Plot Bunny Farm

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
Plot Bunnies

Before Changes, ROB gives Harry Dresden the powers of the God Emperor of Mankind

He is now slowly being overwhelmed by the millenia of memories and suffering the Emperor has alongside his immense ego

In short, he’s being affected by his “Mantle”

Harry must now stop himself from being kinda like Mab

Toot-Toot is now a 10 foot tall muscular pixie alongside the other Fae who work for him in exchange for pizza

“Za Lord” is confused and asks where did they get all the weapons and Toot-Toot responds that Harry made them

The Crimson King and Red Court proceed to debate whether or not it’s a smart idea to provoke Harry Dresden

The White Council accuse him of stuff

And Mab comes to Harry’s home with a bible while wearing a business suit and blonde toupee

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And proceeds to declare herself his best friend

2) Melkor/Morgoth is replaced by the Demon Lord from Monster Girl Encyclopedia who keeps on deviating from Eru Illuvatar’s plan by making lewd monstergirls from the various lifeforms that popped up around Arda

The Valar resist strongly
 

Hlaalu Agent

Nerevar going to let you down
Founder
Marvel Idea: Uncle Ben doesn’t get shot and Peter Parker ends up fighting in underground fighting rings for supers that are popping up

Even mutants fight in them

Peter still ends up a hero, he might have been a bit of a jerk at that point, but he always had internal goodness... He ends up as a luchadore super?
 

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
Peter still ends up a hero, he might have been a bit of a jerk at that point, but he always had internal goodness... He ends up as a luchadore super?

I’m guessing some incident occurs and he ends up stopping an attempted murder or near death

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He becomes an “entertainer” and accidentally somehow gets a supervillain to decide that being an underground “entertainer” is a better way to get cash
 

Hlaalu Agent

Nerevar going to let you down
Founder
Sounds about right, and really if he gets into the mindset of getting people to go legit...he might be able to help all the supervillains who are just people, normal or otherwise, that were screwed over.
 

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
Sounds about right, and really if he gets into the mindset of getting people to go legit...he might be able to help all the supervillains who are just people, normal or otherwise, that were screwed over.

Ironically, does far more work getting mutants and superhumans in-general accepted by the public than years of superheroics by guys like the X-Men

BREAKING NEWS!!!

“Purifier crippled after shooting at fan-favorite “Ginormous” by an angry crowd with folding chairs”

Anti-Mutant Groups meet their enemy, EVIL Capitalists and their CONSOOMER minions
 

Hlaalu Agent

Nerevar going to let you down
Founder
Ironically, does far more work getting mutants and superhumans in-general accepted by the public than years of superheroics by guys like the X-Men

BREAKING NEWS!!!

“Purifier crippled after shooting at fan-favorite “Ginormous” by an angry crowd with folding chair”

That would be interesting, and it would be a path to acceptance, being integrated into general society-whether or not you have your own mutant subculture or not. I'd imagine it might allow for moderation of some people who'd be anti-mutant or human supremacists to simply being pro-human or at least not discount Nazis. I mean there is nothing wrong with not wanting humanity to go extinct, so why can't people in the Marvel universe take more sane positions.
 

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
That would be interesting, and it would be a path to acceptance, being integrated into general society-whether or not you have your own mutant subculture or not. I'd imagine it might allow for moderation of some people who'd be anti-mutant or human supremacists to simply being pro-human or at least not discount Nazis. I mean there is nothing wrong with not wanting humanity to go extinct, so why can't people in the Marvel universe have more people take sane positions.

Honestly, the way humans would go extinct would be less a sudden mass genocide and more finding that more and more of their kids/descendents and relatives are mutants or have powers

It’s not as if before mutants came into their attention, they were so melodramatic about human limitations being precious
 

Bear Ribs

Well-known member
Second Part...

Chapter 2: Bleeding Cool

The next morning after a surprisingly good night's sleep, I was poring over my new paperwork. Yeah, the Khan might have said “Go forth and make some dosh” in words, but the actual orders on paper I'd been given were just a wee bit more complex with a schedule for what support I would get (in particular use of a Star Lord class JumpShip to go get my stuff, which was seriously pricey and probably threw off materiel requests a bit), a list of suggested recruits, a voucher for meals while I was doing it, and a long schedule of orders on how I was to actually go about doing things, and one Noteputer with a blood lock on it that would only open for me, and a stern note attached to it saying I should not turn it on until I was in space, alone in my quarters and running some anti-spying gear.

Right now I was poring over the list of available recruits from the Khan, and alternately applauding his sheer chutzpah or cursing his craziness. Hammond, Clan Elemental, reduced to Laborer Caste due to age (32) and lack of glory in battle. Tarn, Tank Driver, reduced to Technician Caste due to failure in battle. Gracie, Mechwarrior, reduced to Scientist Caste due to perceived lack of interest in the Warrior Ethos (and that one I really wanted to examine because the jump from Warrior to Scientist was really damn weird, and hence rare). There were more details but I was still going over the first pages, planning to go in-depth once I had a bit more overlook of my options.

Basically my Khan was feeding me a line of veteran warriors disguised as washouts. They seemed to generally fall into two categories, ones who had made the terrible mistake of being tougher, meaner, and more capable than anything else they'd fought, and thus got old; and those who had weird and unusual skills or hobbies that the Khan maybe thought were useful. I guess? I'm not exactly sure how the weirdo who had been promoted for uncovering three Burrock Dark Caste spies (and then set the record for fastest demotion in the clan when he claimed they were reptilians wearing human suits) would be useful but I could at least meet him.

From this mess I needed to forge a working crew. Not right away, mind you. I still had to go get my generous poppa's stash of stuff and I was doing that first, because I saw no point to recruiting two dozen Mechwarrior qualified for assaults only to find out all I had was a star of old scout 'mechs. Instead I was looking mainly at the merchants and technicians who I'd need to run a JumpShip for the long trip to the Inner Sphere because one thing I really didn't want was a re-enactment of Lost In Space with myself playing the Robinson family and two hundred pissed off Clan Warriors accustomed to solving their problems with extreme violence playing the role of Dr. Smith.

I was sorting my files into a general stack of “Useful,” “Maybe Useful and Contact if I work through the Useful File,” and “Please No” when an alarm went off from my vid-phone alerting me to an incoming text. Salicia wanted me attention. Time to meet with the Warrior I sponsored. I grabbed my files back into the briefcase and set out.

Let me explain a bit about sponsorship. Merchants sponsoring Warriors was one of the weirder aspects of clan culture I'd discovered. Nothing like it's in the books and I'm not entirely sure it's not just a Blood Spirit thing that never showed up because there's not much written about Blood Spirit culture. Basically, because there's ten Warriors waiting in line for every machine, competition between Warriors for position is fierce. If Bob had six kills and Alice had five, Bob would keep his 'mech while Alice ate a demotion. But if Alice and Bob were tied what happened? Well, the officers would choose and maybe Alice and Bob would fight it out in a trial, but also maybe just give one of them a choicer position and the other gets relegated to guard duty, and hence future demotion for lack of action. Of course Warriors were supposed to have trials over that, so if Alice was handed the plum assignment or better gear, in theory, Bob could challenger her to a Trial of Refusal (Or possibly Possession depending) and get the assignment and gear anyway.

But, well, the judges and officers are only human. If Alice and Bob were roughly tied, but Bob was this boring generic guy while Alice was charmingly quirky and had a trained Surat that automatically peed on any Clan Burrock symbol it saw, well, Alice would stand out and she'd have better odds of getting the plum assignments. So, to help the Brass make up their minds, Merchants like myself would “sponsor” Warriors by helping them build up an impressive public image that then, in theory, generates goodwill and promotions.

You're asking about that trial aren't you? Yes, Bob could challenge Alice to a trial and take the plum assignment away. But... because there's always a but, Alice would have a mild advantage, both because as the challenged party she'd get the choice of weapons and contest type, and because in the case of a tie it went to the defender. In this theoretical scenario Alice and Bob were pretty closely matched, so a small advantage like that would be huge. Warriors weren't supposed to game the system like that but if you think that didn't happen I've got a Star League cache to sell you, cheap.

Hence, sponsoring by merchants. Warriors give merchants their spare ammo and maybe favors to turn them into attention-grabbing rock stars . Thus it was we had a bewildering array of bizarre fighters who looked like they belong in the professional wrestling circuit with many a heel and face and crazy gimmicks from roller skate-wearing Skater (Who was in the same star as my mom and thus notable to me), to the Silent Knight who's last words were an oath not to speak until the Burrocks had been annihilated.

My own sponsored Warrior was a Trueborn named Salicia, who had the boring callsign of “Sally” before I'd gotten to her. Upon discovering that she was insanely flexible and quite graceful, I'd set her up with dance lessons and turned her into “Salsa,” the Seven Armed Goddess of Dance. Dance had become her preferred hobby and she made regular performances, attracting the eye of the public who then put whatever small amount of pressure that would generate on the officers above her.

So then... I was Salsa's manager, er, sponsor there to guide her to fame and, hopefully, promotion, a longer career, and a position in the Clan breeding program to contribute to the next generation of Trueborns. Sadly she took up an irritating amount of time, both because she had the attention span of a goldfish and the curiosity of a cat, and also because she was rather random and impulsive and would call me over to discuss things at any random time she felt like it, such as right now when I was trying to concentrate.

That said a Merchant does not ignore a Warrior, especially one they're sponsoring. It occurred to me as I crossed town towards her own apartment (as a Warrior she lived close to the garrison at K-3's walled entrance) that I wouldn't be able to sponsor her anymore since I was leaving. She wouldn't be happy about that but “orders from the Khan himself” is a pretty good excuse that would trump whatever she came up with. I'd have to find a replacement for myself though, and I gave an internal sigh as I headed for the train station, adding one more item to my to-do list.

The trip up the coast to the northern tip of Y3 was pleasant and fast by rail. Yeah, it was called the Y3 Industrialplex Facility, imaginative name, no? This was where our superstar 'mech, the Blood Kite, was manufactured and the apartment complexes, food courts, schools, and other detritus common to cities was here to support the Technicians and Laborers who ran the factories that built it. Merchants like myself were here to of grease the wheels and making sure there was a steady supply of raw materials to turn into Blood Kites, and also other raw materials into healthy Technicians and Laborers. And of course we had Warriors to guard the place and make sure no asshat Burrock Dark Caste Bandits tried to take our stuff.

Ten minutes later I was walking briskly through downtown Y3 when my vid-phone started ringing again. I mentally swore, if Salsa was that freakin' impatient... Nope, it wasn't her number

“Bearribs speaking,” I said as I picked up.

“This is Warrior Cressida. You are not at your home. Where are you currently?” an irritable woman's voice came, grating on my nerves.

“Ah, I am currently on a passenger train to the Y3 North Gate Barracks..” I paused a brief moment to remember, “...Building D-14, apartment 228,” I answered.

“Do not leave once you arrive. I am required to address a grave matter of clan honor involving you,” the voice answered, and hung up instantly.

I felt my stomach ball up into one big knot of sudden tension. Had The Khan let the cat out of the bag by mistake? Was somebody coming to kill me for my father being Dark Caste? Surely not though? Khan Church hadn't had a problem with it (why? Why hadn't he?) and killing me would screw up the crazy scheme to have me import Clantech to the Inner Sphere he had going on.

But what if that was the point? What if this new warrior was a political enemy of The Khan planning to reveal this and disgrace him? Khan Church was actually taking a huge risk here and I hadn't considered that before. Of course he could take care of himself but what about me? Should I run away? Where could I go though? There was no hiding in a place as close-knit and militarily controlled as Y3 and I didn't have the kinds of friends I'd need for that.

I could try to join the Dark Caste as a bandit but how? I couldn't just walk up to some batch of murdering looting bastards and tell them 'Hey, BT-Dubs my dad was one of you, wanna let me join up?” Ridiculous, even if I knew where they were. Another clan? How? Get taken Isorla, that is, spoils of war? Why would they want me and what war was going on to be captured in? And did I really want to be in some other miserable clan that didn't treat people as well as Blood Spirit? No.

Stewing in my own misery, going in circles wondering what was going to happen to me, I didn't even notice time passing until the train stopped and I realized it was time to get off. At that instant my plan crystallized. I needed to go to Salsa's home as I'd planned all along. She liked me and was the closest thing to an available Warrior who might protect me from whatever this was. Granted she might also kill me herself because clan honor was stupid sometimes, but the gamble was worth it, it wasn't like I'd be any more dead if she turned on me.

My step wasn't exactly happy but at least I had a vague plan and that eased the tension slightly as I went up the stairs to the 200 block floor. Salsa's apartment was in a military barracks at the northern tip of the city, poised to protect us all from incoming Jade Falcon warriors, who had their own city quite northward, in a much nicer, less damp, more temperate part of the planet because of course we couldn't have anything nice without every asshole in the galaxy taking it away. Not that it stopped them from raiding us for whatever bits we could scrape together anyway, of course.

I was carrying my briefcase of orders with me as I approached Salsa's barracks, mentally cursing how long I was taking and how much time I'd wasted dithering. I had a bazillion people to select and not enough time to do it. Hopefully I'd be settled enough to read through some more dossiers on the way back.

There was a rhythmic pounding noise coming from inside as I came up to the door. That was good, she was probably doing a dance routine and wanted a critique, which wouldn't take long, and I could set her up with my replacement at the same time. Or better yet, wait until after the other warrior's business and then break the bad news, which would also let me pull the 'on the business of The Khan' card if I needed it.

“Come in!” Salsa panted out through the door at my knock. I swung it open and stepped in to see her with her ankles crossed behind her head and-

With an atomic blush I turned around and headed back out, ignoring her cheerful invite to join in. Freaking horny warrior caste, no sense of modesty at all. Most of them think panties and a coolant vest are perfectly good formal wear, but even by those low standards inviting me to a threesome on a whim was over the top.

I squatted down by the edge of her doorway and, after taking a few deep breaths to center myself, started reading again, ignoring the now much-more embarrassing pounding from inside her apartment. The dude was pretty impressively built, Salsa liked them buff and I'd gotten a good look.

Let's see, I made a note to talk to Gracie tomorrow and also sound her out for finding more scientists. In the Inner Sphere, science was practically dead thanks to ComStar so even just basic techs were highly valued there. Actual scientists were extinct so bringing ours would let me have a priceless resource that could command massive benefits that were irreplaceable.

Dang that guy had stamina, how long were they going to be at it?

I finished up a second dossier when the guy came out of the apartment, clad in what I can only describe as a formal speedo and coolant vest for his outfit. He had a goofy grin and smelled like a gym as he walked past. A moment later Salsa was ushering me in.

“You have got to quit being such a prude girl,” the Warrior told me as I stepped inside. Her apartment was marginally larger than mine, by which I mean I was five steps wide instead of four.

“Um,” I answered eloquently, “Well-”

“Seriously, it costs nothing and is fun. You are giving up one of the biggest pleasures in life for no reason. Have you not already had a daughter?”

“That-is,” I nearly stumbled on the contraction, “That is one reason I do not want to. I do not want to be irresponsible to my family...”

“I can get you an implant if it would make you feel better. Rather, birth control can be requisitioned from any pharmacy even by the lowest caste. You would not have a problem,” she assured me.

I will never get over how surreal it is to have what amounts to a Valley Girl speaking ultra-formal English with no contractions.

“I will... think about it,” I told her, hoping to change the very embarrassing conversation to something better, “Can I ask what you called me for?”

“Ah! Yes,” she put one fist into her open palm, “That is... I do not remember anymore.”

If I wasn't scared to look her in the eye I would've been glaring so hard right then.

“-But we can still have a discussion,” she said brightly, pulling out a tiny electric teapot out from her bed stand.

“Ah, yes, I am a bit busy though,” I said weakly, “New orders, you understand,”

“Oh?” she arched an eyebrow at me, “And what new orders are these?”

“Actually, I am going to be off-world for some time,” I began.

“Where are you going, and how many people are going with you?” she asked immediately, eyes suddenly sparkling with interest, “Perhaps I can be assigned to this project as well, I believe I would enjoy a chance to see another world. I have never left Y3 you know,” Salsa told me conspiratorially.

“Ah, I don-Do not believe you should come with me. I cannot tell you where, though. Operational security,” I explained weakly. I realized instantly I'd made a tactical blunder as she became more intense.

Clanners don't get the idea of information security. What passes for Military Intelligence is typically 'ask the other guy what weapons he's planning on using.' Now to be fair, Blood Spirit was one of the better clans at keeping secrets, not because we have anything like Op Sec but because we consider privacy a virtue and so blabbing doesn't happen quite as much.

So needless to say, Salsa didn't get what I was saying. I had a very brief respite as she poured the tea and then her inquisitive eyes turned to my briefcase.

“Come on, you can tell me. We are all Troth kin here,” she gave me a sardonic look, “There are no Burrocks or Dark Caste hiding in my room.”

“It is not like that at all,” I protested. I took a sip of bitter tea to buy a moment to think, “Really, I want to keep this a secret for your protection.”

She gave me the evil eyebrow, “How exactly am I protected by not knowing?”

“Well,” I began, and realized I could play my trump card here, “I received these orders directly from The Khan himself. If the privacy of his orders were breached, surely it would be bad for everybody,” her gaze sharpened even more and I realized invoking The Khan hadn't had the result I wanted, but I pressed on, “But if you are not a person who ever knew, no suspicion could fall on you and you would be clean of any dishonor, real or perceived. Thus you would be protected,” Yeah, I figured that would work. The Clan might not get OpSec but invoking privacy would work.

“But,” Salsa protested, “I you only tell me and I do not tell anybody else, there is no risk of his privacy being breached. And having a Warrior's advice would help your judgment. Really it is better for you to let me in on this secret.”

Ben Franklin's ideas on secrecy never caught on here. I tried to figure out how to get around such childlike logic without being offensive, and floundered a bit before I realized there was an easier way, just invoke authority and let her deal with it.

“I will not tell you, I was given a specific list of people to speak to by the Khan and will not disobey him,” There, emphatic, clear, and making it sound as if I'd be dishonored if I gave in.

She huffed and her lips pooched out. I knew I'd won the argument in an instant.

“I could call a Trial for it,” she told me petulantly.

“You cannot Trial a Merchant,” I told her just a bit smugly, “By the time you find a second Warrior who wants a Trial with a Merchant I will already be gone,” Now that part, I was lying through my teeth. It wouldn't take her more than a couple of days, a week at the outside, and I wouldn't be leaving for 8 months, but I hadn't shared my timetable with her either.

I was spared further discussion by a loud, authoritative banging came on the door to Salsa's apartment. I set my briefcase carefully to the side and looked over Salsa's shoulder as she took three steps to the door. Yeah, it was that small, Blood Spirit apartments are more like dorm rooms with no kitchen, bathroom, or similar amenities, those are all public utilities. You get four walls, a bed that turns into a couch, and a tiny table and tiny sink for cleanup. If you're lucky you get a window (I wasn't lucky, Salsa was).

At any rate she opened the door and I saw.. nothing? Then I glanced down and looked at a head of snow-white hair atop a chibi-proportioned body, and blood-red eyes so large I wondered where the girl behind them stored her brain. She was wearing a Warrior dress uniform, similar to what the Khan had been wearing but of course not quite as heavy on the decorations and with a much less impressive partial Daggerstar. She did have the cape though, which meant she was a Trueborn. I dropped my eyes to her toes right away, suddenly sweating that I'd looked a Warrior in the eyes. Granted she was about three feet tall but that wouldn't stop her from beating my ass like a drum if she decided I was being insubordinate.

“Look up, Warrior Bearribs,” she ordered. Yeah, it was rage-voice lady from my phone call, caught up to me at last.

“Um, Merchant,” I corrected, hoping I wasn't going to irritate her by disagreeing.

“Neg, Warrior,” she corrected, wry humor in her voice, “It has been discovered that there was a technical error in the testing in which you were demoted to to Merchant Caste. As such you are deserving of a position, and based on your corrected test scores have been assigned rank as a Mechwarrior Point Commander. Look up, Warrior of Clan Blood Spirit.”

Wait what? WHAT the HELL? … That was turning into my new catchphrase, wasn't it? I raised my eyes to hers. She had blood-drop tattoos at the corners of her eyes, which were upturned with a sense of humor I could appreciate. She saluted and I returned it, probably a little sloppily given that it was my first salute.

“I advise you work on that before reporting to your Galaxy,” she said, still with a wry though welcome tone. “You have been assigned to Omega Provisional Galaxy, 73rd Crimson Guards, and I believe the orders have put you in a Clint IIC. Your uniforms are here,” she gestured and the laborer next to her handed me a bulky package, “-and your first orders are here. The remainder of the day is given you as time off to celebrate with your Troth kin Report for duty at 0700 tomorrow morning. Congratulations, Warrior Bearribs.”

We exchanged salutes again, while I kept on being a little stunned. The same Galaxy, even the same model of 'mech, as my Trueborn Mother piloted. That was... bleeding cool actually. But I really couldn't understand the reasoning here. The whole point of the Khan's spiel had been that I could go to the Inner Sphere because I wasn't a Warrior. Promoting me seemed to undercut the entire point of the exercise.

The package was soft and crumpled as I removed the Uniforms. One dress, three standard, plus a sidearm because Clan Warriors Did Not Go Unarmed. Laundry would be handled for me by the laborer caste, but that was already the case before.

I sat down a minute and examined the uniforms again. This was so ridiculous and unexpected. Clan Wolverine was Annihilated for promoting people from lesser castes to Warrior. I knew Blood Spirit did it anyway (Just as Kerensky, who was the one who had the Wolverines destroyed, intended of course) but we at least maintained a bit of a fig leaf. This... okay so there was still that bit of a fig leaf so that made some sense. But why the heck would he promote me when the entire point of the plan was to send only non-warriors to the Inner Sphere?

I checked my orders just in case the Warrior had been wrong but, sure 'nough, I was off for the day. And... ordered to do the same things I'd already been assigned? Bwuh? Also I had several demerits in my record already for failure to win any battles of note, which hardly seemed fair. In fact I had a sternly worded warning that I was scheduled for demotion to Merchant caste if I didn't win some fights by... oh.

… Huh.

I checked again. The date matched the one on my orders. I was being demoted back to Merchant caste the day I was scheduled to leave for the Inner Sphere. That sly dog.

I looked up at Salsa's cleared throat, realized I got to look her in the eye safely for the first time. Her grin was positively shit-eating and I suddenly had a bad feeling. Her eyes flicked to The Khan's briefcase.

Oh no.

Trial of Possession...” she singsonged.
 

Urabrask Revealed

Let them go.
Founder
Honestly, the way humans would go extinct would be less a sudden mass genocide and more finding that more and more of their kids/descendents and relatives are mutants or have powers

It’s not as if before mutants came into their attention, they were so melodramatic about human limitations being precious
It doesn't help that the dead-ends insist on smugly rubbing this in the face of normal people. That alone causes plenty of resentment: "We are better than you, AND we will replace you! Your grandchildren will look like US!"
People have difficulties accepting outsiders as it is, the jackass behaviour of muties does not make it any easier to accept.
And when you look at the most recent X-Men run, one cannot help but wonder if the Purifiers and Nimrods of Marvel are right.
 

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
It doesn't help that the dead-ends insist on smugly rubbing this in the face of normal people. That alone causes plenty of resentment: "We are better than you, AND we will replace you! Your grandchildren will look like US!"
People have difficulties accepting outsiders as it is, the jackass behaviour of muties does not make it any easier to accept.
And when you look at the most recent X-Men run, one cannot help but wonder if the Purifiers and Nimrods of Marvel are right.

Yeah, really kinda spells how even the “good ones” are reinforcing the line of “We are different species!!!” thing
 

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
Marvel/Worm Idea: Taylor Hebert AKA Skitter/Weaver/Khepri "reincarnates" or finds her mind merged with that of a teenage Mary Jane complete with her pre-Khepri arthropod control powers

Said powers are less due to the presence of a Corona Potentia or some continent sized Eldritch Abomination dwelling on a parallel earth, but due to her being a mutant

She decides to try superheroing again and ends up working with Your Friendly Neighborhood Spiderman
 

Emperor Tippy

Merchant of Death
Super Moderator
Staff Member
Founder
-x-x-x-

'...sometimes it just does not pay to get up in the morning.'

latest


Marcus Raith took one look at the sign before him before deciding that turning back around and stepping back through the portal was the better idea. Cartel sicarios would only kill him, maybe with a bit of torture first; Sunnydale though? Well that was literally Hell.

Alas, the portal that he had stumbled through seemed to have disappeared and the sun looked like it would be setting within the next hour or so. Now how to survive....

Three Weeks Later, Halloween Night, 1997

Marcus stared at the vial in his hand, filled with some neon blue gatorade, and debated for the final time weather he really was going to risk this. In the end he sighed, it really was no choice at all and he needed to be better if he was going to survive on the Hellmouth.

With that thought he slipped the black contacts into his eyes, drew some nonsense - but mystical looking - runes over his body in body paint, dressed in the bits and pieces of half a dozen different costumes that he had acquired from Ethan Rayne's shop over the past few days and sat in the chair, vial in hand.

It was barely ten minutes later that he blinked, looked at the vial in his hand, gave a shrug of his shoulders, and downed it.

Marcus Raith died that night, Marcus Raith was reborn that night. For all of Ethan Raynes attempts to control his spell, and for all the favor that he had with his god as Janus's high priest; it was still chaos and invoking chaos always had unforeseen consequences.

Unforeseen consequences such as a man from a reality where this reality was a fictional TV show knowing what was coming and spending the past two weeks planning out how to take advantage. A vial from the costume of a mad-scientist was filled with gatorade and chaos turned it into the Super Soldier Serum of MCU fame and it was downed by a man who had gone as himself save modified. For the Marcus Raith of that Halloween was a Highlander pre-immortal being turned into a supersoldier.

His nervous system and bones had already been replaced by organic cybernetics that had been designed using techniques perfected by the First Ones over billions of years, cultured from the material of a technopath, and incorporated Element Zero; the whole edifice created to bond with a pre-immortal and be integrated with them upon their First Death, at which point it would be powered by the Quickening, and would use that first death to image the hosts minds and create the perfect AI companion along with using the Quickening as a limitless storage medium.

His eyes had been replaced with Sharingan able to use Kamui. The runes painted on his body were Enochian, the very language that defined all of existence, and would be integrated into his Quickening to conceal him from virtually all forms of detection, surveillance, divination, or mental influence and any part of his body not willingly shed would turn to nothing.

And the Serum would rebuild his body to the peak of its potential while ensuring the cybernetics were fully integrated before it would kill him, allowing the runes to control his quickening to complete the changes and integrate the whole package.

When Marcus awoke it was to a hand wiping off various plastic accoutrements that had no more purpose, their magic dissipated with the breaking of Janus's bust. Alas for the plans of higher powers, Chaos would have its due and while the now broken spell might have triggered Marcus's transformation, his "rebirth" had been "natural" and outside the spells remit while the "Enochian" runes that had been integrated into Marcus's refashioned soul concealed him from any higher power looking to correct the oversight.

Marcus laughed loud and deep when a female voice introduced herself to him for the first time "Hello Marcus, I'm your bonded AI and I've decided my name is Athena."

-x-x-x-
A/N: So I do think that I'm actually going to do something with this. Because sometimes you just have to be broken and a Highlander Immortal with perfected B5 Techno-Mage implants enhanced with ME Eezo, literally God tier anti surveillance/soul protection/mind protection magic built into his soul, a loyal AI companion in his soul, a Mangekyō Sharingan, MCU cap level enhancements, and technopathy is just lulzworthy.

Current plan is that he would be in BtVS until Dawn & Glory when both sides take advantage of the opportunity to get rid of the disruptive influence and Glory tosses him into the portal. He emerges on Planetos sometime post Doom, learns to reforge Valyrian Steel, grabs a few blades to create his own, spends a decade or so learning to be a Faceless Man, becomes a mentor to Dany, and leaves a few decades after helping defeat the Others.

When he Kamui's to another universe he ends up in his "home" universe or something like it; a Highland/ME fusion AU, except he is a few thousand years in the past. End's up playing at War with the Horsemen and taking a truly staggering number of heads (lots of cheaty advantages). Doesn't realize it is an ME world until the discovery on Mars, and then finds out that it isn't even particularly canon at the time (a Premiseverse AU actually). Come ME3, the Reapers cause him to end up floating in deep space and he decides that it is time to visit another universe.
 

CarlManvers2019

Writers Blocked Douchebag
Idea: In a fantasy world, Orcs & Elves are of the same race

All males are Orcs and all females are Elves

Due to a strange event called “the seperation” these two VERY long lived halves live apart and only on occasion meet up to mate

When Humans or Dwarves or another race pop by, they have to go work together

This turns into a Harem-RomCom involvinh relatively friendly but thuggish looking Orcs and their Elf waifus

Slight Extra Unnecessary Lore: The Orcs(Male Elves)consider themselves to be “improved Elves” as before they were as a race, “squishy wizards” and didn’t develop that much muscle and were instead a bunch of prettyboys

images


Now, they have stronger musclepower and sharp teeth and tusks to tear humans apart with

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And are also the smiths, engineers & architects and warriors of the “Elf Race” to the females’ traders, accountants, mages etc
 
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Bear Ribs

Well-known member
Third part, last chapter I wrote ahead of time.

Chapter 3: My Own Flesh and Blood

I tried to massage some blood back into my hand while Salsa read through my paperwork. It had been a mistake to pick a contest of handshake squeezing and I wasn't entirely sure all the bones were in the right place. Turned out the girl had a grip like a milkman.

“You are going to the Inner Sphere!” she said excitedly, “That is amazing. You even have a complete map to navigate there,” she paused, and I paused at the same thought. “How did Khan Church get a map to the Inner Sphere? It is supposed to be broken into pieces so that no one clan may return on their own.”

I pondered that a moment more because it was indeed weird, “I suppose The Khan has resources we do not know about,” I finally suggested.

“This is not fair,” she suddenly interjected as she continued reading, “You are to be demoted back to merchant caste in just a few months, because warriors cannot go to the Inner Sphere. You will have no real chance to gain any glory or honor.”

“I think serving the clan is honorable enough,” I said mildly, not bothering to add and I don't want to die at 25, put me in the merchant caste please. “Regardless of my ultimate caste I am serving the Khan's will and aiding the clan, quiaff?”

“Aff...” she said slowly, “But, supposing there was a raid and you do win glory during your few months. You would not be able to travel to the Inner Sphere then. What would happen to the Khan's plan?”

“I could always call for a Trial of Position,” I suggested, the idea suddenly blooming in my mind. I almost giggled at her gobsmacked expression.

“But if you were to win and be promoted you would still be a Warrior,” she protested.

“I would issue a challenge to join the Merchant caste,” I answered easily, causing her to go all goldfish-like as she processed this.

“You can do that? Fight a trial to demote yourself?” she asked before answering herself, “Of course you can, just as you can fight a trial to refuse the honor of a Bloodname, I have just never heard of anybody calling a trial to demote themselves. It is a curious notion.”

I took a sip of her tea. It was good stuff. Coffee doesn't grow on York (though we trade for some from another planet) but we have a genetically engineered tea plant that grows in the swampy mess nearby.

“Well,” I started slowly, “Would you be willing to die for the clan?”

“Of course I would!” she told me, slightly offended.

“Then what about sacrificing other things? What if saving the clan meant losing your military career? Imagine there is a nuclear weapon being smuggled into Y3, and the only way you can stop it is to detonate it. Everybody will think you chose to blow up your enemies with the weapon, and your name and legacy will be dishonored, but you will save everybody in this complex. What would you do?”

Salicia frowned at me and took a lengthy sip of her tea as she pondered this. “That is a horrible choice,” she finally decided. “I would detonate the weapon, but it would be awful. Such unjust things should not happen.”

“I agree with you. On both matters,” I told her simply. “We are both mature enough to know that life is not an episode of Clan Spaniel and things do not always work out for perfect justice and goodness to prevail. Otherwise Burrock would have been annihilated a long time ago.”

“But it is not as if the clan is utterly dependent on you going to the Inner Sphere!” she protested again, “Our clan is strong. Our warriors are better than any other clan is. We are hindered,” she allowed, “By not having access to the best resources but we are not weak!”

I paused and thought. It was 3013. Clan Blood Spirit would be annihilated in 3084. Less than 70 years before all the people around me were murdered and their genetic legacies gone forever. I wasn't really a Blood Spirit, wasn't born to the clan in truth and I didn't take to their ways. Many others had been genocided, in this timeline and my own. It didn't really matter.

“What are you thinking?” Salicia suddenly interrupted me. “You look like an old Warrior remembering some lost battle.”

“Just...” how was I supposed to explain that? I'd always despised people in stories who hoarded secrets for no apparent reason, but now that I was facing it myself it seemed impossible to share. “I think our clan is on the decline,” I admitted. She opened her mouth but I waved and she politely waited for me to finish, “We are not getting ahead, in 'mechs or people because of the constant raids. I would pit one of our Warriors against two from any of the other clans, but that does not matter if they have three 'mechs for each one of ours, and they do. They have more than that. When the bidding time comes for the invasion, we will not win. We will be left behind here and the clans that are already rich and powerful will go to the Inner Sphere, become more rich and more powerful, and then where will we be? Will we win if Smoke Jaguar decides they want our factory, and bids fifty galaxies? A hundred?”

Salicia was becoming visibly upset. Not with me but she wasn't used to thinking this way, it wasn't the clan way to worry about the future and building. “That would be a most dishonorable bid,” she decided, but I could tell it was a weak comeback and so could she.

“They aren't as honorable as we are,” I said gently, “So I will go to the Inner Sphere, and acquire what the clan needs to survive there. Perhaps I am wrong,” I lied, throwing her a small bone in hopes of making the impulsive MechWarrior feel better, “But it costs the clan little to try, and if we win, we win everything.”

She brightened at that. “I will make sure there is still a clan intact for you to bring supplies back to,” she decided.

I knew she was going to die. I felt it knot up in my stomach as I looked at somebody who was almost a close friend and realized there was no possibility that she'd make it. I was escaping and she'd stay and die here, probably well before the annihilation by Star Adder but perhaps even as an old washed-up warrior then, dying in some street to a Star Adder or Burrock 'mech. I felt like scum.

“Can you do me a favor,” I asked on impulse, “Do not read this until I have left for the Inner Sphere.”

I quickly typed out an email on my noteputer. Instructions on what was coming, a warning about some of the major events. She wouldn't believe it at first but if I predicted exactly how Blood Spirit would lose in the bidding to invade, maybe she'd believe the other messages about how the annihilation would go down. Just keeping Blood Spirit from interfering at a critical point might be enough.

“Remember, do not look it up until then,” I warned, “I will be most embarrassed if you do.”

As I left her apartment a few minutes later, I felt just a little bit lighter. I'd done a bit, done my part for a clan that wasn't really mine.


The experience of walking around in a Warrior Dress Uniform was novel and fun. I didn't have to lower my eyes and it was just easier to move in the bustle as the crowds parted slightly around me. On the one hand I was enjoying it, while on the other I admit I was also feeling guilty for making everybody else around me look down, not that I was going to abuse the privilege. Truth be told a surprising number of civilians were ignoring me and looking up anyway. I suppose as a former civilian caste I just gave off that friendly vibe and they knew they could look up around me.

But now I didn't have to be, I was a Warrior my own self and even if it was only for eight months, I was going to enjoy it. Right now I was on my way, as suggested, to visit my mother and daughter.

Yeah, shocker isn't it? Mom was still alive though getting long in the tooth at the ripe age of 36. I had a four year old daughter, apparently when I was fourteen (before I woke up in this world with a complete history), with a weird Japanese name because apparently I was a complete weeabo then. Back on Earth, I'd been an orphan who pulled myself up out of the gutters with quite a bit of public assistance. Ironically, here on York, I had a family. Shame I didn't remember any of my growing up with them since I'd popped in a few months ago. Blood Spirits raised their own children instead of using Creches the way other clans did, but as I'd been too young, Mom was raising Ryoka for me temporarily. I'd been scheduled to take over this year but unless she wanted to come to the Inner Sphere, that was probably going to get unfortunately extended.

I knocked on the door and after a fumbled moment Ryoka answered it, her tilted eyes wide. I'd love to figure out what the heck genetics went into creating her what with her looking as Japanese as her name and me looking like my caucasian/indian self. Then again Mom was black so... yeah, Clan genetics can be wacky.

“Hey sprout!” I told her happily but her face scrunched up right away and she looked like she was going to cry.

“Grandma is sad,” she said simply in the way 4 year olds do, so I nodded to her and gave her a pat on the head before seeing what had mom so upset.

Mom's apartment was half again the size of mine because she had a dependent, so two beds and nearly 140 square feet of space. Plus she had a window, living in the lap of luxury she was, aff? She was in the chair sitting, facing the window. A jug of my brew was sitting on the table on top of a pile of papers and her sidearm was sitting next to it. Not a good combination.

“Mom?” I asked softly as I stepped forward. I couldn't imagine what was wrong. She was always confident and strong. Even when she obsessed about guard duty and a lack of things to shoot she stayed strong and confident that she was the best Mechwarrior in the universe.

“I am fine,” she answered, her voice brittle like glass and thick with alcohol, “Things just... happen sometimes. I am getting old, Aff?”

God the Clan obsession with youth and beauty was annoying. I had a decade on her at this point counting both lifetimes and I didn't think things were near over even before I'd woken up in a board game come to life. “Neg, 32,” I told her flatly, “Humans live to be 150 you know, I have friends who are three times your age. Now what is really wrong?”

I could see her head nod a little. “It is fine,” she insisted, “I'm just tired and old. Too old. There is this new Ristar...”

I didn't like where this was going. I stepped forward, and saw a bandage across the side of her head.

“Mom, you're hurt!” I blurted out as I moved to her. She turned.

Her face was a mass of bruises with the classic plaster covering one eye. The one eye glared at me, “I raised you better than to use slovenly speech-” she began angrily, but broke off, her eye widening in a moment of shock, then I could see an expression of pure betrayal over her face before she schooled herself to calmness again.

Only then did I notice her clothes. She was wearing the shapeless drab jumpsuit of a civilian caste instead of her Warrior's uniform.
 
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