Please read the OOC thread first (and post all out-of-character comments/questions there!)
The Chronicles of Elidel has space for 6 players.
Post Order!
1. @Whiskii
2. @Louanne Learning
3. @Dark_Indigenous_Prince
4.
5.
6.
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Chronicles of Elidel (Official Story)
- Thread starter Whiskii
- Start date
Please read the OOC thread first (and post all out-of-character comments/questions there!)
The Chronicles of Elidel has space for 6 players.
Post Order!
1. @Whiskii
2. @Louanne Learning
3. @Dark_Indigenous_Prince
4.
5.
6.
The Chronicles of Elidel
In the bare wastelands of Akyros, torn asunder by storms of magical energy, Elidel rises like a bloated blemish. The city thrums with an apparent life, and with every breath it spews 11 trillion metric tons of carbon dioxide and carcinogenic gases into the atmosphere yearly, to the detriment of the population. It is home to countless quadrillions, the majority of whom are downtrodden by the ruling elite in their rising spires in the sky.
Food is ultra-processed, and water is filtered many times over to make it even remotely drinkable. The weather is unpredictable and extreme, bringing ice storms and the occasional random heatwave only mere hours apart.
It is in this monster of a city that our story begins.
Elidel, Lev 345, Human Quarter
The only requirement was that he knew how to drive.
Ricky didn’t think he was a particularly good driver. But at least he knew how to drive a basic grav-car. So he was hired; the company had no qualms about paying some elf adolescent to shuttle people around in the middle of the night.
If they even paid him at all, that is. His paycheck from last month hadn’t come.
The humans said he was perfectly an adult at the age of 18, and since they ruled this city, everyone had to go along with it, even if he would be considered ridiculously young by elf standards.
His assigned company cab was a beat-up piece of junk that stunk of cheap tobacco and those perfumed synthetic recreational stimulants often smoked by fancier passengers. The engine always felt like it was going to fall out of the back when he turned it on, and it shivered whenever he ascended or descended. But he tried to keep himself positive about it.
I’ve been doing this for three years. I know what I’m doing.
The city flew by in a blur, the lights from countless advertisements and windows seeming like the stars in the paintings of the night sky he saw at the local museum as a small child. Music blared from the radio, a generic array of the latest heavily synthetic pop songs that he admittedly found appealing. Wipers carved a path through the raindrops on his windshield before more took their place. The janky hologram display on his dashboard was silent and dark, typically the telltale sign that his shift was over. The time on the clock was 5 AM, and he was ready to go home and take a nap.
When he finally parked his cab at company headquarters — a warehouse that could only be accessed through a discreet alleyway, he made a beeline for the train station. The rain soaked his hair as he struggled to pull his jacket’s hood over his head, hiding his pointed ears from the biting cold that came with the weather.
The station at this time was crowded, mostly with those who needed to report to work early. The crowd huddled together to stave off the chill, with Ricky among them.
When the train came, the platform shook with the ear-splitting scream of dying wind sprites as it flew through the portal. This was inconsequential to Ricky. He knew some of the more sensitive sorts didn’t like that the sprites had to die for the trains to move, but why change something if it worked?
The cabin’s doors slid shut behind him. His hand found its way to one of the grab handles hanging above from the ceiling as soon as the train’s engines hummed to life.
An automated voice announced the next station over the screaming sprites.
Elidel, Lev 345, Elf-Town
Kieran’s shoes left footprints on the tiles. His forearms and the front of his scrubs were doused in red.
When an orc lost an arm, they bled buckets.
But besides the puddle of blood at his feet and the injured orc on his operating table, his night was quiet otherwise.
“You’re going to need a new one, bud,” he said.
But orcs were sturdy creatures. Kieran reckoned the guy would live. Just to prove it to himself, his neural interface’s display flickered to life, showing that the orc’s vitals were relatively steady.
His patient’s companions kept their distance. Among them were two humans and a dwarf; not only were they bloodied and battered, but when they arrived two hours ago, the barrels of their guns were still smoking from what he presumed was a previous firefight.
Mercenaries, he thought.
They must have heard of him somewhere along the grapevine. He preferred it that way; three centuries of impeccable, honest service got you places. Though not as fancy as the overpriced corporate hospital, he got the job done for a decent fee while keeping it clean and professional. But as much as Kieran would have preferred, healing didn’t pay all the bills. Sometimes, some blood money was needed to put food on the table.
A bone saw was needed to get the rest of the arm off. He was plugging a chrome-plated, orc-sized cybernetic arm into his patient’s useless stump when a clatter in the direction of the garage door gave him some pause. He glanced up only for a moment to clarify that it was Khelrik coming home before turning back to his work.
After he welded the last tendrils of wires and flesh, Kieran stepped back,
“All done! You test that arm and see how it feels.”
The orc seemed quite satisfied with it, and the merry little merc-band paid him extra on their way out.
With his night’s pay in hand, Kieran retired for the evening — or morning, seeing as it was coming to 6 and the sun was beginning to rise. The sunlight in Lev 345 was cold, filtered through layers of clouds and smog. He relished in the fact that they at least had some light, better than the darkness of the underground Levs. Memories of venturing deep into Lev 1029 for a paid hit flitted through Kieran’s mind — of plasma flashing through the dark and the hum of enchanted blades. It was close to the very bottom of the city.
He should tell Ricky about it sometime.
He found his son in the garage’s adjacent living area, fixing himself breakfast. The place they called home was evidently made for one occupant, with only a single bedroom and a small kitchen. So Kieran slept in the living room and let Ricky have the bed.
He spoke in their Elvish dialect, “Has that bastard paid you yet?”
“No, Dad. He’s been quiet about it.”
Ricky handed him a hot mug of coffee — or at least, a dark liquid constructed to have the same taste and effects as coffee. Neither of them had had real coffee before.
“Want me to make him pay?” he took a sip and made a face.
“You won’t be able to find him.”
Ricky passed him with a plate of freshly-warmed nutrient bars and took a seat at their small dining table. Kieran helped himself to some. Nothing like a compressed block of freeze-dried carbohydrate mulch to end his work day.
He eyed Ricky over the rim of his coffee mug. His gut twisted in worried knots.
Ricky did not notice, too busy chewing on his nutrient bar and watching a video on his neural interface.
In the bare wastelands of Akyros, torn asunder by storms of magical energy, Elidel rises like a bloated blemish. The city thrums with an apparent life, and with every breath it spews 11 trillion metric tons of carbon dioxide and carcinogenic gases into the atmosphere yearly, to the detriment of the population. It is home to countless quadrillions, the majority of whom are downtrodden by the ruling elite in their rising spires in the sky.
Food is ultra-processed, and water is filtered many times over to make it even remotely drinkable. The weather is unpredictable and extreme, bringing ice storms and the occasional random heatwave only mere hours apart.
It is in this monster of a city that our story begins.
Elidel, Lev 345, Human Quarter
The only requirement was that he knew how to drive.
Ricky didn’t think he was a particularly good driver. But at least he knew how to drive a basic grav-car. So he was hired; the company had no qualms about paying some elf adolescent to shuttle people around in the middle of the night.
If they even paid him at all, that is. His paycheck from last month hadn’t come.
The humans said he was perfectly an adult at the age of 18, and since they ruled this city, everyone had to go along with it, even if he would be considered ridiculously young by elf standards.
His assigned company cab was a beat-up piece of junk that stunk of cheap tobacco and those perfumed synthetic recreational stimulants often smoked by fancier passengers. The engine always felt like it was going to fall out of the back when he turned it on, and it shivered whenever he ascended or descended. But he tried to keep himself positive about it.
I’ve been doing this for three years. I know what I’m doing.
The city flew by in a blur, the lights from countless advertisements and windows seeming like the stars in the paintings of the night sky he saw at the local museum as a small child. Music blared from the radio, a generic array of the latest heavily synthetic pop songs that he admittedly found appealing. Wipers carved a path through the raindrops on his windshield before more took their place. The janky hologram display on his dashboard was silent and dark, typically the telltale sign that his shift was over. The time on the clock was 5 AM, and he was ready to go home and take a nap.
When he finally parked his cab at company headquarters — a warehouse that could only be accessed through a discreet alleyway, he made a beeline for the train station. The rain soaked his hair as he struggled to pull his jacket’s hood over his head, hiding his pointed ears from the biting cold that came with the weather.
The station at this time was crowded, mostly with those who needed to report to work early. The crowd huddled together to stave off the chill, with Ricky among them.
When the train came, the platform shook with the ear-splitting scream of dying wind sprites as it flew through the portal. This was inconsequential to Ricky. He knew some of the more sensitive sorts didn’t like that the sprites had to die for the trains to move, but why change something if it worked?
The cabin’s doors slid shut behind him. His hand found its way to one of the grab handles hanging above from the ceiling as soon as the train’s engines hummed to life.
An automated voice announced the next station over the screaming sprites.
Elidel, Lev 345, Elf-Town
Kieran’s shoes left footprints on the tiles. His forearms and the front of his scrubs were doused in red.
When an orc lost an arm, they bled buckets.
But besides the puddle of blood at his feet and the injured orc on his operating table, his night was quiet otherwise.
“You’re going to need a new one, bud,” he said.
But orcs were sturdy creatures. Kieran reckoned the guy would live. Just to prove it to himself, his neural interface’s display flickered to life, showing that the orc’s vitals were relatively steady.
His patient’s companions kept their distance. Among them were two humans and a dwarf; not only were they bloodied and battered, but when they arrived two hours ago, the barrels of their guns were still smoking from what he presumed was a previous firefight.
Mercenaries, he thought.
They must have heard of him somewhere along the grapevine. He preferred it that way; three centuries of impeccable, honest service got you places. Though not as fancy as the overpriced corporate hospital, he got the job done for a decent fee while keeping it clean and professional. But as much as Kieran would have preferred, healing didn’t pay all the bills. Sometimes, some blood money was needed to put food on the table.
A bone saw was needed to get the rest of the arm off. He was plugging a chrome-plated, orc-sized cybernetic arm into his patient’s useless stump when a clatter in the direction of the garage door gave him some pause. He glanced up only for a moment to clarify that it was Khelrik coming home before turning back to his work.
After he welded the last tendrils of wires and flesh, Kieran stepped back,
“All done! You test that arm and see how it feels.”
The orc seemed quite satisfied with it, and the merry little merc-band paid him extra on their way out.
With his night’s pay in hand, Kieran retired for the evening — or morning, seeing as it was coming to 6 and the sun was beginning to rise. The sunlight in Lev 345 was cold, filtered through layers of clouds and smog. He relished in the fact that they at least had some light, better than the darkness of the underground Levs. Memories of venturing deep into Lev 1029 for a paid hit flitted through Kieran’s mind — of plasma flashing through the dark and the hum of enchanted blades. It was close to the very bottom of the city.
He should tell Ricky about it sometime.
He found his son in the garage’s adjacent living area, fixing himself breakfast. The place they called home was evidently made for one occupant, with only a single bedroom and a small kitchen. So Kieran slept in the living room and let Ricky have the bed.
He spoke in their Elvish dialect, “Has that bastard paid you yet?”
“No, Dad. He’s been quiet about it.”
Ricky handed him a hot mug of coffee — or at least, a dark liquid constructed to have the same taste and effects as coffee. Neither of them had had real coffee before.
“Want me to make him pay?” he took a sip and made a face.
“You won’t be able to find him.”
Ricky passed him with a plate of freshly-warmed nutrient bars and took a seat at their small dining table. Kieran helped himself to some. Nothing like a compressed block of freeze-dried carbohydrate mulch to end his work day.
He eyed Ricky over the rim of his coffee mug. His gut twisted in worried knots.
Ricky did not notice, too busy chewing on his nutrient bar and watching a video on his neural interface.
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