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Zink

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About Zink

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  • Birthday 08/02/1998

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    Pennsylvania, United States

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  1. 'Long-shanks', as he was so aptly named, was simply within his OGRE itself - the diminutive paraplegic barely noticeable, but nonetheless protruding from the top of Earthshaker's massive bulk. Seemingly unaware of his mention above the din of the cargo bay, Durant was instead focused with what was the most physically strenuous and mentally challenging activity of his entire job; Getting inside the Ogre. Like a tank-commander sticking his torso out of the cupola of a turret, Durant had himself poised to slip inside the Ogre, but something stilled him - a hesitation, or to those more intimately aware of him, trepidation. Durant could aptly recall the amount of times he had entered Earthshaker on one mechanical hand, the circumstantial need for an experimental heavy artillery OAM-T frame being... decidedly uncommon, especially with the advent of newer, sleeker generation models rolling off testbeds every year. Of course, this didn't mean he was without combat experience, what with the instances that required superheavy artillery support being incredibly volatile, and in an odd sense, rather enjoying. Though, being an Ogre pilot generally meant you were a thrill seeker. Or just insane. Probably both. But still, Durant had decidedly less combat missions than most seasoned pilots did, and as such, he had yet to properly bond with his OGRE - or get over the fear of the 'copulation' involved. Especially when it involved involuntary muscle spasms breaking every bone in his limbs. Thus, his problem was made evident - an OGRE pilot who loathed being in his OGRE - and while ironic, it was also rather inconvenient. The Earthshaker's armored chassis resembled more of a malachite-plated tomb than a warmachine, and simply the act of entering the cockpit itself was bringing him no small amount of stress. Something the Victory-ASI type AI had taken notice of. [Lukas.] She called out, voice filtering through the neuro-operative lattice connecting his spine to the OGRE, a sensation that most pilots could agree was fairly unpleasant, like a second set of thoughts interposed into your own mind. Her voice was enough to break his reverie, the Operator's head instinctively swiveling up to meet the voice, despite years of experience telling him he already knew who it was. "Wh- Huh?" [Your fellow operatives are inquiring as to your whereabouts.] There was a pause, as if the AI was searching for the right words. [I can inform them you are indisposed for this mission, if you wish.] It was a small blow to Durant's pride, as nonexistent as such a thing was, but he'd been through these motions before. He knew Earthshaker simply meant the best for him, the AI having taken a very protective view over its steward since he had become crippled from their joining - but it stung nonetheless. He took a look down at the confines of the OGRE, the familiar feeling of dread welling up in him again - but this time he shoved it down, steeling himself and his resolve. "No. I can do this." Then, with a weary sigh, he descended into the mech, already beating back the unpleasant memories as he joined with Earthshaker. Small, spider-like limbs went to work, affixing supports and connecting his neural interface to the machine itself, the process taking little more than a few seconds, but lasting an eternity in his mind - and then, it was over. [I'm glad you've put your faith in me, Lukas.] Earthshaker spoke once more, her voice like a cool salve running over his frantic mind as she tested the neural connections, his prosthesis going intert as full control was directed to the OGRE itself. "Yeah." Durant's response was sullen, the unease of his mind being buried by the physical conditioning ingrained into his body, vague feelings of comfort and completeness flooding him as a crude bonding mechanism to his suit. The coms system flicked on with but a thought, the pilot steadying his voice as he spoke. {"This is Quake here. Doing pre-op calibrations in Earthshaker - Everything looks green."}
  2. As if Gheist had somehow invoked his presence through a single comment alone, the third OAM operator of this lovely rag-tag trio was not far behind, the faint jingle of the bar's front door punctuating his entrance. Well, that, and the fact that the act of simply walking produced about as much noise as a civilian industrial loader. When you discounted the extensive, yet surprisingly poor cybernetic lattice that connected his 'legs' to the body, Durant could almost be considered unassuming. He was short, by Terran standards, not particularly muscular or bulky, and his skin carried the complexion of a sun-kissed sailor - something that wasn't too far from the mark, initially. The worst one could see out of him was a constant, morose expression marring his visage, as if he was absorbed in a perpetual state of melancholy. Said melancholic visage was quick to spot the trio, at any rate - the OAM operator muttering out a hushed apology to the barkeep as he walked past, the rhythmic thumping of his steps and the hiss of pneumatic joints filling the otherwise quiet atmosphere. In just a few short strides, and a few rattled drinks, he arrived at the booth - sparing Bandit a lingering glance as he took the free-est space he could find in the booth, casually ignoring the faint sound of duress coming from the poor chair. "Private Harper. Salvador-" The man paused for a moment, face looking over Echo for a moment, trying and failing to pin a name to the woman. "-... Harper's associate." He exuded protocol. Trained demeanour - a soldier, to his core. Gelded, metal arms found their rest on the table with a faint clack, cybernetic digits rapping against the table once before ceasing. "Private Lukas Durant, 66th Iconoclasts, OAM-T Operator, Reporting as ordered."
  3. Zink

    Callsign: Quake

    "The goal of the OAM-T series is to provide a heavily-armored weapons platform for direct fire and artillery support; The goal of the OAM-T-AP project is to stress-test the design to its peak capability as a heavy-weapons artillery platform." "We admit, the design philosophy of the Type-AP Ogre was... excessive. The OAM-T performs its current role quite well, at the added bonus of having a degree of flexibility the AP simply did not possess." Essential Design Specifications: Model: OAM-T-AP-001 Designation: 'Earthshaker' Design: Ogre Assault Mech Manufacturer: TERRENUS MILITARY ARMS/VULCAN ARMS. Operator: Pvt. Lukas 'Quake' Durant Core: Exalta Infernus Power Core Chassis Specifications Height: 10.98 Meters, 36ft. Weight: 113 Tons, 102,512kg Crew: 1 Primary Color: Army Olive Secondary Color: Gunmetal Grey Armament Weapons; Vulcan Arms 160mm Nonlinear Magitech Rifle Undercarriage Mounted Crystallized Shardthrower STA Smart-Guidance Rocket Delivery System[x6] Equipment; Layered Malachite Plating Hull-mounted Chaff Launchers[x5] IR Smoke Grenade Dispensers[x3] High-grade Load-Bearing Pneumatic Limbs. Victory ASI Type Intelligence: Primarily intended to reduce the neural input for the quadruped walker system (and the haptic feedback), 'Earthshaker's' AI module has expanded to constantly record and store telemetry, firing solutions, and optimal geographic positions for user assistance. Due to the unique nature of her pilot, the AI is also in part more responsible for maintaining and advising the Pilot of their physical health, even possessing proper clearances to seize control of the vehicle in the event of perceived ill-action or danger to the Pilot. Much like her handler, she is very soft-spoken, and carries a great deal of guilt for her operator's plight.
  4. Zink

    Callsign: Quake

    "...By all accounts, the test model was a success. Our knowledge on the OAM-N's response to Quadrupedal Chassis has helped streamline future development of the OAM-T considerably, and allowed for some choice refinements to the OAM system as a whole." "That test pilot will never use his limbs again. You call that a success?" Personal Information Name: Lukas Durant Nickname: 'Quake' Race: Human, Male. Age: 28 Birthplace: Last Chance, Terrenus Occupation: Terran Military Operative (Private) Branch: Engineers / Ogre Pilot "How are you feeling in there, Lukas?" "Doing alright, Doc. Worst I've felt so far is a light headache." "Neural Feedback is to be expected. Continue when you are ready." Physical Characteristics Height: 6'0 Weight: 180lbs (without prosthesis) Hair: Raven Black Skin: Swarthy Eyes: Light Blue Build: Bulky Voice: Gravelly Mental Characteristics Temperament: Melancholic MBTI: INTJ-T Traits: Reserved, Critical, Blunt, Loyal, Acerbic, Perfectionist. History 22 AO, Finished internship with Argus Incorporated, specializing in Advanced metallurgy and Material Sciences. 23 AO, Inducted into Terrenus Corps of Engineers, 66th Iconoclast Division. 25 AO, Sponsored for R&D participation in the OAM-T Artillery Project. 25 AO, [REDACTED] 28 AO, Reactivated and Re-Enrolled to the Terrenus Armed Forces, Paired with OAM-T/AP-Type Ogre.
  5. Zink

    Sierael, Wyrm Eternal

    Made this quite a while ago, but it just occurred to me that I didn't source the artist! Credit is due to Sandara on deviantart, who reserves all rights to this artwork, and can request its removal at any time.
  6. "-remarkable discovery - a wholly intact Draconid fossil! I wouldn't have believed it myself, but there it was, buried inside the deepest end of the cave, still guarding over its hoard. There's enough gold in here to fund an nation, let alone this expedition! A fortuitous turn of events indeed-" ~Journal entry of Terran Scholar Korvus Gael, recovered postmortem. "I do not loathe these beasts, no more than I loathe the evils of the world. It is a pitiful existence, to be bound by your most base instincts, coveting wealth and dominion without falter. But make no mistake, these beasts deserve no pity - they are ruthless and cunning without peer, and their continued existence to this day is proof of their enduring nature." ~A Dragonslayer's Memoirs, penned by Taendall Swiftwing, retired Dragon-Slayer. General Information. Name: Sierael Pronunciation: [CEE-EHR-AY-EL] Monikers/Titles/Aliases: Dragon (and every mislabeled derivative), Elder Wyrm, Worldspawn, Wyrm Eternal. Dozens more titles exist, due to the inflated ego of the average Draconid, all self-given. Allegiances/Factions: Self-Serving Agenda. Wild theories speculate the Wyrm acts as a force of nature, while following its own pursuits. Religion: Unknown. Race: 'Dragon', despite how far-flung the current namesakes are. Gender: Male. Date of Birth: Estimated to be before 14,000 WT. Indecisive. Age: Roughly >4,000~ Years, though activity is dispersed in short periods amidst slumber. Functionally a few centuries old, at best. Length: 57ft, overall. Height: 15ft. Wingspan: 78ft, wing to wing Weight: 34,500 lbs Eye Color: A burning amber, like hot-coals in a flame. Physical Description: In all their capriciousness and greed, Dragons still carry with them a noble aura - a beast whose appearance is immaculate, deadly as it is stunning, commanding attention and respect. Sierael's form has lost none of its strength and durability over the ages - Where mortals wither with the beleaguering onset of time, Sierael has become strengthened as its lifespan increases. The sheer size of the Wyrm is a telling sign of its advanced age - even with its head lowered, it is as tall as three men, while the Wyrm from head to tail is as long as a battle-line. Whilst still bearing similarities to it's serpentine cousins, the Wyrm's form is more compact, robust, and most importantly - in possession of functional arms, to compliment its existing wings. It's arms, as they were, are like tree trunks in size, tapered off in the form of massive, three-fingered claws, with a thumb to match - large enough to grasp the average man quite comfortably. A massive set of wings, located just above the Wyrm's shoulders, sit comfortably folded and tucked against its form, fully extending to over twice it's length, tip to tip. These wings are crowned with a single claw, used to achieve purchase on hard surfaces, and it is ill suited for anything other than such. The tail, tapered in thick, spiny scales, extends to nearly the same length of Sierael's body - capped with a spade-shaped keratin blade. Draped over the entirety of Sierael's form is his armor, a natural lining of scales, as thick as stone and as strong as tempered steel. The scales are large and ovular, more akin to sharpened teardrops that are smoothed back across it's flesh, like slicked hair across a man's head. These scales are surprisingly pleasing to the eye, and visually appear to fragile - each shining with a crimson luster like precious jewelry - a fact that has undoubtedly deceived would-be thieves and hunters. Crowned atop a serpentine neck is the beast's visage - molded as if carved out of crimson gemstones, with two fiery rubies inlaid in its eye sockets. A crown of enlarged, horn-like scales juts out of the beast's mane, granting it a regality fitting of a king, while many jagged and worn growths protrude from the length of its jaw - like a beard crowning a chin. Its maw, large enough to fit a man laying down, is lined with massive teeth, admittedly dulled from age, but still sharp enough to pierce flesh and armor all the same. The Wyrm's visage constantly bares something akin to a look of disdain, molded into it's very appearance, as the beast lacks the lips to sneer or frown at all. Personality: To Sierael, Might Makes Right. This translates well into their actions, this being a justification for both the destruction and dominion of many. To the Dragon, its strength is proof of its will, and those lacking the will to match his do not deserve to exist. Even his own kind is subject to this dog-eat-dog belief, which in turn has forced the Dragon along the path of accruing power, status, dominion - all to prove the surety of his existence, and his right to exist. But, he does not fear or hate this, knowing that this is part of their nature, and part of his being - being true to his nature is something the Wyrm embraces, for the surety of purpose. Mortals are viewed as a detestable sort, with few notable individuals surpassing the rabble, displaying might equal, or even surpassing, draconid. Having seen millennia of civilization pass in the span of deep slumber, there is both a deep disinterest and burning curiosity with the mortal world, which is both paradoxical and counter-intuitive in nature. New discoveries are always welcome, a burning desire for knowledge - especially regarding his status among mortals - driving him to begrudgingly accept discourse from more learned mortals - should they interest him enough, in course. This hunger for knowledge is most common after awaking from slumber, to which he scours for a trace, however lingering, of the fear and respect he imposed on those long since gone - as well as being quick to re-assert why they should remember him. Incredibly common amongst most Draconic beings, Sierael possesses an intense desire to hoard objects of monetary worth - an expression of avarice in its purest, to be sure, but it is more compulsory than it is voluntary. Such is the intensity of this desire that the Wyrm can amass fortunes in gold, alongside other objects of great wealth - be it works of art, magical tomes, and the finest weaponry - all pilfered from those he deems to be incapable of owning it. Every item is carefully scrutinized for its value, and painstakingly memorized - it is said that a Dragon can spot the absence of a single item from it's hoard, and Sierael is capable of noting even the smallest of discrepancies from a glance. Thievery is something the Wyrm cannot tolerate by any means, and even the slightest insult reaps the same repercussion - the death of the perpetrator. Should they not be found, such raw fury is quenched on those around their lair, equally dooming more lives to end for even the pettiest of thievery. Abilities/Traits Magic Potential: Magic has, for the most part, been an ever present force in the world since it's inception, and it can be manipulated by anyone with the intellect and capacity to understand it. Sierael's existence, to some extent, is intimately intertwined with magic, and at its most basic form is the Wyrm able to manipulate it to a fair extent. Equivalent to incredibly ancient forms of elemental manipulation (Pyromancy, Aetheromancy, Hydromancy, Geomancy, etc), far outdated by modern practices, the age of the incantations and simplicity of these spells are more than made up for by the raw power which is poured into their very casting. These spells loosely obey the modern conventions of casting, but the Dragon's foci, source of power, and cost for spells has yet to be observed - leaving historians to claim it wields magic with no cost or detriment to itself - a theory that has yet to evolve beyond that. Sierael is capable of using magic to excise his will, verbally, enthralling the weak-willed and feeble minded by words alone, to whatever end. Numerous historical references indicate a potential for Polymorphism, an ill-tempered and fickle school of magic - but such references can be attributed to the warping of history into myth. Size: Given the beast's size alone, virtually every action it takes has some benefit or detriment. In combat, its sheer bulk alone can be weaponized, and when tooth, claw, and tail are not enough, it can use its own weight to great effect in dissuading attackers. Inversely, the beast's range of movement is rather limited, and it is quickly encumbered attempting to move erratically, or in any formation other than a straightforward, methodical path. However, its size belies its speed, and the length of its limbs, coupled with the sheer muscle mass it possesses, allows it to quickly gain on fleeing prey - though stopping past a certain point proves to be a challenge. Flight: Despite its massive weight and bulk, Sierael's great wings allow it to propel itself into the air with impetuous ease - capable of staying in flight for hours, or even days, unfettered. Its method of flying is ponderous, and the beast can be easily outmaneuvered by smaller Dragons, or airborne creatures. However, it is no less lethal in the air than it is on the ground, and those who openly flaunt their capacity oft meet a quick end under a gust of flame, or a sudden bite. Given its inability to properly maneuver when being harried, Sierael oft takes to deception and trickery to gain the upper hand - flying high into the air until its opponent begins to tire and suffocate, or taking to clouds for surprise ambushes. Fiery Breath: Stereotypical (and rightly so) of most Dragons, Sierael possesses the innate capacity to spew forth a gout of flame, though not of any magical means. The process is actually remarkably mundane - a natural, oily gel-like secretion is ejected from its mouth, and ignited by a series of rasping plates within its throat. This gel is incredibly adhesive and volatile, sticking to nearly any surface (except those with little friction, or objects magically smoothed to be perfectly flat) and igniting anywhere from a few seconds to minutes after combat - even if it the Dragon does not ignite it, it will eventually react to the very air and set itself aflame. Draconic Scales: Sierael's form is draped in a raiment of scales, which serve as a natural form of armor. Thick as stone and as strong as steel, few weapons can pierce the hide of a Dragon - though it is not an impossible feat, in and of itself. The strongest, most sure strikes against its form can do well to damage it, regardless of the armor it possesses, and magically enchanted - or simply well forged - blades pose a chance of damaging the Wyrm. Magical attacks are somewhat effective in this regard, though the scales seem to be naturally insulant to most forms of magic - especially simple elements. Bares a distinct resistance to flame, to the point where only magically enhanced, or cursed, fires could feasibly be used against it. Indomitable Will: Few beings can hope to meet a Dragon's definition of strength, let alone earn anything short of their respect. Humbling them is a fool's task - they would rather die than destroy their pride, and for one to serve under another - especially a mortal, is a feat that is nearly unthinkable to Draconid. Unless one covets magical artifacts capable of absolute dominion - shackling Sierael to the bonds of servitude, however gentle or harsh they may be, is virtually impossible. Even if this occurs, should the beast be freed under any circumstance, its former master will face the brunt of its wrath, no matter the cost. Misc Abilities: Eidetic Memory (Mostly related to items within it's hoard), High Intelligence. History: Figures of both myth and reality, Dragons (and their derivatives) have struck both fear and awe into lesser races for millennia, ever since their inception onto the mortal planes. It is not wonder, for these beasts, in their prime, commanded both power and will that far surpass most mortal races, and their presence was synonymous with the end. Though these creatures have ultimately been humbled, scattered and diluted in the various beasts, whos intellect and strength vastly ranges from one Genus to another, few Wyrms remain unchanged. They are a sign of stagnancy, a bygone product from forgotten ages millennia ago, but they nevertheless command power and intellect worthy of recognition, if not respect. The number of these beasts is few, and like the many mortal races, they take various shapes and forms, not unlike their lesser descendants, but the arrival of one both heralds caution, and fortune. Many a dragon-hunter and scholar alike skew the world for these ancient, slumbering vestiges - their deaths would mean fame and fortune, and few hunters have been lucky enough to succeed - only stoking the fires of ambition. Sierael is such a beast, a Wyrm whose origins can be traced back as far as four-thousand years, though reports are damaged and sporadic at best. The majority of this vast lifespan, which has yet to be defined, or end, is spent in a perpetual slumber - usually within the bowels of a mountain, though many ancient texts indicate a preference for basking in extreme heat - such as a volcano. Seldom does this Wyrm awaken, and every recorded instance ends in some form of wanton destruction, and subsequent retaliation from those attacked. However, every occurrence ties in with both its discovery, and the pilfering of its hoard - which goes lengths to explain the sudden flurry of activity from such an ancient beast. A total of five times has the Wyrm rose from its slumber under such (recorded) circumstances, with one fragmented report even claiming the destruction of an entire city - with archaeological investigations turning no leads toward's this city's existence, nor it's people. There is only one recorded instance of human contact with Sierael that did not end in violence and bloodshed - a Magi by the name of Vae Tenillus, hailing from the landmass known as Terrenus, came into contact with the Wyrm as it naturally awoke, roughly around 16,438 WT. The Magi conveyed itself to the Wyrm, through both mortal tongues, and the language of the world - Oldspeak. Surprisingly, Sierael responded in kind, and for eight days did they converse - the Magi never pausing in this discourse, enthralled physically and mentally. It was only a few hours after cessation of this discourse that the Magi succumbed to physical need and perished, whatever will that suspended them in the conversation having faded shortly after its conclusion. Unfortunately, the transcript has been lost to the ages, alongside any knowledge and insights that the two beings debated over. The most recent, intact event recorded revolving the Wyrm was at the dawn of 17,000 WT, where a group of Terrenic Scholars, Dragon-Slayers, and Magi tracked down the beast - led by a Braccus Levanton, purportedly a well-reputed hero (at the time). Before the dawn of the new Millennium, the group tracked down the beast to its lair, within the volcanic calderas of Biazo Isle, and a fierce melee ensued inside the labyrinthine caverns the Wyrm had created. As the Wyrm was driven back under heavy losses, the cavern itself was collapsed, a forced effort by the Magi and Scholars, while the beast itself was bound in aetheric chains, dragged down into the molten earth. One-thousand Five-hundred years in, and there has been no sign of the Wyrm. Yet.
  7. I uh, kinda disappeared for four or so months after arriving, so I've opted to post "Hi, I'm back" here, instead of making a new thread. Not like it's exactly relevant to anyone, but I'd feel wrong just popping out of nowhere in some thread.
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