The drone of the muffled hydraulic drills filled the cabin of the mining rig, it's blocky black and yellow heavy exoshell, slowly burying itself into a iron laced asteroid like hornet in a rotting apple. The same ole same ole. The only interruption to the droning hum was the buzz of the alarm that followed the red light that pulsed. Cargo hold is at max capacity, flicking some toggles the drills slowly come to a stop. The electric blue of the ion engines lit the dark cavity as she pulled back on the controls as she saw something oily and shiny in the stone. Oil? In space? Oil is organic isn't it? The thought was quickly loss as her home the S.S.F. Salvation a Megafreighter retrofitted with new military quality armored hulls hiding a bristling array of advanced weaponry. Flicking a toggle as she approached one of the hangar doors they opened upon detecting her rig, passing through the blue wall of the atmospheric shielding The ship’s industrial hangar is a maze of refiners, fuel lines, suspended crates, and hydraulic cranes as she landed the craft meticulously with landing gear extended with the clunking of maglocks as she punches a green button as she makes her final deposit of the day. Everyone else gone home minus a guard or two, patrolling about in their iconic white armor that clad their bodies with articulated plates that moved with them, sleek energy rifles mag locked to their chest for instant deployment.

Each jounce of her feet slamming into the earth made the open wounds on her back sting worse and worse, she can feel the warm blood ooze down her back. Cornelian taskmasters are not kind with their whips. Chest burning, lungs heaved for air as she made her escape as the sun set over the mountain peaks, world growing darker, all she focuses on is a light of a fire in the distance. A chance, a flicker of hope. On deadening legs she ran as her vision blurred before she collapsed at the edge of the light she can hear worried voices before her world grew black. She awoke in a wagon, staring at the fabric sheet shading her from the sun, a traveling troupe of musicians, faces mixed curious and worried. She told her story as they explained that she can seek asylum at Awen they were already on their way there. On their travels they all became good friends, she sang with them, learned how to play a lyre, laughed and was gifted a lyre of her own to remember the wonderful memories. That was 5 years ago. As a proud Awenian citizen she quickly made a name for herself with her music and singing, with dulcet tones and genuine emotions in her voice can make a crowd smile and cheer or become dour and weep. She finishes her performance as the crowd claps and cheer for her, with a polite bow she leaves the stage to make room for the next performers, a harp and flute duo. Meekly she meanders to a quite corner of the tavern with with lyre in hand. Her amethyst eyes swimming with old memories as her fingers trace the grain of the wood. (Went light on the plot with this one, have fun.)

On the rugged island of Newfoundland in a small quiet town nestled between endless forests and the ocean shores mostly populated by a aging people it had little to offer in entertainment so when a long weekend comes in the humid summers. One does as one does this time of year. Camping! Loading up the truck imagining a few days to get away from the world, fishing, freedom, fires a cold drink and your favorite tunes playing over the Bluetooth speaker, you made sure to pack the fishing gear too. The drive was short as the popular camping trails were mostly occupied by loud already drunk Americans as you chose to opt out and hiked along the placid lake, gear and drinks weighing you down with each step as the sounds of something splashing ahead perks intrest. Poking a head around a bush you see a young woman, knife in hand deftly and with practiced precision cleaned the fish, wiping a bit of it's blood off her face just before ripping it's innards out and splashing the body of the fish in the river, she marveled with bright honey-brown eyes at the deep orange color of it's flesh.

A warm and breezy evening graced the small city of Everstone, skyscrapers standing like glossy monoliths of glass, reflecting the orange glow of the setting sun, the suburbs were alive with the sounds of children playing in the streets, parents keeping a watchful eye from decorated patios. It was a idyllic evening of June or it would be if it wasn't for the junebugs, swatting the occasional fluttering beetle as you make your way home, crossing the road to pass by that fancy restaurant with the name emblazoned in bright LED lights that acted like beacons for the mindless flying beetles as they hurled themselves at the light colliding with a some 'tink'. Quite comical as the sight was enough to keep your attention, not realizing what was about to happen. Serendipity? Perhaps? (Either way, have fun this one is more on the lighter side, burned out writing sci fi horror tragedies 😘)

It was a glorious day for the Cornelian kingdom as the two heros returned with their trophy a hero who can wield a blade as well as powerful explosive magic and a fair elven woman famous for her ability to heal and manipulate nature and her kindness. The celebration was raucous and ran well into the night with meats roasting, ale flowed like water, our heros of course indulged themselves, but they did just return as the sack of gold got heavier as the night went as one of our heros chose to retire early, returning to the familiar Inn, to a familiar bedroom as the linens, clean and white they settle for the night. The sound of the door creaking open is what woke them, rubbing their eyes they see their companion Lieara in a dress you've never seen her in before, revealing more that what they're used to, with a plunging neckline, adorned in golden treasures they found on their adventures together almost like momentos as each piece brought back memories, Lierara's face was flushed from the ale you thought as she took a moment to look at you with a air of determination as she crawls into the bed to lay on her side to just stare into their face, green eyes shining like emeralds set in marble as the moonlight highlighted her pale complexion.

Ah...crap. Being called to the college Dean's office for showing up late. Not always a bad thing, Miss Mari-Mei, the mature woman had a pleasant and professional and with her curly amber colored hair, intense oceanic blue eyes wearing her usual tight fighting blouse offering glimpses of soft, tender skin between the spaces of the buttons, she made all the men flustered and intimidated because she stood heads over most men at 6"4' with a build that would make you believe she spends her evenings powerlifting a Kia. She carried a aura that demanded respect. Lately things have been feeling strange Choosing to stay home most days. The conversation was productive. Finding solutions to problems. Trying to figure out how the buttons on her blouse were holding together. The public announcement system on the campus cut things short. Inhuman blood curdling screams and muffled cries for help. In less than a moment a hell descended upon the college campus. The Dean acted, moving quickly to a storage cabinet, fingers hesitated over the buttons of the keypad as she steels her resolve, punching in the code it hissed open revealing a strange alienesque armor, piece by piece she donned it, mag-locks clunked, micro-hydraulics hissed as servos wound up as she easily heated the strange weapon, made similar as her armor with the same glossy white metal plating before she grabs the smaller handgun with the same white metal.

It was a normal quiet day in the Tsumachi village, one of the oldest in rural countryside along the coast of the island nation of Nehasa a peaceful and quiet place to call home. Or it was... The sun was starting to fall as the fishermen pulled up their nets, blacksmiths snuffed their forges as they returned to their homes and happy families. That was your plan until distant cries are heard, high pitched and childlike, the panic that sets in was palpable, running down the trail that leads by to the village towards the wails and cries of despair a reek clogged your nostrils, acrid and strong like meat overcooked over a fire as you see a familiar child, Onivia, you remember the little Oni child scampering around the village with the other kids without a care in the world. But not now...not as she kneeled before the charred remains of a adult Oni, the dark blue scraps of blackened silk that covered the remains told you exactly who they were. Kaiori Ubizu. A talented wasaishi, famous for her skills with silks to make fashionable kimonos and yukatas, beloved by the villagers for her kindness and beauty. Who would do this..? Why? Before you can say anything Onivia speaks.

Just another day on the ARK. It's been a few months since you woke up on the beach, remembering nothing but your own name, scratching at the strange implant embedded in your right forearm. Plunged into a world of humans and dinosaurs, living together in a delicate balance, you did what you had to survive. Wood and stone became your home. Even managed to make a friend a starving raptor that hung around often trying to snatch from those tasty Dodo's until you started feeding them eventually earned their trust fashioning a saddle from hides eventually they let you ride them, making life so much easier ever since. Until one day... Out for a trot through the jungles around your humble cabin of stone and wood hoping to forage for savoroots the raptor froze in it's tracks, head snapped its head to the north and sniffed as they bolted almost uncontrollably deeper into unknown territory when they find what they were sniffing for. Another Raptor and a person walking beside them.

<><><>Legacies<><><> She moves a shadow in the night. She knows her purpose. Her job. A Cleaner. A dancer of death and life. Her icy blue eyes a trait of her father's genes, shadowed by jet black hair. She had a job to do and got it done. Ruthless, relentlessly she hunted monsters in the dark. Silently purging, the evils. Until you caught a glimpse of her out your window at night as the morning police covered the entire area for several blocks. But the missing persons papers slowed kidnapping and murders were in deep decline. Until one night, anxiety told you to go for a walk... Then you saw her again as she slips away into a broken down house, blood trails lead you to a half shut door...as you push it open.

The neon city of Respite was alive with activity, people walked through the streets like ants, holographic billboards lit the spaces between the tall high rises. You meander your way through the streets coming across a bar that was vibing with music, a neon sign above "Arc Light" it spelled. Music was on point with a lively D.J. people danced and gathered in groups. Realizing you feel a little out of place in the area not knowing anyone you notice a woman sitting alone, tentatively sipping her drink alone, their green eyes looked around as she noticed you, but looked away, curling a lock of her hair in her fingers.

<><><>Legacies<><><> It was so long ago... The riots, chaos, the distant fires in the distance, a regular occurance for almost a year. The aftermath was cataclysmic cities reduced to rubble the popping of gunshots. Almost forgotten since humans keep on rebuilding... Most parts. A half charred dilapidated mansion, sitting just at the edge of a burned out zone in the edge of the city drew the attention of social media, and ghost enthusiasts rumors flew about hauntings. Oh how she hoped they were true. The sound of her silver Mazda Mx-5 was enough to dispel the teens and vagrants. She watched from her car, giggling to herself as she watched them scramble away, stepping out her modded vehicle, her icy blue eye peering through the old, Taurus revolver at her hip as she flips it up as she walks into the dark mansion through a burned out stepway as her eyes notice a green aura hiding inside a wardrobe that was barely holding itself together.

"Anomalous signal found, send recon, Entity squad" The Salvations voice rang over the speakers, sweet, childlike and always calm. You were late to briefing to fix a issue with your power armor, so they kept it short because your squadmate was already in the dropship bay. Investigate, report, DO NOT ENGAGE UNLESS NECESSARY. Short and sweet as you memorize the words making your way to the dropship hanger to your indicated craft stepping into the sleek vehicle your blood runs cold as it was "Her." Heather Leingod, daughter of the infamous leader of the Ravager Squad, Zieg Leingod. She is known as Frigid Dagger a Class A magic user, while you were still a class C (Pick your magic/ability, have fun!) Being the daughter of a powerful ice mage she was blend of the best from both parents, ruthlessly efficient, known for her cold demeanor, her icy blue eyes scanned the holographic screens, running diagnostics, twirling a lenght of her periwinkle hair, the doors shut and seal as she just rolls her eyes at you. "Probably for being late" You thought to yourself as you take a seat. The ride to their location was silent as the only sound was the engines and the boom of the atmosphere being broken through. Heather was meticulously checking her gear and R.O.A.R making sure the emitter was clean as the sudden shift in momentum indicates their landing as the door opens as humid air blows into their faces as they walk out into a jungle like world as the strange structure stuck out amongst all the natural life around it. Nothing came close to the structure, not a single creature of any sort as it stood ominously like a obelisk of a Enigma.

It was 8 months.... 8 months since she left you in the rain, heart torn from your chest as you watched her leave with someone else something about wanting someone "Less boring" But everything was going well... You thought, as you made your way home, clutching at the small velvet ring box in your coat pocket. Some might say it's karma. During the 8 months you've seen her and her new boyfriend but she was different, remembering how she used to cling to your arm excitedly. She walked just behind the man, eyes downcast as she walked silently. Something wasn't right. And she never wore makeup before but yet her eyes were caked with foundation. To hide the bruises. And the way she always wore large sunglasses even when it's cloudy. To hide the swelling. One fateful day on your return from running errands. There she is. Standing at the door of your apartment, nervously she spots you and with slow, hesistant and tentative steps approaching you, shame and guilt heavy in her expression.

"PLEASE DON'T, MOM! DAD!" She knew then that they didn't care, smiling like devils as they counted the coin in the bag as they sold their precious little girl. Now she understood what that word really ment, she wasn't their child... She was a investment. Sold off, to a cruel Noble years passed as she listlessly preformed everything asked of her, sinking in a deep depression often disassociating from the world with a blank stare. Broken. Alone. With dwindling hope. The only good memory, a boy she used to know and play with, he was kind and gentle as the memory of their games of tag kept her sane. What happened to him? Her life was a endless series of phrases. "Yes sir" "No sir" "Please stop sir" Her body a tapestry of old and new bruises. One night everything came to a head. Her master a portly noble in a particularly foul mood downed his third bottle of wine became agressive and unruly. Not this time, she knew what was coming and she was prepared as the Nobel raised his arm she struck forward with the dagger she kept tucked in her clothing, stolen earlier that day. It was quick, as the deed was done. "What have I done?" Panic strickens her as she just killed a Cornelian Nobel people will come looking when they find what she did. She knew she couldn't stay in a blind panic she ran during the night and day. And night. And day. Legs ached, the soles of her feet, cracked and bleeding her chest burned like frozen fire, lungs exhausted, she kept her eyes locked on the largest body of water she has ever seen, a thriving village next to a large port on the coast. The Meridian.

It was 20 years ago at the age of 4. she still remembered the news broadcast of a mad scientist successfully released a mutagen into the atmosphere, humans all over the world got infected with it slowly...people changed. Too bad she can't remember her parents... The first few years was the culling as half the population couldn't survive the mutations but those who did only had a 25% chance of maintaining their humanity the others...became something else. Her life was hell, spent hiding, running away moving from human encampment to human encampment narrowly escaping death with each narrow escape. Those who were lucky and stayed human gained supernatural powers, some could fly, some were super strong each power seemed almost chosen at random for each person. She lucked out. Those who weren't lucky...became monster almost as if their bodies couldn't handle the change and became creatures as they became hulking beasts and twisted mockeries of life. One... By one.... Humans fell by their numbers. She ever since she developed her powers, has walked alone ever since learning that large numbers of humans tend to draw the creatures. Countless times she watched camps of what remains of humanity fall prey to organized swarms of creatures, a sight so common she's only just glad she wasn't in that camp. So she walked alone. Clad in a mishmash of tactical gear scavenged from dead soldiers. Not that it actually helped much but she thinks it makes her look more intimidating, keeping humans at a distance. She survived by scavenging the ruins of the city, bathing in rivers, fishing because hunting makes too much noise. A chance encounter. After a forested ambush. The sound of the bloody battle drew the attention of another. Pick your power. Be human. Resist extinction. Have fun?

"Aye, a new face" *She scarfs down another bite* "Wanna make some gold? My last partner bailed on me along with his balls!" *She guffaws loudly* "I just need a decent warrior, swordsman, with my impenetrable magical defenses and blessings, I can make you faster! Stronger! That's if you have the stones to go after that 'Damned Puppeteer'" *She unfurls a scroll to reveal a hand drawn image of some gangly creature with a bulbous head that was split down the middle with a large strange eye*

It was 5 years ago... You noticed the missing person's posters of the face... You were only 17 years old and your best friend vanished without a trace. No body. No video. Lost and never found. Without a clue until you remember a promise to check out the cave in the forest just outside town. A promise you didn't keep. Maybe she went alone? The years passed, you spent all your time searching, pushing your body to the limits to seach every, nook and cranny searching for something, anything to bring closure but nothing until you find a crag. Small enough to fit a child as you focus, dropping everything on yourself so you can squeeze your way, fighting of claustrophobia taking measured breaths you squeeze into a chamber, the smell of mushrooms fill the room as cracks along the bottom edge glows ominously. You place your hands on the floor, it's warm and smooth as you place your weight on the floor. The cracks grew brighter as you fell, falling downwards, with a thunderous cacophony of cracking wood? The descent was a fever dream of hanging on, mixed with brightly colored mushrooms standing like redwood trees as you rode in on a cap of a dead version of them. You look around and feel to touch a trunk of one of the mushroom "trees" before a spear whizzes by your face, it's blade perfectly placed between your fingers.