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/tg/ - Traditional Games


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>> No.38695784 [View]
File: 360 KB, 547x308, jokerguardian.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


And when you bulldoze your way through a row of shophouses - Ten furious minutes after you began mowing your way through the alien city, making it across nearly twenty-three blocks - the Red Comet goes into a spin. By your estimation, you're not far from the festival grounds; Another street, two more at most - and the GARM, made to soak up punishment, is almost completely immune to anything less than the impact of Player weaponry.

The world blurs as the Red Comet rockets up a loading ramp - landing, skidding sideways towards a row of storefronts-

White Licorice lets out a strangled yelp - part warning and part inarticulate cry - as Daegal's gauntlets lock down on the restraint handles in a white-knuckled grasp-

-And the Red Comet does a three-sixty as it takes flight, the rear end windmilling through the derelict shop windows. You glimpse empty or abandoned displays, blurred wire-mesh windows - but your vision is distorted by the violent spin, as the right side of the combat chassis levels the entire row. The noise of shattering glass is like a wave slamming a breakwater, as the GARM grinds indiscriminately over all obstructions, plunging sideways into the shadows beyond. A silver sleet of debris and rubble heralds your arrival, as the Red Comet slams through a weight-bearing pillar...*Another*-



White, feathery debris snows down through the dusty air, and the sounds of something collapsing beneath you creaks in the sudden silence. In your rear camera, you can see the buildings succumbing to entropy at last; Collapsing with a tumbling roar of girders, just falling in upon themselves as a cloud of dust boils outwards, obscuring the street...

And beyond, you have a ringside view of Armageddon.


>> No.35645078 [View]
File: 360 KB, 547x308, jokercomet.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

The only light in the cave is the faint illumination shed by Imago's digging machine - And the light that you bring with you. Beyond that, the darkness is utter and complete: There's something brooding, something ominous about it that strikes a primal cord - Even in your armor, even with your sensors feeding constant targeting information to your systems, the abyssal depths are awful ones.

-The dark. Down there, when absolute dark descended, Players went mad.


The Teleport Homer is in your hand, as you hold it out before you - The air shimmering, gaining a greasy, crackling feel as the Red Comet's chassis ghosts into existence: A flickering double-image, fuming with vapor...

-And then there's a *bang*, a loud double-thunderclap of overstressed air pressure. The sound echoes hollowly through the infinite caverns, overlapping the low *hum* of the GARM's systems coming to life...

The cockpit opens, with a pressurized hiss. You settle into place, as the HUD shimmers into existence, little monofilament slivers of metal puncturing your armor - Fingers and joints curling in reflex, as their connection to your systems are momentarily interrupted...

Then you *are* the machine. The optic cluster perched atop the Red Comet oscillates, flexes - Flicking through spectral filters is as simple as blinking, the cool glow of the GARM's lights casting a gallery of soft-edged shadows across the walls as the combat chassis articulates into motion.


>> No.32390427 [View]
File: 360 KB, 547x308, jokerguardian2.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


And then there's the *sound* that cuts through the sudden, appalled silence - A distinctive *buzz*, as violet light jags from the quad-eyed sensor cluster.

> "Oh, shit."
> "All units, fall *back*-"

They're firing again, even as the shield winks to life. The Red Comet articulates, the cockpit ratcheting open with a whirr of servoes - Rounds kiss off the carapace, as a shell explodes against the front shield. The hatch clangs down, sealing you in absolute, claustrophobic darkness for a heartbeat...

And then the controls filaments sink into your armour. A monofilament sliver of metal punctures the back of your helmet, and into the fibres beneath: Your vision flickering, as an odd, appalling nausea coils within you, your armoured limbs twitching in reflex as their connections are temporarily interrupted - Vertigo, momentary and dizzying, blurring the world before your eyes...

But then, you *are* the machine. The world lights up, as you look through new sensors - When your limbs flex, your arm - Your *real* arm - remains limp by your side, locked in place by restraints.


Anti-gravity suspensors hum to life, supporting the GARM's weight as it rises to all four limbs: Built like an upright tank, supported by tall, ankle-jointed lower limbs with caterpillar treads, broad-shoulder arms - And weapon mounts - twitching in time to your phantom commands.



>> No.28078158 [View]
File: 360 KB, 547x308, jokerguardian2.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]


The Armoury Guardian's designation - In the flickering lines of alien code that crawl across your HUD, resolving into half-glimpsed meanings - is A-10346.

The unit's name, however, is GARM. It is a name to be roared in a guttural voice, to be written in all-capitals: The great, gleaming chassis looming above you, all layered armour and ozone, the hangar's dim light casting long shadows. Hydraulics hiss, idling - The cockpit's hatch open, evoking a great, devouring maw as fitful violet light flickers within the sensor cluster, telltales winking to life within it's depths.

Not slumbering, but waiting.

"Is that...real?" Bishamon's voice - Even filtered of all emotion - is hushed, awed. His kabuto-helm canted back, taking in the sheer mass of the construct before him: His spined shoulders lifting as a sound catches his attention-

Somewhere, the grind-screech of warping metal catches your attention, carrying across the Holophusikon's armoury. The ground shudders, beneath your feet - Dust trickling from the ceiling. In the distance, there's a low groan...Deep, dire, within the Holophusikon's very core.

"-I'm reading - I'm reading, all systems are functioning at full capacity." Tyrian Edge sounds uncertain, looking up - "...I think. It was - Here, all this time. Waiting for someone to find it, to wake it up-"

Sparks shoot from Volt Regios's shoulder joint - "They're almost through, Joker," he growls; "Whatever you're going to do, make it *fast* - Time's almost out."

[ ] Free


>> No.19976380 [View]
File: 360 KB, 547x308, jokerguardian5.png [View same] [iqdb] [saucenao] [google] [report]

As the light changes, you see your chance; Even as the Guardian's steel-plated fists lash out, batting at your Interceptors like a beast tormented by flies. A hard swipe sends one of your Interceptors spinning away, dizzily - It glances off a wall, corrects, and surges back, it's twin tumbling between the Guardian's blows, slicing a deep furrow down the thing's torso.

It's been momentarily distracted, the energy barrier shifting to take the brunt of solid munitions; It's shielded against conventional rounds, at the exact same moment it begins to take plasma fire again. Your forearms light up, both Vulcans blazing - This time, the energy blasts hemstich across the thing's chest, a tiny line of explosions erupting along it's flank. The head swings back towards you, as you *keep moving*, directing more shots in the thing's direction-

...And then there's a scorching, metallic crack, as a well-aimed strikes right between the Guardian's eyes. Cracks skitter along that faceplate, the left sensors flickering; As if goaded by pain, it swings towards you...


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