Tribes [2075: Game World], Persistent World [SR5] IC Sub-Thread Options Track this topic Email this topic Print this topic Download this topic Subscribe to this forum Display Modes Outline Switch to: Standard Switch to: Linear+

[Aria]

[Thursday July 18th, 2075; Fre∑dom’s Host, Puyallup]

Prospero’s persona slipped through the digital maelstrom of the Fre∑dom firewalls and out into the blissful tranquillity of the tropical night. The waves lapped against his robes, the current sucking at them as his presence was authorised. The sand on the beach sculpted itself into impossible arcane forms as the recent logs were transferred to his deck. Despite the recent difficulties in upgrading the tribe to the new matrix protocols the corps had foisted on them he was quietly pleased with the results and their few remaining technomancers told him that the well and the secret it protected had not been undermined by the changes.

Nerieds and merfolk gambolled in the waves, playing with a couple of the younger members of the tribe whose outlandish icons stood out against the sculpting motif of the host. Prospero welcomed their innovation, they were the life of the tribe and their ideas and insights were what kept them alive whilst older minds like his struggled to adapt to the rapid evolutions around them. Hell, he felt positively ancient these days and he was glad that his meat form was once more relegated to an inconvenience, kept alive by the machines in his hiding place in the bowls of their old home.

On the whole the integration with their neighbours, the Mechanicals, had been fairly seamless with only a few arguments about living accommodation. The invitation to adopt space within the perimeter of the other tribe had made sense and after the desperate attempts to defend the old mall it was refreshing for his people to feel safe once more. Some artful demolition had collapsed the roof of the mall so that it wouldn’t be an attractive proposition for the hordes of squatters that might come to claim their old turf.

Ever since Spindle had slipped into his whispering senility, the fate of most magic users to Prospero’s mind, Oyl had been managing their neighbouring tribe with surprising skill given her youth...not that anyone was young here anymore. Her influence had steadied their neighbours through the difficult times and her healing had been invaluable as the plague had swept through their midst.

Prospero brushed those memories aside, the views had seemed surreal from his detached location as his tribe had succumbed to the horrible hacking coughs that had finished so many off…