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[Cheesecake]

In the year 2020, a diminutive subspecies of humanity was discovered, with an average height and size of a thumb, colloquially named 'Lilliputians'. A decade's worth of media buzz and scientific curiosity eventually died down, and the Lilliputians returned to their hidden kingdoms.

In the year 2030, the first nuclear warheads were dropped, and humanity was engulfed in rage and nuclear fallout for a day. One day, and the majority of humanity had been murdered to near extinction. Only a few had found their haven in the subterranean kingdoms of the Lilliputians.

By the year 2180, the Lilliputians had reconquered sizeable tracts of land, though the majority of Earth was lost to gulfs of radioactive waste. The humans that found asylum with the Lilliputians had been betrayed and enslaved, warped into cyborganic warmachines to wreak havoc against other Lilliputians. With little feet, the Lilliputians were following the giant footsteps of the doomed and the damned.

You are a pilot of a reawakened Sapiens Machina, the husk of a giant warrior, brought to bear arms against your nation's enemies. With primal rage, matched with your refined talent, together will you make the ground quake.

Spoiler: You (click to show/hide)

From your training records, your overseers deemed you:
A. Wild, revelling in freedom and following your intuition. Your disobedience is only tolerable through your extraordinary skill.
B. Taciturn, strategic, and obedient. Your calm demeanor in situations that would have unnerved the steeliest men is no mean feat.
C. Clueless, though your strange, mystical bond with your Sapiens Machina is unmatchable compared to other pilots.

Following your graduation with flying colors, you were draped in the national banners of:

A. Decry: The lands of free speech and free thinking, built upon the ruins of the ideals of the old democracies of giants. Freedom is not free, and with either words or violence freedom will be earned. Words fall flat on deaf ears. Bullets will not.

The Sapiens Machina of Decry feature a degree autonomy missing from the other nations, becoming partners with their pilots instead of tools. The unparalleled skills and strength of the giant humans are brought to bear.

B. Sacrosanct: Only with iron authority and national zeal can order be maintained. With devastating arms and undying devotion to the Queen of Sanctum, you will fly the colors of your country over the smoldering ruins of your foes.

The warmachines of Sacrosanct are outfitted with the greatest technology that could be salvaged from the ancient human kingdoms, as well as Lilliputian innovations. The cybernetics of the Sapiens Machina of Sanctum are unmatched, and their weaponry unbeatable.

C. Hazard: Tempered by the unbearable rage of radioactive storms, the tribes of Hazard Ke'pout utilize the Sapiens Machina to fend off the mutated monstrosities that plague the barren wastes. Looked down upon by the weaker Lilliputians as brutes and troglodytes, those of Hazard Ke'pout know that might makes right, and the Hazard are mightiest!

The freak-beasts of Hazard are true monstrosities. Heavily mutated, they have evolved symbiotic relations with their pilots, barely utilizing any artificial software or mechanical implants. Their feral rage and bio-weaponry are the stuff of nightmares.

Spoiler: Your Sapiens Machina (click to show/hide)

The survivors of the mythical giants of a ruined age, the Sapiens Machina are walking gods, capable of wreaking immeasurable carnage. Each one is unique, peppered with quirks and flaws, and each one invaluable to their nation.

Your particular Sapiens Machina is:

A. Cold. Uncaring. Merciless. Centuries of detachment and the knowledge of his race's extinction have given him a nihilistic outlook and a disregard of morality. Despite this, he is more obedient and unlikely to quarrel with you, the pilot.

B. Raging, wrathful, and pained. The inner workings of human brains are still poorly understood by even the greatest Lilliputian scientists, but your Sapiens Machina exhibits immense anger whenever it is taken from stasis, and the anger only rises as it is put in combat. Despite the mental trauma it might cause you, he is superiorly advantaged combat-wise.

C. Unruly, rebellious, and curious, your Sapiens Machina is like a child. A giant, destructive one, but a child nonetheless. his brain empty, he learns faster than most others and forms a deep, intimate bond with you, unseen in most Sapiens Machina. Be wary of his tantrums and rebellious nature.

He also has a preference for:

A. Close-quarters combat. Utilizing a relic dagger (recovered from a giant's kitchen), your titanic Machina can cleave through skyscraper and tower, and go toe-to-toe with other Sapiens Machinas.

B. Ranged combat. With a devastating pistol, your Sapiens Machina shoots deafening blasts, sending gigantic rounds (9mm of destruction!) to obliterate foes.

C. Support combat. With his deafening voice, you command the legions of your nation to do war, inspiring your countrymen with his mere presence and supporting fire.

[Salsacookies]

From your training records, your overseers deemed you: Wild
Following your graduation with flying colors, you were draped in the national banners of: Hazard

Your particular Sapiens Machina is: Raging, Wrathful, and Pained
He also has a preference for: Close-quarters Combat

AKA: Crazy Berserker Man-Bot, Model 9001, reporting for duty

[Hawk132]

B.
B.
A.
B.

[GiglameshDespair]

A
C
B
A

[Salsacookies]

A
C
B
A

+1

[Ghazkull]

B
B
A
A(or B -> dont care)

[Cheesecake]

The howling winds of the Ke'pout desert reflect your callous mood. You sit atop your freak-beast Toxic, uncharacteristically calm and placid. Solemnly, the pair of you stare out into the horrifying wastes, wondering where your first mission will take you.

Your flowing hair dances to the irradiated wind, uncut for eighteen years since your birth. The ceremonial warrior-rags you've donned float calmly to the breeze. The cheering cacophony of celebration back in the tribe is drowned out by the shrieking storm. You gently grip Toxic's horn, his shaven head not having much to hold on to. You feel the reverberations of Toxic's rumbling breath.

Knowing that the time is nigh, you clamber down to the nape of Toxic's neck and bind yourself to the symbiotic outgrowth to enter Toxic. Easing into the giant's neck, your biology and his mesh into one being. His sensations are your sensations. Your thoughts are his thoughts. Through years of training, you learned to temper the trance-like feeling of binding to another being, and all systems are stable and combat-ready.

You stride with titanic steps to the tribe's center, with all the wandering nomads of Hazard Ke'pout gathered in one area. Two other Sapiens Machina are gathered as well; the cold, grim Corpse, with her pilot Grave, and the childlike Morbid and his pilot Obsession. The cheering crowd welcome you as the ceremony begins.


After hours of celebration, the ceremony ends and the arch-shaman begins the mission briefings, letting all of Hazard Ke'pout to know of their champions' travails.

"Myriad are our foes, myriad are our threats, and Hazard Ke'pout will be struck by those foes and threats at any moment. But with these three brave souls we take the fury of the desert and strike back at the weak!" The crowd lets out a roar of approval. "With the great Eye of Hazard on the Wall granting us sight and wisdom, we are invincible!"

Turning to you, the pack-leader (chosen for your strength and wild thinking), the arch-shaman bows in obeisance. "Avatar of Hazard, great Defect, we implore you! Deliver us from the demons of the wastelands, and deliver us from the tyranny of Decry and Sacrosanct!" The crowd exults your names, and implores you as well.

The arch-shaman outlines four great threats: (You can assign your team to do these missions.)

A. A vicious pack of P'pees and a terrifying Dog are terrorizing a vital trade route. Only one Sapiens Machina is needed to eliminate this pack.

B. Winged horrors have made their home atop a great tree. Though it is a great shame, the tree must be destroyed if the winged menaces are to be dealt with. Only one Sapiens Machina is needed to destroy the tree.

C. A merchant's vessel, loaded with invaluable furs and spices, is to cross the dreaded Pond. Untold terrors lurk beneath the surface, and the loss of the merchants would be devastating to Hazard's war-effort. Two Sapiens Machina are needed to deal with the aquatic monsters.

D. Rumors fly of a rogue freak-beast roaming the Hazard Wastes. Up until now, fortune has smiled on the tribes and the giant has not attacked. That may change at any moment. All three Sapiens Machina are needed to take down the rogue freak-beast.

Spoiler: Your Pack (click to show/hide)

Pilot: Defect
Status: Fine
Machina: Toxic
Status: Fine

Pilot: Grave
Status: Fine
Machina: Corpse
Status: Fine

Pilot: Obsession
Status: Fine
Machina: Morbid
Status: Fine

[Salsacookies]

Send my pack-mates of to A and B

As the wildest of them all, I say I can handle D on my own.

[Parsely]

Send my pack-mates of to A and B

As the wildest of them all, I say I can handle D on my own.

+1

[Cheesecake]

"Grave, Obsession," you called, "here's what needs to be done." The pair were sent to deal with the P'pees and winged horrors respectively, while you prepared yourself and Toxic for the fight with the rogue freak-beast.


Grave/Corpse:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Corpse was ambushed as soon as she strode into the dog's den. The heavy darkness and treacherous footing of their cave put Corpse and Grave at a severe disadvantage. Feral furballs leapt from the dark, latching on with gruesome teeth. Blood slid down Corpse's legs, and disorientated, she struck a wall with a heavy thud.

Her men fared little better. While the marauders of Hazard are not warriors to be taken lightly, the P'pees proved to be a devastating foe. They were slaughtered by their foes' primal fury, torn asunder by claws and fangs.

Recovering from the ambush, Corpse trained her gun on the P'pees. Thunderous roars echoed off the cave walls as she let loose shot after shot of 9mm destruction. P'pees left and right were felled, though the darkness veiled the rest.

The mutant wretches dealt a savage counter-attack, biting off fingers from Corpse's hands. They tore and clawed, blood gushing from the wounds. Grave suffered massive trauma from the shock that Corpse felt.

The dog, the alpha of the mutants, bound in for the kill, sure of its victory. A miraculous shot from Corpse's pistol assured its defeat. The dog's head was cleaved in two, and it barreled into the surviving P'pees. Corpse sat, bloody and broken, but victorious.

Obsession/Morbid:

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

Morbid and his men approached the gigantic tree. Even from afar they could see the horrors encircling the tree like mad witches in their dance. He underestimated the distances and speeds the horrors could achieve, and he payed dearly. They clawed at his eyes, blinding him, and he could only hear the screams of his men as they were plucked from the ground and dropped to their death.

The marauders, armed with slings and arrows, swiftly countered the wickedly fast beasts. By the numbers, the winged horrors fell from the sky, plummeting at devastating speeds. Men were crushed by what were more or less falling projectiles. Still, they had bought an advantage for Morbid.

Taking advantage, Morbid rallied his men, inspiring them with booming words and great action. He ripped the terrors mid-flight from the air, lobbing them to the ground. Fountains of dirt rose as a hail of death descended on the Hazard desert. Morbid let loose a victorious roar, and his men followed suit. 

Defect/Toxic:

Hours of trekking through the Hazard wastes finally bore fruit as the rogue freak-beast's pheromones were detected by Toxic's sensor arrays. The mummified terror was draped with flowing bandages, and its skin was horribly burned. Those of Hazard believed the rogue to be merely a traitor, but you were privy to darker truths.

That freak-beast is your predecessor. Ten years of service, and he found 'Communion with Hazard'. You are still unsure what that means exactly, but you do not savor the knowledge that that slavering demon is your destiny.

Its bandages whipped about, flailing madly, and buried themselves beneath the sand. Harmless, on the surface, but you knew better. You dodged at the last moment. Your men were not so lucky. Many were dragged beneath the sands, drowned in Hazard's holy wastes. Others will sliced cleanly in half by the deceptively-sharp bandages.

Toxic released pheromones of rage and murder, and you feel your blood boiling together. Eagerly, you pick from a suite of attacks.

Spoiler: Attacks (click to show/hide)

Light strikes - a flurry of soft blows, dealing death with a thousand cuts. Safest, yet weakest.

Heavy blow - a single, powerful stab. Strong, but leaves you open to counters.

Targeted attack - akin to the heavy blow, but targeting a specific area on the target. Higher chance of missing.

All-out attack - the sheer amount of attacks of light strikes, with all the power of heavy blow. Significant chance of self-inflicted damage.

Mutation - a unique oddity of Hazard's freak-beasts. All power is diverted to manipulate the Machina's right arm. The effect is random, lengthy, and obtaining a useless or even malicious mutation is probable. Still, the bio-weapons of Hazard are devastating and unmatchable by any current Lilliputian technology.

Spoiler: Your Pack (click to show/hide)

Pilot: Defect
Status: Fine
Machina: Toxic
Status: Fine

Pilot: Grave
Status: Heavy mental trauma
Machina: Corpse
Status: Heavily damaged

Pilot: Obsession
Status: Tired
Machina: Morbid
Status: Damaged

[Salsacookies]

It's bound itself to the ground. Hit it hard in the neck! Let's Kill It In One Blow!!