Well, the last of the commissions has been finished. Time to open them up again, right?
Not exactly. I'm going to be taking a break from commissions for the time being. Not at all sure when they'll be open again, but keep your eyes peeled.
BS4: Attrition pt2The sky had fallen by the time the trail began to fade, heralded by a loud crash and howling sand. His world was reduced to the crackling, sparkling misplaced stars, static dancing outside of his head at a nauseating tempo.BS4: Attrition pt2 by Critical-Error
He had to follow the thread. He could still distantly see it. He could SMELL it, although the burn of ozone in his senses threatened to overpower it. It was so close -- but there was something blocking the way, beyond the sharp grit and static.
Something hard and cold, he discovered as his face pressed against it. Metallic. Irken-built. Still stinking of laser fire and Irken soldiers. Had he either the thought or the care, he might have wondered why the scent was so fresh when there were obviously no soldiers here. All the blackened soup registered was that it was abandoned, except for his horned prey. It was in there, and he was out here, and the wind continued to howl.
Xix gave a petulant howl back.
The wind's only response was to choke him with grit.
His body lur
BS4: Attrition pt 1BS4: Attrition pt 1 by Critical-Error
Something was at war inside his head.
Ripping. Tearing. Breaking down.
It wasn't painful, oddly enough. It was like the pushing and pulling of tides, only instead of the sea, it was an uncomfortable warmth and numbness and static. Pieces of images ebbed and flowed with the static sea - things he remembered, things he'd never seen before but somehow recognized.
A small, soft doll, stained in blood and tears. Her blood. Whose blood?
Clips of words, unfamiliar and familiar, wedged their own way into the blackened soup. Some didn't even sound like a real language. Others too loud, too close to his aching antennae.
--majority will die-- 372 percent---
PROXIMITY ALERT: DOCKING SEQUENCE ENGAGED IN ZERO MINUS--
There was a low growling he could only assume was his. He was too far removed. He was losing himself. Like... like unraveling thread. Spooling out of his own head. His body was dead weight, useless, and he was losing what little mind he had left.
It was a frighte
Fallout Equestria: Wasteland Economics
Characters Alloy Shaper and Grit finds themselves the unintentional guests of the Caimon, a tribe of sapient, bipedal gators, getting an audience with their old, shamanistic leader.
I personally recommend giving he story a look.