On the outlands of Haven, the Badlands are surging to life.

Megatronus stands with his brother Alpha Trion, the two as different as night and day. The picture of calm, the thinner Trion stands behind the bulwark that is his more physically inclined sibling, massive tome in hand. Optics and biolights aglow with concentration, he stands vulnerable and distracted as clawed shadows rage on either side of them both. Some come within arms-reach before they - and swaths of their fellows - are cut down by Megatronus' blade, pieces trailing burning cinders and ash.

The Prime Guardian of Entropy moves like a wraith, the shadows no match for his flame and fury - if it were not for the sheer numbers they have, replacing the fallen, the outcome of the battle would have already been assured.

Alpha Trion seems unfazed, the glowing gaze flicking briefly toward the camera with only a nod.

"I am a bit busy concentrating at the moment, but I think I've managed to establish a link to the network. Megatronus, if you'd please issue the call..."

( Read more... )

Your victory against the Zone, though hard-won, is brief. The resulting peace is broken by several things happening at once.

As though driven by spite at the Haven's refusal to bow down, the resurgence of the Lambda is sudden, vicious, and violent. The distant figures of the First Forged, tiny in comparison, make an appearance as they flit across the wounded sky, as they did before the Zone's eruption. But whatever they might be attempting, it is already too late.

The sky crackles with lightning and thunder, cast in the same sickly green glow of the Lambda. The crack in reality widens, surging, and the First Forged have to flee as lightning arcs wildly their way. The flash is so bright, it is impossible to see if any have been hit. The sky tears, audibly cracking across half the horizon. To anyone who happens to be glancing at the ground for some reason, rather than the giant rift in the sky: the shadows at the boundaries of the Haven grow darker despite the electric light in the sky, curls of inky darkness stretching out like living things across the ground. The void beyond the yawning, electric edges of the Lambda is becoming more visible: a dark nebula, cast further in shadow by a vast form.

And something

Is coming through

( The Beginning of The End... )

Now that our most recent issue has been resolved...

[Cue Megatronus' familiar murderous expression, also known as his Mondays face.]

Frenzy.

I will give you a choice. You will present yourself to the police force, or you will present yourself to me. These are your only options. If you choose to take a third route, I will make you regret your very existence.

Don't test my patience, either. You have one day.

[You know what you - allegedly - did, little cassette. You're not off the hook just yet. The only question is who you'd rather face the consequences from: your Firstforged, or the police?]

As for the rest of my Marked – I will be in the central temple for the next few days. If you have needs, let them be known now.

( [Locked to the Police Force] )

[The feed opens to a view of Megatronus Prime, a bloodied sword in hand. He gives it a hard flick to clear the worst of the gore from his blade, and a chunk of what used to be one of the monstrous centipedes flies off and knocks a nearby Acolyte in the head. It stumbles out of frame. Megatronus doesn't pay it any mind and addresses his audience:]

I imagine few of you will argue with me if I say that our guests have overstayed their welcome. Hospitality has its limits, after all.

[Besides which, he certainly never invited them to visit in the first place. Rude, centipedes. Very rude.]

When the creatures of the Badlands haven't the sense to retreat of their own volition, I find that a concentrated application of brute force is often enough to convince them of their error. My kin and I have determined that these monsters are likely led by a demon hiding at the core of an offshoot of the Badlands – if you've wandered outside of the Haven, you've likely noticed the approaching darkness. That is where we will be applying our force.

- and when I say 'we,' I don't simply mean my brothers and I.

Refugees, I call on you for volunteers who can fight; failing that, I'll accept volunteers who think they can fight. Anyone with a skill that would serve them well in combat, or those capable of supporting combatants. What you lack in size or experience can be compensated for through other means. I am willing to offer what gifts I can to those willing to fight in order to improve the likelihood of your... success.

[Survival. The word he means is 'survival.' Dragging Refugees to the heart of enemy territory often ends poorly for the weaker members of the group, but it's a necessary sacrifice.]

Unless, of course, you'd all rather be subject to regular attacks within the Haven. For those of you that care enough about your friends and your place here to act, I will be waiting for you in my arena. The Acolytes will direct you if you cannot find your way.

If you bear my Glyph, I expect to see you there.

[OOC note: there's a companion log to this post up over here for those who want to sign up their characters and collect a temporary boon ICly!]

[Megatronus Prime doesn't look happy – not that 'happy' is an emotion he displays regularly nor easy to identify on those rare occasions that he does, but his frown at the moment is exceptionally severe. The last week and a half have been lousy, to put it mildly.

Losing the trail of the monster he'd been chasing, having his judgement questioned, a rather strained meeting with the other Firstforged... It all tends to wear down a mech's patience.]

I trust that the recent bloodshed has been enough to sate even the most violent appetites.

[It doesn't look like he's going to be terribly sympathetic if it wasn't, however.]

Let it be known that these circumstances – the killing of your comrades – were exceptional. On behalf of my fellow Firstforged, let me make it clear:

[He moves towards the camera, close enough that subtle flames can be seen shifting between the cracks of his armor plates and the slats in his mask. Make no mistake: he is addressing you directly, dear refugee.]

You are strictly forbidden to murder one another.

Henceforth, those who choose to ignore this decree will face corrective measures at the hands of their Firstforged. We will no longer tolerate anyone weakening our own forces with infighting. I don't care how much you may or may not like each other. Any refugee bearing a Glyph is permitted to exist within the Haven without having to fear for their life.

Should any of you object to this imposition, I welcome you to settle it with me in the arena.

[He leans back from the feed, his expression shifting from 'threat of imminent violence' to the more familiar 'general contempt for other lifeforms.']

I trust that this message has been sufficiently direct. If you have questions, make them succinct and ask them now.