̑̍l̴͙͚͋ ̶̨̦͕̦͚̈́̿̑͂̃m̷̛̘̲̝͉̄̽͌ḙ̵͎͔̳͗̓̒ ̵͍͔̤̄͊i̶̭̗̖̞͌̍̈́n̴̩̙͖̉̍̄͝ ̶̮͓̉̚a̸̞̭̒͗ ̶̛͎͉̮̲̂̓͗͌w̶̤͍̭̦͊͂̈́̅͘ā̸̞̺̅͊y̷̯̭̑̈́ ̶̡̲̉t̶̘͆̿͝ͅḩ̸͍͙̓̀̾̚͠á̷͕̭͚̂́t̶̖͖̮̓̃̄ ̴̢͇̥̽̓̿̌̈́m̴̖̹̩̙͌̚ä̶̹̠t̵̘͙́t̵é̵̢̘̤̉̽ͅr̸͎̜͈̝͈͑̐ṣ̷̺̠̟̆̃̔͝͝.̵̢̰͕͚̺̓̓
Manticore: CASTIGAAAAAAAAAATTTEEEEEEE-
Minotaur: You get slowed, and you get slowed, and you get slowed, EVERYBODY GETS SLOWED!
Pegasus: I WILL BREAK REALITY BY VIRTUE OF SHEER DAKKA AND YOU CANNOT STOP ME.
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
Aah yes man-made (?) horrors beyond our comprehension. I do love the pegasus frame I feel like its design in lancer, visually and mechanics wise, is pretty unique. Anyway, this is me turning dtiys characters into mechs again with this one being for @/wallenrod on Instagram. Ye.
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
the reason we're always having issues at the mech hangar is because time and time again we keep doing illegal shit and getting caught and frankly it's become normalized around here
wealmostaneckbeard reblogged
ssc/ips-n/gms probably wouldn't warrant sourcebooks of their own given they're much more on the corpro end of the corpro-state thing compared to harrison armory but like. i would LOVE a horus sourcebook that's just like a hundred pages of machine cults and fringe political movements and internet wizards who all kinda hate each other
bonus points for absolutely zero elaboration on what monist-1 is