Submitted by Kenneth Hicks #846092
Monday, February 15, 2016
Misdirection and Assumption by David McCallum #701548
Oh Bravo!
I applaud the nefarious dastard who has merrily hoodwinked this Mecha Galaxy piloting community.
I speak of the leaked photographs and holo images, the images enlarged so as to give the impression of a new 100 ton mech.
Even the chassis style, so very reminiscent of the Magnus, seemed to indicate perhaps a crystal based response to the much feared Fext.
And yet by superb misdirection, it turns out to be a new 40 ton niode unit, slotting into the gap betwixt Dread and Keradon.
Some say it is perhaps long overdue, however we at the Galaxy Gathering delve deeper into the murk.
Consider, dear reader, that all mech development of the past few years has been in a tonnage range of 35 to 50 tons, squarely within the medium weight bracket.
Every manufacturer, no matter their sphere or faction, have upgraded their middleweight mecha. Even the fabled Craftsmen have released upgrade packages for their rare and hard fought for prize machines.
And yet now, a new 40 ton elite mech is being offered to the elite pilots of those who know only how to fight hard in the Light Brigades of our clans, surreptitiously gearing them with the best humanity has to offer.
Why?
Why all at the same time?
Is their combined actions some inkling that an event of cataclysmic proportions is coming, some restriction or embargo on gates or hints of battlefields limited in such a way, perhaps desert or mountain, whereby only our lighter mechs may function and our heaviest must stay hangered?
May we rely only on our lighter brethren for our defence?
Coincidence? We think not....
Plans are afoot that the clans are not party to....
Or perhaps, this too, is simply misdirection....
Submitted by David McCallum #701548
Sunday, February 14, 2016
Zed's Dead: A Complicated Story About a Simple MechPilot, Pt 2 By Hal Spencer #14143
I had horns...
Not only that, my entire face looked like a bull, right down to a rather ornate ring in my nostrils. I only had a few moments to comprehend it all when the entrance flap to the tent opened, revealing another bull-man like me, except more lightly armored, and smaller in stature. Being able to see a full figure representation in full light made me realize exactly what I was. I'm a minotaur, right out of ancient Greek legend.
"My Lord Stormbringer. Our pickets have spotted the lead elements of the Elven Host. They are approaching in formation on our position. What are your orders?" The Minotaur, obviously my Aide, announced.I looked at him in shock for a few moments, seeing the obvious fear in his eyes at the news of the approaching forces, and my obvious discomfort. My mouth opened slightly to try to explain my situation, when suddenly my mind was flooded with a cascade of images and information. With confidence, I gave him short but concise orders on how to array our forces. Somewhere in my mind I knew my minotaur forces were outmatched by the Elves, my only hope to save us was superior strategy and tactics. Something I was very familiar with given the type of combat we faced.
I exited the tent to see the vast army around me. Minotaur foot soldiers and Berserkers, Warlords and Knights. Not only that, but Dragons, and God-men, Titans and beasts defying all description, bristling with weapons radiating obvious power and , for lack of a better word, magic. Looking around quickly to be sure I wasn't being observed, I raked one of my razor-sharp nails across the back of my hand, drawing a line of blood, and feeling a slight pain. "Well, that seals it. I'm not dreaming or hallucinating," I think to myself.
My Aide approaches leading a huge beast, obviously my mount. Ten feet tall and jet black in color, it's like no horse I have ever seen. With a wicked smile (I have fangs, too) I mount this strange creature, while a Giant hands me an evil looking sword almost as tall as I am. Seeing and hearing the signs of battle in the front ranks, I issue my final orders as my personal guard of bizarre creatures and beasts rally around me. Raising the blade easily above my head, feeling an un-natural power seep into my bones, I spur my mount forward at a charge, the thrill of anticipated battle surging through my body. I had never felt this alive piloting a mech.
We won the day due to superior tactics, something I gathered did not happen too often against these Elves. We buried our dead, and ate some of theirs (it didn't feel as odd as I thought, and roast elf really wasn't half bad).
I foraged the Elf Generals tents, collecting orders and various books that may provide me with clues to what had happened to me. This Elf seemed to be fairly well-read, and I found many histories which I read by lamp-light while sipping strong wine from his recently cleaned skull.
I was in a world with 3 major races. Minotaur, Human and Elf. There were also a myriad of creatures and monsters of all descriptions and sizes. It was an Age of Champions, with Generals fighting each other for dominance in tournaments similar to the KOTM battles I faced back in my...universe. They had Clans here as well, joining forces of all races together, vying for dominance in mass battles resembling our Clan Wars. As Generals, we also faced huge beasts, hundreds of feet tall, in combat. Only Generals of Power and might could defeat these beasts, and the rewards were great. Many weapons and armors could be made for our troops from the creatures we slew. There were others, thousands of us throwing ourselves at it in an attempt to bring down creatures the size of small towns. These should have been glorious battles, but bickering among the lords about prizes and effort lessened the fun, almost making the battles a chore.
I thrived in this world for quite some time. First as a recruit, then a teacher, as was my nature. But also as a leader of some of a faction within our Clan. I positioned my forces aggressively, taking victories where others did not see possibilities. Shifts in Clan politics lead to more responsibilities, and eventually total leadership over all our Clans factions. Three days later, disaster struck. Our world was dying, the sun about to set for the final time. The final days before Sunset were sad ones. Sacrifices were made to the Creator Gods to no avail. We went out in a blaze of raids and battle, but the victories rang hollow in our hearts. I slept lightly that last night, dreaming of flames and ruin.
I awoke in the morning, and instantly knew something was amiss. I had changed again. Some things seemed familiar, but there were many new sights to see and experience. This world had a certain Asian flair to it. There was a Tune of War in the air, and it seemed I was again in a Clan, with many around me who seemed familiar, yet also in new forms. We ruled this new world for some time, our family structure and wise leaders easily destroying all who faced us. Despite the dominance we had, something of this world felt oddly out of place. A sense of a spider pulling strings, a evil manipulation behind the scenes. This was a vile, evil world, created by evil creatures for one thing only. Profit. I could sense it in all we did. Every action sucked the wealth and power from my friends, giving them the appearance of power and prestige, but only creating the thirst for more. Eventually, those I called allies turned on me, and for the good of those who still backed me, I left , not with a feeling of defeat, but with a feeling of pride knowing I was walking away from a bad situation and a group that never really understood or knew me after all.
Other worlds passed by my eyes, in a blur of shapes, sounds and colors. Never staying more than a few moments before flitting away again into the kaleidoscope of images before me. A sharp pain struck me in the temple, the feeling of electricity surging through me in a familiar pattern. I passed out.
When I came to, I seemed to be in familiar surroundings. I was in the seat of my lead mech once again, the 'Kneel Before Ogg'. A quick check showed the rest of my lines arrayed on the Gateway platform, brightly shining in the noonday sun. The platform itself had seen better days, overgrown with vines and fallen trees. In the distance I recognized the mountains of my home. I caught my reflection on one of the displays, showing me the same face I've known all my life, for better or worse.
"What a crazy nightmare" I said aloud, as I began running diagnostic checks on all my mechs. Everything came up aces, which was a bit of a surprise after that Gateway malfunction or whatever it was. I was still slightly puzzled on how the platform could look this overgrown if I had just travelled onto it, but my head was still a bit clouded from the trip and the quite vivid hallucinations it had caused me. Deciding that a full check-up at a MedCenter was likely a good idea, I saddled up and began running start-up procedures when I saw it. The Time/Date stamp on the mechs cockpit Chronometer. It couldn't be. I pulled up linked data from the rest of my mechs, and they all read the same thing.
It was September, 3295....
Submitted by Hal Spencer #14143
Saturday, February 13, 2016
Blonde revival... "Parallel Worlds" Chapter 19 By Germán Jaramillo Pulido # 685605
Submitted by Germán Jaramillo Pulido # 685605
Friday, February 12, 2016
Because Red Ants Never Die By Germán Jaramillo Pulido# 685605
Submitted Germán Jaramillo Pulido# 685605
Thursday, February 11, 2016
Wednesday, February 10, 2016
Zed's Dead A Complicated Story About A Simple MechPilot. Pt 1 By Hal Spencer# 14143
What the hell is a Darth you may be asking yourself. Well, that's where my story starts. I wasn't always a pilot. I was actually a History Professor, specializing in Earth Military History up though the mid-22nd Century. I guess my major also explains the unnatural fascination I had with mid-to-late 20th Century cinema. There was a popular movie trilogy from that time which included a villain who used that name. My son loved him.....
My son, Jonas. The reason I'm here today. Well, the real reason is pirates. While I was away at the University, raiders struck our town, searching for supplies and who knows what else. They took everything, and left no survivors. I died inside that day. I cashed out my retirement, quit the University, and sold what was left of my 20th Century antiques, and bought my first mech, a seriously used and abused Red Ant.
I spent months teaching myself how to pilot it, how to shoot, and how to maintain it when it broke. Which was fairly often. As I got better, I started fighting in some of the small, local arenas. They needed a name, and it came to me. Darth Zed. Because, just like the line from another popular 20th Century film, "Zed's dead, baby."I was expecting to meet my end in the arena, but I discovered I had a talent for piloting. I wasn't champions material, but I earned enough to finance a line of mechs, and then two. Then I started bounty hunting. Well, mainly chasing down bail jumpers, but it gave me salvage rights to any skips I caught, after the Bondsmen got their cut.That led me to the real bounty hunting jobs, tracking down dangerous individuals wanted in several systems. I began to make a name for myself on Tremulus, the Pirate Moon. Both Shogunate and Cogwerk brokers seemed to prefer my no-nonsense, and no survivor, approach to my work.
Unfortunately, an ambush left my mechs crippled and I thought I was done for, when another unit showed up, apparently tracking the same bounty. They took into consideration the work I had put in, and the considerable amount of downed mech I caused this particular pirate cluster, and decided to cut me in for a share when they collected the bounty. After talking to some of the pilots, I discovered they were an organized Clan, something that was beginning to pop up in several systems, called the Northwind Highlanders. I arranged to meet them at Cogwerk Port to settle accounts, and that is where they offered me a position in their ranks. It seems they were starting a second unit, the Black Watch, and needed a few more good pilots.
I took a few hours to give it some thought, mulling it over with a bottle of single malt scotch I claimed during a recent Bounty.After going over their contract, and catching up with current events, I decided to accept their offer of a position in the Black Watch.
It seems that the Corporations and larger governments were beginning to organize Mech tournaments. These were larger affairs then the local arena fights, bringing in dozens, sometimes even hundreds, of participants. They used a simulator to analyze piloting skill, and separated us into divisions and tiers filled with similarly skilled pilots. The competition in these Tourney's were fierce, but were very popular among both the fans and the pilots. These were Battle Royal tournaments called King of the Mountain. You had to fight your way up. There were numbered positions throughout the battlefield, the lower the number, the better your prize.If you were able to capture and hold that position until the timer ran out on the battle, you won a prize based on your position. Then some marketing genius decided to get the Clans involved. Not in one-on-one fights. No, they had the crazy notion to put the entire Clan on the field to face off with another Clan of similar strength. The first one of those was held in April of 3263, and oh what a fight it was. That led to other changes in the KOTM. One event we could only bring our Front line, in another, you got points for how long you held a numbered position. Clan Wars II rolled around in May of 3265 and it was the biggest spectacle yet. By this time there were more Clans, so there was more competition.
The audiences ate it up. The Clans loved it as well. Bigger prizes, more prestige. We did well for ourselves for several years. I was able to upgrade my used mechs to over a dozen front-line Ogguns, equipped with the best weapons crystal and niodes could by. Times were good, I had thought my pirate-fighting days behind me. I had something to live for again
.It was September of 3266. I had decided to take a Gateway back home, say one last good-bye to my family and my past. I fired up my mech, stepped up onto the platform, and that's when Holy Hell broke loose. I don't know if it was a jump circuit that malfunctioned, or a solar flare, or maybe it was just a damn snavurm chewing on a wire. All I know is that all my mechs and I lit up like a Christmas Tree, with electricity arcs going crazy. My control panel blew, and before I could eject, I blacked out from the smoke.
When I awoke, I was in what I assumed to be an emergency medical tent. It was dark, and there were sounds of chaos outside.Just how bad was the Gateway malfunction? There was a lantern beside my cot, with an actual flame. As I reached for it, I saw my hand in the dim light. It was dark brown, about twice the size of my normal hand, and had hair on it. But the worst was the nails. Massive, black pointed things, undoubtedly sharp enough to tear flesh. I sat up, and that is when I realized I was wearing armor. Not the plasteel composite we wear in our mechs. Honest to damn goodness King Arthur and Knights of the Round Table armor. I stood up, marveling at how easily I did so wearing what must be about 75 pounds or more of solid steel.
I looked around the tent, and saw a mirror hanging on one of the posts. I approached it and caught my first glimpse of myself in the reflection.
I had horns.....
Submitted by Hal Spencer# 14143
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