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SAVING BOSTON PART 1: The Search for Spellbound

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QUEST SAVING BOSTON PART 1: The Search for Spellbound

Post by Vorik November 23rd 2022, 8:41 pm

Victoria couldn’t sleep. 2 weeks had passed but the images kept replaying in her mind. She remembered watching the tv as the world went mad. Millions of people died at the whims of some psychopathic “hero” trying to save the day. The blinding light as the “hero” essentially nuked London. All for what, to stop a villain who caused far less harm? Madness.

There was also the fallout in Las Vegas as well. It was nowhere near as horrific as London, but still…Lives were lost due to the whims of madmen with powers far beyond controllable. It seemed every day the world went madder.

‘You could have stopped this.’ Her guilt told her for the thousandth time. ‘You could have saved them but you didn’t. You didn’t try.’

She knew it wasn’t her fault but it was right. She had access to possibly the most powerful piece of technology in the world…But also the most dangerous. She’d only used the suit once to deliver retribution on Lightyear and the fight was frighteningly easy. If she was able to toss around one of the most dangerous people on the planet then she could have easily made a difference in these tragedies…But she was worried about what that kind of power would do to her. She saw time and time again how people with superpowers would always abuse them, no matter if they claimed to be a “hero” or not. Simply put, people were not meant to be able to cause such destruction.

She knew she wasn’t a good person at heart. She wasn’t good at talking things over like her sister, nor did she really care to know people. When confronted with a problem, her first idea was to power through it and bulldoze her way to a solution. What kind of person would she become if she allowed herself to use the suit more? Still…For all the “heroes” in the world, they all failed London, failed Las Vegas. In a world where the watchers are corrupt and cause more harm than the “evil”, they defend against…Who watches the watchers?

A resolve settled in Victoria as she pondered that question. She wasn’t a hero and would never claim to be but she simply cannot allow this to continue. She couldn’t save those already lost but she could do something about the now.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A lone figure in elven armor stared at the obsidian monolith. Swirling nebulas of stars and cosmic dust glittered as elven calligraphy shined through the edges of their armor. The figure frowned as she ran her hand over the smooth surface of the memorial.

‘Yet more reason to fix this.’ Victoria mused.

She had been in Boston, or what is now Eugenia, for the past 2 days. Having resolved to help the world, she figured Boston was the best place to start. After all, it had been overrun with wanton power abuse. Some sort of cosmic dice had been used to turn all of Boston into some strange fantasy land you’d expect from a videogame or fantasy novel. The most unsettling change was of the thousands of people forcibly transformed against their will. Many were changed physically into Orks, Elves, and dwarves, and many more were changed mentally to conform to this new world of magic. Vampires ruled over Eugenia and most certainly preyed on the innocent like livestock. Not to mention some sort of fanatical cult called the Ofrarian Church acting as the state militia enforcing these changes.

Entering Eugenia had changed her physically, but thankfully not mentally, or at least she hoped. Even her armor was not immune to the change as it took on a more fantastical appearance. Regardless of her change, she spent this time exploring the new landscape, learning what she could about what happened and who was to blame. Some guy named Eugene had done all this and no one knew where he was. The only lead she had was of some kind of magical book somewhere called “Spellbound” that could track him down. Where that book is…She only had a general idea.

Between the magical monsters, vampire lords, and a fanatical church, she found her confidence tested. Once she made her move, she was sure Eugenia would fight back with everything it had but she would save these people and revert these changes. For now, she would take a bit more time and narrow down that lead to Spellbound before she acted. She continued paying her respects as she thought about what to do next.

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QUEST Re: SAVING BOSTON PART 1: The Search for Spellbound

Post by Rorking November 28th 2022, 1:34 am

Gearhead sat in his shop working on his latest commission from The Mad God that hangs around his shop more than he does. As he starts to get the coding board for the flame controls done, he finds himself glancing up at the gear he had mounted on the wall. Though he wasn't technically retired from active hero work, he still missed the days he spent more time out there patrolling the city he loved and fighting those who dare spit in its image.

Memories of him running through the city flashed through his mind. His everyday job of Him shocking Villains, cracking really bad one-liners, and occasionally having to fight some dude who screamed a lot about "DANGER!" Felt almost years in the past. His mind jumped around until he landed on a more recent one. He sees himself running around before he spins around to see a figure in a red mask staring back at him. A smile forms across his face as the figure slowly approaches him and blows a puff of smoke in his face.

a loud noise rings for a second as Gearhead starts to cough. Suddenly finding himself laying on the floor of his workshop, tubes overhead finish spraying his area with some kind of cold powder so thick he can barely see in front of him. as the overhead fans kick on and start to suck out all the smoke, James felt disappointed in himself as he saw the now charred eyewear sitting on his desk. "I guess I'm gonna have to tell Puff I need more time.....again." he thought to himself as he toss the eyewear into the garbage.

As the fans switched off, his Tv came roaring to life as "Breaking News" flashed across his screen. James rolled his eyes as he saw it was another news report on the "Plight of the people of Boston." A story he never understood why anyone seems so addicted to. The whole thing seemed like such a null issue, Fantasy settings always bring the crowds and magic is awesome. looking back up, he saw a dragon person run up to the camera and howl at the news reporter before they shot a breath of acid causing the feed to go dead. A smirk rolled across his face as an idea popped into his head. "I wonder if this could use a more....modern touch?" he thought to himself. "the city itself might not need the most help but the people certainly could use it." Gearhead quickly ran up and grabbed his gear off the wall. Next stop, the fantasy land of Eugenia.

---------------------------------------------------

Lightning struck a wall as a figure came leaping through it. Looking around, he quickly smoothed his jacket as he continued to walk down the now-abandoned street. the feeling of magic lightning running through his veins and a determination to keep going is the only thing keeping him alive in this land.

"Note to self" Gearhead spoke softly to himself "don't fuck with the gray wizards until I can learn what a 'Lighting carnacopia' is." Though he was certain they were no longer trying to find him, he didn't want to risk it as they were very determined to not let him pass through their turf.

Though he had only been in Eugenia for a couple of days by this point, He was starting to get a grasp on what exactly the city had become since the big transformation that caused all of this. The gangs seem to be the same but just colored and run differently than before. If it wasn't for his friend Puff, he was pretty certain he would be dead by now at the hands of something called a 'Chitine' but Puff was able to deal with it quickly. He only wishes Puff would have stayed with him instead of, and I quote, "spotted a nice looking Flame lady' and 'ran off to create some sparks.' So it looked to be that James Ashford would have to learn to control this new version of his powers on his own.

Though he never dressed poorly at home, Gearhead was certainly getting used to his new digs. Ever since stepping foot into the city, his black and yellow jumpsuit has changed into a sleek black and yellow Suit set with a black overcoat. His High-tech goggles gave been replaced with very standard pair of goggles with the interesting twist of a built-in steam-powered magnifying glass machinery. The biggest change is that his weapon, which was A metal baseball bat before, is now a metal club with a lightning-bolt emblem sticking out at the bottom of the grip. The biggest surprise though is how the hell he hasn't gotten any of it dirty quite yet.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted the only hope he had left for his quest. He looked down to the street to see the monolith of a tribute he had heard so much about. "Maybe, just maybe, I will be saved there." He thought to himself as he started to pick up the pace. As he got closer and closer, his hope could only increase as the idea of actually meeting someone who can help filled him with nothing but joy. Before he knew it, he had increased his pace to a full-on sprint. Puff be damned, he was ready to prove himself once and for all.


Last edited by Rorking on December 1st 2022, 11:02 am; edited 1 time in total
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QUEST Re: SAVING BOSTON PART 1: The Search for Spellbound

Post by ProwlerKnight November 30th 2022, 7:32 pm

Michael looked out at the street below the safehouse he was currently residing him, taking a large swig of a bottle of Macallan No.6, feeling the alcohol subside the pain from many bruises he had sustained. He had swiped the bottle after a rather brutal and violent raid on a Mafia Dons private mansion. The Don had previously obtained, through very illegal means, a priceless jeweled hair piece, belonging to a foreign Lords family, and held high importance to their culture.  

Michael, not one miss sticking it to the criminals of his beloved city, went after the heirloom, which meant fighting through waves of Mafia thugs, a couple of generals, and the Boss himself, who proved to be capable of handling his own, being damn near seven foot and 300lbs of muscle.  

But, in the end, no civilians got hurt, the heirloom is back with it’s family, and Michael made off with a unopened bottle of $5,000 single malt.  

Which is more than he can say for London, millions confirmed dead and rising, with just as many casualties, and a massive crater in the center of the city.  

Michael shook his head as he watched the news report, taking another swig of liquor. Another “hero”, taking the easiest path to victory, regardless of the lives lost in the process. He set the bottle on the nightstand by the bed, looking over his weapons and gear, which he had placed out on the bed in an organized display.  

He didn’t have time to sit back and mourn, for him, there was always another war to wage, another fight to be had.  

He made sure there were no open wounds, before putting a new shirt on. He then grabbed the pistols, checking them over, making sure they were primed and ready, before holstering them. After getting suited back up, Michael took one last, huge swig of No.6, preparing for whatever war comes next.  

Sometime Later:  

It didn’t matter if it was modern day, or some high fantasy realm, crime and corruption was everywhere. In one of the many back alleys, an armed half-orc thug stumbled as he tried to race for the main road, desperately seeking escape from something, hoping being surrounded by others would somehow grant him sanctuary.  

He never got a chance to find out, for as his objective came into view, a pair of hands grabbed onto his tunic, dragging him out of view and into a secluded part of the alleys, with no other exit beside the one a figure was now blocking.  

“Do you know who you’re messing with!!??” The thug snarled to the figure, realizing he only had one way out of this, as he drew his short sword. “My boss will have your head!!” He charged at the figure, swinging the sword high.  

Warden greeted the attack with a firm spartan kick into the abdomen of the thug, forcing him back a solid five feet, and onto his back, gasping desperately for air. “Someone told me you had some information on how to find the man responsible for all of this...” He walked over to the thug, pressing his foot onto the sword hand, forcing him to let go of his weapon. “And let’s just say I’m interested...” He reached down, pulling the Half-Orc back to his feet. “Now I suggest you start talking, before I send you back to your boss in a full body cast!”  

The thug finally caught his breath, looking into the eye slots of the visored barbute helmet, the blue eyes glaring back reflected in the dim light, giving the illusion that they were glowing. “Look, okay, about month ago, I was at the tavern, and one of the scribes came in, sat down beside me...” He winced as he talked, realizing he definitely had a broken rib or two. “The guy starts drinking, and gets chatty, a few pints in, and he tells me some crazy story about a magical book here in the city...” He paused, trying to gauge Wardens reaction, though it was hard to due with the helmet. “Anyway, apparently this book can be used for a lot of things, including tracking down the nerd that did this to us!!”  

“And where is this book??”  

“Nobody knows, it was just a superstitious rumor man!!”  

“Thank you for the information...” Warden released the Thug from his grip, nodding to the exit. “Now get the hell out of here, before I change my mind.”  

Without hesitating, the Half-Orc scrambled for his short sword, sheathing it at he made a run for it, immediately hunting down the nearest healer.

Warden strolled out onto the main street a few seconds later, only slightly closer to his goal, but still, progress was progress. As he looked around at the busy houses and shops, his eye caught the monolith. He had been so focused on the mission, he hadn’t stopped to check it out. But something compelled him to today, as he made his way over.  

There were others there already, a woman, in some kind of magical armor, and someone who looked like they came from a steampunk convention.  

Though, Warden couldn’t really judge someones attire, his own tactical gear had shifted into some form of lightweight plated armor, and his custom energy pistols, replaced by what appeared to be magic-imbued Flintlocks.  

As he stared at the monolith, reading the names inscribed on the stone, he was reminded of his mission here.  

The level of power that was used to create this place must be secured, and out of reach of any tom, dick, or jane that could misuse it.  

Warden had to make sure this could never happen to any other city.
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QUEST Re: SAVING BOSTON PART 1: The Search for Spellbound

Post by The Nekromonga December 3rd 2022, 7:08 am

THE PREPARATION

Whaltam – Private Property

When she had heard that Boston had remained an altered reality point (or so she theorized), Sage returned frequently to the outskirts of Boston to conduct studies and observations, having acquired a property in nearby obscure Waltham. A sizable donation to the sleepy town and some weeks after the incident, and Sage finds herself a comfortable abode with a view of the Charles River, where she could conduct studies and observations, while working on her various projects of interest.

In the spacious garage turned carriage house, Sage and her various servant clockwork automatons prepped three carriages, loading them with potted plants. The calm was broken when the air crackled and atop the carriage, a certain malevolent little witch materialized.

“Helloooooooo Boston! Dabbler IZ in the HOUSE!” she said, Dabbler feeling the need to make a massive entrance. She looked about excitedly, seeing all the plants being loaded. She also spied Sage in a new black and gold ensemble. “Hey Four Spices, Nice bath robe.”

Without skipping a beat, Sage placed a potted plant in its holder in the carriage. “Did you make the observations I asked?”

The witch sat down on the carriage’s roof, pulling a mars bar out of her witch hat. She opened it and began masticating loudly, to Sage’s quiet annoyance. She even spoke through a full mouth, truly a villain without scruples. “I mean… I’m basically a… you know… some of my candy turned into rations… I couldn’t use my phone… Typical of our predictions, reality does a kerfuffle about when you cross the Charlie River past the quarantine checkpoint.”

“Then we will need to investigate the source more closely.” Sage remarked, inspecting her plants rather than look at the witch.

Dabbler though, planked on the roof of the carriage, looking at Sage upside down, her hat staying on her head. “Yeah, trying to explore deeper into Boston put a real wrinkle in my hoppity-hoppity. I stopped trying when I poofed into some invisible barrier, like someone was trying to swat me away. You’ll have more luck going on foot. Or, in your case, that dirt surfy thing you do.”

“Agreed. The old ways are best. Requisition what supplies you need. We shall conduct surveys, collect samples, perhaps find clues to the source of the phenomena.” Sage offered the most exciting prospect of investigation.

Dabbler though, yawned at the prospect of gathering such mundane information.“Boooring. We already did Boston, why, I felt like we did so much there! saved a bunch of people, got you a nice little angel bug niece. we should go somewhere new! Pawtucket! Or Providence! I wanna go find Lovecraft’s grave! see if he was buried with the Necronomicon!”

Sage let out a tired sigh. Of course, the witch would find a study unstimulating. “I will go alone then, if the prospect of visiting the same place twice will cause your death by tedium.” Sage paused and had a thought. She would loathe to return to more news of Dabbler terrorizing the town... for the ‘funzies’. “You have run of the house while I am gone.”

At that, the witch perked up. She stood and gobbled the last of her chocolate bar. “I’m gonna start a big bubble bath in the Bathtorium!” Dabbler disappears in a puff of smoke, to make a mess of things here rather than in town.

“The proper term is Thermae… nevermind.” Sage sighs and opens the carriage doors, and boarded the one with a Construct driver.

THE ARRIVAL

Sage traveled east by way of Boston College, near where she had built her monument to this calamitous event, by automaton horse-drawn carriage. Her manufacture of automatons had borne fruit, and the sight of a regal black and gold carriage pulled by metal horses certainly drew a few curious eyes. An alarmingly common occurrence were random encounters in this land, and Sage was no exception. Her gold gilded carriages attracted an ambush at a bridge crossing into Eugenia proper.
From the bushes they emerged, surrounding the caravan. A band of the fantasy staple, the orc. Armed and armored brigands. Behind them, chained up, kept at bay with whips, was a massive, bulbous troll, who picked his nose in blissful ignorance.
The lead orc approached, brandishing his spiked club weapon menacingly. In a crude, barbarous tone, he declared, “I am Krom Two-Shanks, and I own this bridge. There's a troll toll: Pay the toll, or feed the troll. 100 gold.”

Sage continued sketching her observations into her notebook. Without even looking up from her work she asked in an irritated tone, “why have we stopped?”

“Brigands, my lady. They have surrounded our caravan and are attempting to extort us. How will you handle this?” The caretaker responded, matter-of-factly, the gravity of the situation lost on the automaton.

Sage’s expression does not change. She looks at the gathered ne’er-do-wells and found them tedious waste of time. Still, she was not in the mood to lose the plants she prepared for the monument.  She nonchalantly tosses them a pouch, which dramatically spills shining gold coins onto the grass. A couple of the green skinned brigands happily scooped it up. The two Orcs who barred Sage’s way did not uncross their spears.

“Hundred gold per carriage.” They said, chuckling. Two more tinkling bags landed on the grass, drawing more eyes and attention. The bandits, realizing they’d struck a fortune, quickly come together to begin counting their collected toll, not minding Sage quickly departing.

“We should’ve robbed here on the spot!”

“Ah who cares! We can live like fookin’ kings now!”

“We can always go find her and rob her again.”


But once Sage’s entourage was well out of sight and range, the transmutation wore off and the coins reverted to simple scrap metal. It wouldn’t take long for the bandits and their troll begin quarreling among themselves. Their leader calmed down the band and refocused their anger.

“This is all that witch’s fault! Let’s go find her!”

THE MONUMENT

An ache had bothered Niao for the past few minutes. She rubbed her temple and realized she had involuntarily grown horns on her head. A reflective mirror confirmed that re-entering Boston had made some small changes in her nature.

Sage and her procession arrived via the main road into the Boston college area, where the monument was erected. Her carriages came to a halt; the horses, cold and mechanical, had a precise, synchronized gait, and how they stopped resembled a clockwork machine than real animals. Perhaps eerie to witness. A small crowd of curious individuals had gathered here, perhaps to pay respects. Perhaps to pick at the gold inlay of the graves.

They were all armed and armored, and seemed capable of handling themselves. Mercenaries? Adventurers? Tourists, however unlikely?

The carriage mechanisms deploy steps, allowing Sage to disembark from her lead carriage. Perhaps on purpose or by coincidence she was still on an elevated plant box, as otherwise her regal entrance would be trivialized by her diminutive stature compared to the rest. She gestured the caretaker to begin unloading the plants from the other carriages.

The driver-also-caretaker, was a clockwork being with only the barest parody of a face, two specks of arcane green light denoting eyes with a body of glass, containing arcane clockwork mechanisms. Where the animated horses moved coldly and machine like, the inhuman caretaker had a far too eerily human gait. Yet, his purpose here was the most mundane- to play a potted plant at each grave, one by one. The plants easily slot into a shallow depression, and the colorful flora gave the mostly obsidian monument area a splash of color.

“Welcome, and greetings, visitors. I am Sage. I did not anticipate that this place would see many who would come to pay respects while the Boston area remained transformed. Please, sit.” She raised a few benches from the solid ground in front of her, so they could come together and converse better. The stone was simple gray rock, but eerily smooth with a dull sheen, like polished for weeks on end. With but a gesture the geomancer had conjured it from the very ground.

“I would like to hear what purpose has brought strangers into Eugenia.”

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QUEST Re: SAVING BOSTON PART 1: The Search for Spellbound

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