Author Topic: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread  (Read 1661 times)

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Offline Lorric

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Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Insert RP posts into this thread if you wish.

I will edit this post to show the power boost count.

Please keep this thread clean of non-RP posts.

If you don't know what this thread is:

http://www.hard-light.net/forums/index.php?topic=92504.0

Power Boosts
1st DD +4
3rd DD +5
Power Boosts
5th Cordi +1
« Last Edit: October 01, 2016, 08:39:46 am by Lorric »

 

Offline Enioch

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
The Ihefulian system was a shining jewel in a sea of hostile space; the sole safe haven that the once-ragged band of colonists had found after years of roaming the big black. In its centre lay a red dwarf, one of the most common stars in the cosmos: a cool, enduring furnace, smack in the middle of the Corvus nebula. It did not look welcoming. It wasn’t the paradise that the colonists were looking for. But it was orbited by a large exoplanet, right in the farthest reaches of its goldilocks zone.

Ihefulian Prime (the colonists were not particularly imaginative) had water. And plant life. And an oxygen atmosphere. It also hosted some of the fiercest predators in the known universe, was as cold as deepest Siberia in the winter and, most importantly, was rich in heavy minerals and toxins that were a devil to keep out of the diet of the colonists.

Ihefulian was as far from a jewel as a system can be when the first ships came screaming from the sky, their failing drives raising clouds of steam from the pristine glaciers below. It became a jewel. Slowly. Over decades. As the colonists (they weren’t Delest yet, but they soon became Delest, oh yes) took a look around, said “Right, let’s get to work” (or “Давай работать”, or “働きましょう”, depending on the ship they got out of), rolled up their sleeves and, with sheer bloody-mindedness, ground and polished the ugly, lump-of-coal world they had been gifted with into a shining diamond.

Now, many generations later, Ihefulian Prime was heated to a (relatively) comfortable temperature by a carefully controlled greenhouse effect. Its glaciers had been beaten back, and hydroponic facilities and farmlands fed a population of billions. Its predators had been driven to near-extinction, their essence and DNA incorporated into that of the Delest, made to serve the new masters of their world. It was now the seat of a growing empire, with a young and active Empress at the helm.

And she was at the helm, make no mistake. Unlike her predecessor, Vladimir Yama Delest, and her not-much-lamented rivals in the succession wars, Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest was a truly talented leader; a master of politics; an inspirational figure for the population and a dedicated reformer.

How much of that was due to the mentors and supporters she had chosen to surround herself with since her early childhood is debatable. What is not debatable is that she could always inspire near-fanatical loyalty to her followers – political and otherwise.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The aircar (a big, black, blocky brute of a thing) touched down on the landing pad of the Summer Palace, its anti-grav kicking off a cloud of dust that settled on the uniforms of the Yonsakuren honour guard. They, of course, remained impassive. There was no battle to be joined – so there was little emotion to be had.

This changed when the greying Praetor unfolded out from the rear seat and returned the welcoming lieutenant’s salute. So that was who the Empress was expecting. The Yonsakuren knew old Ivan. There were subtle changes in posture; eyes shifted to follow the limping admiral as he was ushered inside. Meaningful glances were exchanged. Thin smiles –thin enough to avoid the ire of their sergeant made an appearance. Predatory smiles.

The Yonsakuren knew old Ivan. From the succession wars, when his fleet had smashed the traitor squadrons over Uuni. From the great Ural purge, after the attempted assassination of the Empress. From his ruthless crackdown on the rebellious remnants and pirates in the rim systems. There were very few reasons why he would be asked to report to the Empress in such short notice. And from a Yonsakuren point of view, all of them were good reasons.

There was unspoken agreement among the guards: whatever the future held for the Yonsakuren, it would definitely include…emotion.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

The Summer Palace was not as imposing as the sprawling Imperial Residence, but it was, in its way, more beautiful. Built (mostly) with white, blue-veined marble, it was vaguely reminiscent of an Old Earth pagoda castle. It hung from a black cliff next to the massive azure expanse of the Mansiyskoe Glacier, in a tableau that Immanuel Kant would show no hesitation in pronouncing ‘sublime!’

For generations, it had served as a peaceful retreat for the members of the Imperial family and for their retinue. Yu Ki Kohakuren, on the other hand, had neither the opportunity nor, in truth, the inclination for the long vacations of her predecessors. And so, the Summer Palace, while no less serene at first sight, was finding itself hosting some rather un-characteristic hustling and bustling behind the scenes.

Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov saw nothing of the messengers scrambling around, or the Palace staff labouring to host Her Divine Imperial Majesty’s administrative team to her satisfaction, or the negotiations and political jockeying that was happening behind closed doors. He was ushered directly from the landing pad to the High Solarium, where Her Majesty had summoned him for an audience, a stone-faced valet shadowing his steps, straightening his uniform and brushing invisible specks of dust from his shoulders as he went.

The Solarium itself was a spiderweb of glass and gilded steel, next to a terrace overlooking the glacier. It was blindingly bright and warm, despite the cold outdoors, so the Empress had chosen to slightly tint the glass for the audience, a fact for which Kalazonitov was profoundly grateful.

His arrival was announced and acknowledged; he was permitted to enter; he stepped in and waited to be addressed, as was good and proper.

The Empress was seated behind the golden lattice reserved for the most formal of audiences; she was partly hidden from view, but Kalazonitov could make out the bright glow from the dataslate she was working on and the silhouettes of the attendants who awaited her beck and call. Upon his entrance, she looked up, laid her dataslate to the side with a firm click of crystal-on-table and straightened up.

“Approach, Praetor,” she commanded.

Kalazonitov stepped forward, to the already-prepared table and kneeling-cushion, ten feet from the lattice. Slowly, carefully, he lowered his aching knees -bone and metal- to the cushion and made his obeisance.

“Command me, Bright Lady,” he said.

The Empress’ right hand moved slightly; an attendant scrambled forward with a serving tray. Exquisitely prepared tea was served on an eggshell-thin porcelain cup and placed on the table in front of Kalazonitov. The attendant bowed deeply and withdrew again.

“I have need of your expertise,” the Empress spoke again. “I am receiving conflicting reports from various sources. That is unacceptable. I require an information source that I can trust, to help weed out those which are false. Speak concisely but withhold nothing.

“Firstly, have you familiarised yourself with all reports from the incursion front?”

Kalazonitov bowed sharply.

“I have studied all reports made available to me, Bright Lady. I am confident that I possess as much information on the incursion as possible at this point in time.”

“Good,” came the reply. “Let us, then, proceed. What are your thoughts on the current state of our available military assets?”

Kalazonitov looked up in surprise.

“It…it is impossible to be brief on this matter, Bright Lady. Even if I were to only concisely discuss the Fleet and Army assets I am familiar with, it would take hours.”

Summarise, Praetor,” came the cold response. “I do not object to generalisations. And be as blunt as you need to be.”

Kalazonitov bowed his head again. “Yes, Bright Lady.” He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “In short, then: it is my belief that our fleet assets as they stand now are unable to perform tactically in any meaningful way. Sadly, your predecessor’s budgetary policies and the succession wars have caused our research and production to stagnate. The corruption, sadly present in all levels of Your Majesty’s administration, does not help, I regret to say. From a quality of equipment perspective, Your Majesty’s fleets lag woefully behind most of the current competition – and are barely on par with the most primitive of the attacking species. It is impossible for us to employ these assets in any type of precise, surgical manner against our current opponents.

“That said, our ships are still capable of effectively pursuing strategic goals. We may work with older technology, but it’s tried and tested, reliable technology. Our crews are skilled veterans of the succession wars and they know how to keep our ships running – at least among the Border Fleets. And although our strikecraft are antiquated, our capital ships are equal, if not superior, in firepower to their analogues in our newfound allies’ fleets.
 
“Finally, we enjoy a benefit that our allies do not, in that our crews and soldiers are, quite literally, willing to die for you, Bright Lady. Yonsakuren or not, there is no man or woman among my sailors who would not lay their life down at your command. But this you already know, Bright Lady.

“In summation: it is my belief that any war the Dynasty finds itself in in the near future, we will begin by losing. Possibly badly. We will, in all likelihood, suffer grave defeats at first. But our fleets have staying power and, if our weak points are addressed decisively and in an organised manner, I believe we can win a protracted war. Especially if we join forces with the rest of humanity on this venture.”

Throughout his speech, Kalazonitov did not fail to notice a few gasps from the attendant audience. In all honesty, he had expected them. No ruler ever wanted to hear that their nation’s military power was subpar; similar objections from fleet officers during Vladimir Yama Delest’s reign had been met with scorn, willful ignorance or outright hostility from the throne. And…suggesting an alliance? With perfidious Albion? That was…near heresy. But he had been instructed to speak bluntly and he thought he knew his Empress’ mind.

And then he had said his piece and there was silence. A silence that drew on, for several heartbeats.

“Please, Praetor,” the Empress said at last. “Have a drink. It would be a shame for the tea to grow cold.”

Kalazonitov bowed, with a sharp, nearly invisible smile, and picked up his cup. Lifting it carefully, he toasted the Empress and took a sip. It was a fine and slightly bitter taste, a taste that brought back memories of not-so-distant years, when he had fought to secure a young princess her birthright. It was gratifying to know that his tastes were both known and taken into account.

“Your words are heard, Praetor,” the Empress said. “They are very interesting, indeed. There are very few advisors of mine who have adopted your stance on this matter.”

Her hand reached to the side and picked up her dataslate again. A few crystal tones echoed through the room, as she brought up the files of her choosing.

“Premier Stefan Gregorovic Xiao insists that our diplomatic position at this time is delicate and that the extensive mobilisation of forces you seem to imply will be necessary is out of the question. Your thoughts on the matter?”

“I am not a diplomat, nor a politician, Bright Lady. It is not my place to question the authority of the Dynasty’s government. I have been assigned a position of high responsibility in the business of war and I will perform my duty to the best of my ability. I will deploy my forces if and where I am instructed to. If my government wishes me to succeed, they will provide me with what I request. If they wish me to die trying, they only need to instruct me. I will obey my Empress’ commands.”

“I am aware of that.” The words were uttered matter-of-factly. “The sentiment is, of course, acknowledged and appreciated, but you shall please refrain from wasting my time with self-evident statements. Would you be averse to working with the Brittons?”

Kalazonitov was taken aback by the question. “Of course not, Bright Lady. Not if I were instructed to.”

“So, there are no bad feelings that might compromise your performance? You bear them no ill-will after the frontier wars?”

“I-I’m not sure I understand, Bright Lady,” Kalazonitov stammered. “I am a soldier. My duty is to the Dynasty, its people and its leader. I have fought the Brittons and the Guilds in the past, where it was necessary to safeguard our interests. If Your Majesty agrees with me in that working with them is now for the best, I will follow your commands. If Your Majesty does not, I will follow your commands.”

“I see.” The Empress did not appear completely satisfied but seemed willing to not press the issue, for which Kalazonitov was grateful. “These matters of technological inferiority to the enemy, then. Your recommendations, Praetor. Short-term action, for now.”

“I recommend that Your Majesty takes measures to immediately place our economy in a war footing,” came the response, immediately and without the doubt and confusion that had coloured the previous answers. “It is impossible to immediately address our technological inferiority. We should focus, instead, on making what we do have to the best of its ability. Nullify all private contracts in Archangel and Mingxing. Begin full-scale production of ships and ammunition – focus on reliable quantity over cutting-edge quality. Apply strict oversight over the officer corps, especially in the Home Fleets – corruption is, unfortunately, rampant. Run detailed, strict inspections on all military equipment - primarily any ships that are deployed to the front. Deploy secret service personnel among the crews, if necessary, to weed out the most problematic elements. Make sure that our logistics chain to the front works without corruption blocking the flow of material – this is paramount and will decide the war. Only after all of the above are secure does it make sense to invest in new technologies. Perhaps the planetary supercomputers in Ihefulian and Uuni could be made available to the Navy and Army R & D departments?”

“I see,” said the Empress. “I note your recommendations, Praetor. I find them of interest. My final question – if the Delest were to participate in this war, against these…intruders – how large a force would you propose we send?”

“Initially, two to four fleets, Bright Lady, assuming equivalent participation from all parties,” said Kalazonitov. “Frontier forces, preferably. They should be sufficient to mire the enemy’s advance, especially if we properly coordinate with our allies. Then, constant reinforcements. It is inadvisable to deploy more battlegroups in this theatre of operations – there are simply not enough starlances and tactical options to justify more than that.”

There was silence again.

“You are promising me a long war, Praetor,” said the Empress, finally. “No ruler wants to hear that.”

“No, Bright Lady,” Kalazonitov protested, bowing low. “I do nothing of the sort. I believe that there is a very good chance that we may prove victorious quickly. However, we would be fighting against an opponent whose capabilities are still unknown but evidently formidable. My duty compels me to advise you that not preparing for a long war under these circumstances is a grave error.”

“Oh?” The Empress sounded amused. “There are many advisers in my court who would consider that last remark quite presumptuous, Praetor. And who would find themselves in direct opposition to your advice.”
Kalazonitov paled noticeably and brought his head down to touch the floor.

“I meant no offense to Your Majesty, or to Your Majesty’s officials,” he said. “Please forgive this old soldier for overstepping his bounds. I stand ready to be instructed on the foolishness of my advice by anyone Your Majesty sees fit and I will accept such instruction willingly and humbly. However, until that time, I firmly believe that my advice is to the benefit of the Dynasty, its people and Yourself, Bright Lady.”

“Hmmmmmm,” the Empress mused. “Time will tell. Thankfully, Praetor, I do not consider you presumptuous – you were under orders to be blunt, after all and you have served my interests with distinction in the past. The intricacies of being diplomatic still seem to elude you, but I can’t fault your results in the battlefield and that’s what matters, now, isn’t it?

“Very well, then, Praetor. I have a command for you.”

Kalazonitov had slightly raised his head as the Empress was speaking; now, down it went again.

“Yes, Bright Lady.”

“You are to fully mobilise the Third Frontier Fleet. I am aware that it is understrength and lacks capital ships; funds have been allocated to reactivate the mothballed carriers Katyusha, Anastasia, Elena and Ekaterina, as well as the siege ship Amour. During this period, you have the authority to recruit as you see fit, from all branches of the Frontier navy, the Yonsakuren clan and our engineering corps. That includes any drafted engineering personnel. Upon re-commisioning of the ships, you are to make best speed toward the front and assist the First and Second Frontier Fleets in dealing with this incursion. You will probably need to coordinate with … other local forces as well, but apparently this is not going to be a problem for you. Any questions?”

“None, Bright Lady. I fly to strike at your enemies.”

“You will do nothing of the sort, Praetor,” came the sharp reply. “You have not been dismissed.”

Kalazonitov froze, his back drenched in cold sweat.

There was a moment of silence and then a soft-spoken command from behind the lattice, followed by muffled scuffing and motion. Then silence again. Kalazonitov didn’t dare move, his forehead almost touching the ground.

Look at me, Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov,” said the Empress.

Kalazonitov looked up.

The lattice had been pushed to the side. Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest, was there, for him to see, seated on the intricate Dynasty throne, resplendent in all her glory of grey and gold.




His heart

skipped

a beat.



His forehead felt cold as ice.

This was the Empress. This was the Bright Lady.

At that moment, for that infinite heartbeat, there was nothing else in the world.

How could there be? How could he feel anything else? He was Delest.

She was the Empress.

His mind, his heart, his everything screamed at him:

LOYALTY. DUTY. SACRIFICE.

The Empress was looking down on him, her face a mask of ice.

Her eyes met his and he couldn’t look away.



His heart

beat

again



– and the whole world came crashing back in, along with his exhalation.

Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest smiled.

“Good,” she said. “Very good, indeed. I had heard the bond of duty was strong with you, Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov. And after your unwavering support of me during the succession wars, I believed it. But I had to make sure. Not many who are as loyalty-bound as you manage to reach positions of this high responsibility.”

Kalazonitov croaked something in response. He wanted to speak – but the words failed to come. This… this was impossible. He had seen this girl before, during the wars. He had fought to keep her alive and to grant her the throne he believed she was entitled to. He was among the officers who had sheltered her in the thick of the fight. This was not the first time he had seen the face of Yu Ki Kohakuren. But he had never experienced this before. This…what was this?

She kept smiling and her approval nearly blotted out the sun again.

“I am your Empress, now, Praetor,” she said, seemingly reading his mind. “Not the little princess you once fought for. Things have changed. What I stand for has changed. And, therefore, how you see me has changed. You are a Delest of the old breed, after all.”

A perfect eyebrow lifted an infinitesimal fraction of an inch.

Literally, in your case.”

The smile faded, but the amusement remained.

Now you are dismissed, Praetor Ivan Dimitrievic Kalazonitov.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Note:  :p

Yeah, I'm going there. Since Spoon touched upon the matter of genetic obedience conditioning for the Delest, I was always wondering how that would feel for the Delest citizens. And how interacting with a person who is your social equal would change if this person acquired a position of authority (at which point the conditioning kicks in). And how would it feel to interact with the EMPEROR of the Delest - in whom all authority resides?

So, yeah. Kalazonitov is, indeed, vat-grown. And conditioned. One of the older batches, obviously, given his age. And he has that rare 'spark' that allows some of the conditioned people to not sacrifice much of their imagination and creativity and ambition. But, he still runs on the rails of his conditioning. He still chooses to support Yu Ki Kohakuren's bid for power because he is loyal to her and to the Dynasty and he thinks she's the best option for the State. And once she's crowned, she hides behind that lattice, and he does his duty, on the rails as always, and then she smacks him over the head with an eyeful of DIVINE IMPERIAL AUTHORITY RESPECT ME MORTAL and watches his reaction as he sees Yu Ki Kohakuren Delest, the EMPRESS , for the first time. Just because she wants to use him as a tactical reformist scalpel and wants to make sure his loyalty to her is absolute.

Image by artist jeffr, rehosted to avoid possible NSFW links.
« Last Edit: September 29, 2016, 12:08:51 pm by Enioch »
'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent'  -Salvor Hardin, "Foundation"

So don't take a hammer to your computer. ;-)

 

Offline Spoon

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread


To repeat myself like a broken record, I love reading these.
Urutorahappī!!

[02:42] <@Axem> spoon somethings wrong
[02:42] <@Axem> critically wrong
[02:42] <@Axem> im happy with these missions now
[02:44] <@Axem> well
[02:44] <@Axem> with 2 of them

 

Offline LoneFan

  • 26
Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania.  This would make them natural enemies perhaps.

 

Offline AdmiralRalwood

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania.  This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
"Perhaps", he says...
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Codethulhu GitHub wgah'nagl fhtagn.

schrödinbug (noun) - a bug that manifests itself in running software after a programmer notices that the code should never have worked in the first place.

When you gaze long into BMPMAN, BMPMAN also gazes into you.

"I am one of the best FREDders on Earth" -General Battuta

<Aesaar> literary criticism is vladimir putin

<MageKing17> "There's probably a reason the code is the way it is" is a very dangerous line of thought. :P
<MageKing17> Because the "reason" often turns out to be "nobody noticed it was wrong".
(the very next day)
<MageKing17> this ****ing code did it to me again
<MageKing17> "That doesn't really make sense to me, but I'll assume it was being done for a reason."
<MageKing17> **** ME
<MageKing17> THE REASON IS PEOPLE ARE STUPID
<MageKing17> ESPECIALLY ME

<MageKing17> God damn, I do not understand how this is breaking.
<MageKing17> Everything points to "this should work fine", and yet it's clearly not working.
<MjnMixael> 2 hours later... "God damn, how did this ever work at all?!"
(...)
<MageKing17> so
<MageKing17> more than two hours
<MageKing17> but once again we have reached the inevitable conclusion
<MageKing17> How did this code ever work in the first place!?

<@The_E> Welcome to OpenGL, where standards compliance is optional, and error reporting inconsistent

<MageKing17> It was all working perfectly until I actually tried it on an actual mission.

<IronWorks> I am useful for FSO stuff again. This is a red-letter day!
* z64555 erases "Thursday" and rewrites it in red ink

<MageKing17> TIL the entire homing code is held up by shoestrings and duct tape, basically.

 

Offline LoneFan

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania.  This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
"Perhaps", he says...

 

Offline LoneFan

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
I hope nobody minds that I am trying to attract some players from over at

http://well-of-souls.com/outsider/index.html
http://www.well-of-souls.com/forums/viewforum.php?f=4

 

Offline Lorric

  • 211
Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
I don't know if anyone would be able to RP a setting they initially know nothing about, and I'm not sure how possible it would be without actually playing the original Wings of Dawn. But they're welcome to try, and the original forum game from Spoon would be the place to look for inspiration. It might well be possible just from the RP there. There is at least one full playthrough of Wings of Dawn on Youtube if people want to watch that. As it is, with only one player currently involved (though if I could handpick that one player it would be Enioch) the odds of the Terrans winning are not zero, it's never zero as long as one fleet exists, but it's very unlikely. With the Hierarchy's terrible start I was thinking it might be realistically possible to have a low player participation win, but then they busted out three brutal rounds in a row, the last one the most brutal coinciding with the Terrans' first flat out bad round. But it shows how quickly things can change. Realistically it's going to take a concerted effort by multiple participants to raise the level of the Terran fleets enough to take the Hierarchy down.

 

Offline Enioch

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Genetic conditioning for loyalty. I never considered that they would go so far.
Social opposite the anti-genetic engineering stance of Britania.  This would make them natural enemies perhaps.
"Perhaps", he says...

 :lol:

I don't know if anyone would be able to RP a setting they initially know nothing about, and I'm not sure how possible it would be without actually playing the original Wings of Dawn. But they're welcome to try, and the original forum game from Spoon would be the place to look for inspiration. It might well be possible just from the RP there. There is at least one full playthrough of Wings of Dawn on Youtube if people want to watch that. As it is, with only one player currently involved (though if I could handpick that one player it would be Enioch) the odds of the Terrans winning are not zero, it's never zero as long as one fleet exists, but it's very unlikely. With the Hierarchy's terrible start I was thinking it might be realistically possible to have a low player participation win, but then they busted out three brutal rounds in a row, the last one the most brutal coinciding with the Terrans' first flat out bad round. But it shows how quickly things can change. Realistically it's going to take a concerted effort by multiple participants to raise the level of the Terran fleets enough to take the Hierarchy down.

Well, then, I'd better put this up, before we get completely stomped. Also, Doctorate takes more time than I thought. And I also need to finalise an article. So, this is as fast as I can possibly crank these out.

Also:

(though if I could handpick that one player it would be Enioch)

 :nervous:

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Olga Ilieva was a graduate of the Imperial School for Aerospatial engineering. An honours graduate. She was natural born, to a family of natural borns: her brain fired on all plasma conduits, thankyouverymuch! She had once been bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, with the world as her oyster. She had three years as a fuselage and avionics designer in the Sodesuka yards, for the Empress’ sake!

Just how she had been reduced to a welding team supervisor in the grubby, state-owned Archangel yards was beyond her. Where had her life gone so wrong?

It may have been the massive budget cuts after the succession wars – Sodesuka had been hit hard by various warring factions and had no choice but to downsize to keep their budget in the black. It may have been that sow of a section chief, who had padded her own portfolio with Olga’s work. Or it may have been Karma because her life had simply been going so well before.

Whatever the case, she was here now, leading a team of blue collars, with a plasma torch in her hand, a work quota for the day and a pay-check that barely took her through the month. Sad, really. And that infernal Goro Inoue had messed up the weld again. And that would take at least two hours to clean up properly and redo.

So, all-in-all, Olga Ilieva was not a happy woman and was making her unhappiness known quite fluently to her team when the soldiers marched into the massive drydock.

Things . . . got downhill pretty fast from that point.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Well, there were some bright spots in this mess, Olga thought. Or as close to ‘bright’ as things could get when you were told that the half-million private yacht you were building (and which paid your bills) would have to be frozen and the docks re-purposed for the re-activation of a decade-old Fleet carrier. For one thing, she got to see that insufferable dock manager marched out of his office at gunpoint, with an MP rattling off a rap sheet as long as her forearm. She wasn’t that familiar with the intricacies of the judicial system, but she knew ‘embezzlement’ in a state-owned facility usually translated to ‘crystal mine holidays’.

Thankfully, the workforce were left to their own devices, past a very basic announcement by an officer of how thigs were going to be from now on. And she supposed the small bonus she got as a supervisor was welcome, even if it was in the form of governmental chits.

And she had to admit that Katyusha was not a bad ship to be working on. The carrier was old, true, but its systems were simple and easy to bring up to working order. As an added bonus and contrarily to old planet-bound navies, mothballed spaceships did not corrode further when placed in long-term storage – hard vacuum was a good preserver. There were a million things to do, of course, and most involved ripping out the old systems and Frankensteining solutions and interfaces with more modern technology, but that was easy work for Olga and it paid well and on that front she had no complaints.

And then, of course, the Universe had to throw her a curveball in the shape of Gregor Petrovich Yonsakuren, who descended upon her poor team (and herself) like a vengeful god.

His first appearance was a couple of weeks after the work in Katyusha started. He just walzed in the Epsilon Battery control centre, looked around, shoved Alexei away from his assigned post, inspected the seams in Control Panel Three (the one reserved for energy weapon targeting, if you have to know), spent five minutes digging through the electronics of the plasma bottle, humphed like a constipated walrus (or what Ilieva assumed a constipated walrus sounded like, blame her overactive imagination) and walked back out without saying a word.

He was back a few days later. They found them waiting for them at the start of their shift, kneeling on the centre of the control centre, in an immaculate dress uniform, with a nondescript bottle nearby and a row of shot glasses arrayed like soldiers in front of him.

“I am Chief Fire Controlman Gregor Petrovich, of the Yonsakuren clan,” he growled as they clustered by the door, uncertain. “This will be my station on this ship. Sit.”

He indicated the floor in front of him and there was something in his voice harmonics that made it clear that refusing would be a very bad idea. The workmen and –women hesitantly obeyed and sat, cross-legged, in a pale imitation of his strait-backed posture.

“My aim in life is to know my job; to know everything that pertains to practical spaceborne weaponry and ordnance. As long as there is any operation or piece of equipment I do not fully understand, my job is incomplete. I have therefore decided to be present throughout the reactivation and refit process of this ship and, more specifically, my station in it. I will be overseeing your work, making sure it is to my satisfaction and to the satisfaction of my commanding officer.”

The workmen exchanged worried glances – Olga not least among them. This sort of direct oversight could not bode well. His next words did not reassure them.

“I need to warn you that the Yonsakuren clan operates to the highest standards and that I will hold your work to no less than that. Furthermore, this ship is to be commanded by Captain Urumov and serve as the flagship for Praetor Kalazonitov. You might not know these names, but they are well-known to the Yonsakuren. My clan owes them a great debt since they came to our aid during the succession wars and drove off the traitor squadrons from the Uuni orbitals. It will be the height of dishonour and a direct insult to them for my station to perform at anything less than perfection while serving under their command.

“In the following days, we will rip every system in this station out of its mountings, test them to my complete satisfaction and re-integrate them into the ship in a way that is compact, functional and easily maintainable. You will be familiarised with Yonsakuren methods for enhancing efficiency and will be expected to show a work ethic suitable for a citizen of the Dynasty. You will be expected to work paid overtime.”

Olga swallowed audibly. ‘Yonsakuren efficiency’ did not sound good.

“Those among you who perform to my satisfaction will receive a pay bonus directly from the Yonsakuren clan relative to their contribution and a recommendation for promotion in Archangel,  if you choose to remain here. As an alternative, you will be given the opportunity to enlist as part of the Katyusha crew, with what amounts to a two-hundred-percent raise in pay, all the training, duties and privileges attached to a Specialist of the Delest Frontier Fleets and considerably improved chances in finding civilian employ when your stint with the navy ends. If all else fails, a recommendation from a Yonsakuren of my rank will guarantee you employment at Uuni.

“Those of you who perform to my dissatisfaction will be warned once, with no impact on their prospects; should they continue to perform at a subpar level, their employment with the Archangel shipyards will be terminated with no second warning. I trust I have made myself absolutely clear on this point.”

There were pale faces, weak nods and whispered ‘Yessirs’ all around.

“Good. I look forward to working with you,” Petrovich growled. His ape-like hands unfolded; reached for the bottle; uncorked and poured.

“Take a glass,” he ordered and everybody rushed to obey. The drink was clear, with a faint smell of alcohol. A few of the workers made to toast and drink, but Petrovich’s glare froze them to the spot. His eyes found Alexei, who flinched; the hulking NCO was twice the boy’s size.

“Welder Alexei Gregorovich Xing, you are the most junior employee in this room,” Petrovich rumbled. “You will speak the toast.”

“I…what? I mean…I don’t understand, Sir,” Alexei stammered.

“You will stand,” Petrovich instructed and Alexei scrambled to his feet. “You will raise the glass” –Alexei did, his hand shaking- “and toast to the health of the Empress, and to the success of the project you are currently embarking on.”

“To…to the Bright Lady!” Alexei’s voice broke. Olga knew the lad was vat-grown and it showed as his posture stiffened to something resembling military attention. “And…to the Katyusha?”

Petrovich nodded sharply. “The Bright Lady and Katyusha!” he snapped, raising his glass and the workers echoed him, weakly. He downed his drink in one shot and the workers followed suit, more or less tentatively.

There were coughs, and red faces, and the one impressive spurt of high-content Uuni samogon across the control panels, but Ilieva thought she availed herself rather well, what with only her ears catching on fire.

Petrovich seemed satisfied with her tolerance, at least. Not that she needed his approval or anything.
« Last Edit: September 19, 2016, 04:56:16 am by Enioch »
'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent'  -Salvor Hardin, "Foundation"

So don't take a hammer to your computer. ;-)

 

Offline Spoon

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Hey, does this work two ways? Huck Fumanity :p
I don't usually do this but let's give it a whirl.

======

The massive but poorly lit bridge of the Hertak Flagship, always offered a sense of calmness to the mind of the 689th emperor of the Hertak Hierarchy. When he was bothered by something, he always came here, to dig through the memories of all the 688 emperors that came before him, in search for an answer. The soft humming and the occasional soft beeping from the consoles added a sense of serenity that he so desperately craved in times like these. He found that he had not been alone in this. Roughly 340 of the previous emperors had also preferred the comfort of the throne on board their flagships, as places of meditation. 'Throne' was stretching the definition of the word a bit. It was really more of a elevated bed, with soft pillows that were so easy on the scales and carapace.

Emperor Gggjlaz-... it's really kind of a mouthful, let's call him Murial, it's much easier on the tongue.
Emperor Murial had spend the whole past week searching for past memories that might offer him an idea on how to exploit a weakness in the Terran physiology, or on how to defeat their fleets without total annihilation. Time after all, was running short, and Murial could ill afford delaying preparations for the next stage of the Hertak's grand design by much longer.

The doors to the bridge opened, and the impressive figure of High fleet admiral Tyiirr-, let's go with Garmosh, slipped through it. By Hertak standards, it could be considered a 'stride'. His black and brown upper body scales merged into green and red colored carapace of his lower tentacled body. Murial had always admired Garmosh, as a prime example of what a powerful Hertak warlord should look like. It was not just physical prowess, but also a strong, keen mind, that was capable of outputting psi waves that could (quite literally) melt the minds of lesser races.

Garmosh moved to the front of the Imperial 'throne' with an eldritch grace, and did something resembling a bow.
"My liege" his voice reverbed as if he spoke with two voices at once "the Terrans are..." "Not yet defeated." Murial finished the sentence for him.
"Indeed my lord." Garmosh waved three of his tentacles, in some kind of apology gesture.
Murial let out a raspy sigh, two of his tongues left his massive beholder like mouth, and were not immediately redrawn back into his mouth. This was considered rude body language in Hertak society, but Murial did not care, for he is the 689th emperor.
Garmosh was not blind to the irritation on his emperor's face, he considered his next words carefully. "My liege... We may not, have time for subtleties with these Terrans. We may need to consider being more... forceful."
The implication made by Garmosh that Murial's overall strategy was anything less than perfect irked him. But, he did not summon his most esteemed High fleet admiral to hear him out and then ignore his suggestions.

Murial raised one of his appendages towards Garmosh, and closed three of his eyes to think. After a moment, he returned his gaze on Garmosh and addressed him with a raised voice, a rumbling, eerie sound that would send chills up a human spine. "We understand the situation. In the interest of the overall time table, I shall grant you permission to do what needs to be done to bring the Terran kingdoms to compliance. You may employ all the forces and tactics necessary to ensure a quick and decisive victory."
Garmosh's massive mouth curled upwards in a grin. He bowed and rumbled a word of gratitude and gracefully started 'striding' towards the exit.

Murial watched him leave, and let himself slide into a more comfortable position. Short as the exchange may have seemed, this decision was not one he made easily. Destroyed starships and dead warriors were of no use to him. If the Terrans could not be conquered with a net gain as the end result, than there was no point in invading their space.
He would let Garmosh handle it from here, a worry less on his troubled mind. Murial let out a gurgling sigh and let his thoughts slip away in the comforts of repose.
Urutorahappī!!

[02:42] <@Axem> spoon somethings wrong
[02:42] <@Axem> critically wrong
[02:42] <@Axem> im happy with these missions now
[02:44] <@Axem> well
[02:44] <@Axem> with 2 of them

 

Offline Lorric

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
I considered the possibility that someone might want to before I started the game, and yes, if you really wanted to since you put the effort in to RP, you can boost the Hierarchy instead. But trust me, the Hierarchy doesn't need any help.

I don't think you are serious, so unless you specify otherwise, I will boost the 2nd CRF before tomorrow's turn. Since I know that's the one fleet that it's owner won't be coming in to RP. You can specify a specific faction if you like, and I'll boost a fleet within it. Everyone except the CSA is available to choose.

 

Offline Spoon

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Oh but I am, mister bond. Dead serious.
Down with humanity.
Urutorahappī!!

[02:42] <@Axem> spoon somethings wrong
[02:42] <@Axem> critically wrong
[02:42] <@Axem> im happy with these missions now
[02:44] <@Axem> well
[02:44] <@Axem> with 2 of them

 

Offline Lorric

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Oh but I am, mister bond. Dead serious.
Down with humanity.
Truly?

 

Offline niffiwan

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Trulies  :nervous:
Creating a fs2_open.log | Red Alert Bug = Hex Edit | MediaVPs 2014: Bigger HUD gauges | 32bit libs for 64bit Ubuntu
----
Linux OBS Packages: FSO 3.7.0 | FSO BP Build | wxLauncher (?) | PCS2 (?) | wxVPView (?)
Debian Packages (testing/unstable): Freespace2 | wxLauncher
----
m|m: I think I'm suffering from Stockholm syndrome. Bmpman is starting to make sense and it's actually written reasonably well...

 

Offline Lorric

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
I have to assume he's serious. If I don't hear otherwise before I do the next turn, I'll boost the Hierarchy.

 

Offline Droid803

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Everyone except the CSA is available to choose.

If I RP will it have any effect i suck at writing
(´・ω・`)
=============================================================

 

Offline Enioch

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
*snip*

You monster.  :(

Lorric, what do the Power Boosts actually do? Do they enhance survivability? Damage? Chance of causing damage?
'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent'  -Salvor Hardin, "Foundation"

So don't take a hammer to your computer. ;-)

 

Offline Lorric

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
Everyone except the CSA is available to choose.

If I RP will it have any effect i suck at writing
Yes. You and you alone can boost the 1st CSA. It will also jump the 1st CSA to the front of the respawn queue over any non-RPd fleets should it be destroyed. I enjoyed your work last time.
« Last Edit: September 21, 2016, 05:27:09 am by Lorric »

 

Offline Lorric

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
*snip*

You monster.  :(

Lorric, what do the Power Boosts actually do? Do they enhance survivability? Damage? Chance of causing damage?
Improve the odds of dealing damage.

 

Offline Enioch

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Re: Role Play To Save Humanity Thread
The Hertak Armageddon raged, the space around it dotted with fire. Anything that dared fly inside the range of its batteries died a quick and fiery death.

The light cruiser Danube was a drifting ball of fire and plasma, its entire crew dead after the Hertak’s lances had speared through shields, armor and bulkheads and found its power plants. Its fighter complement were being swatted out of the sky by the Hertak strikecraft. Three hundred Delest, dead in an instant.

But its charge, the precious, precious Fleet Carrier Ekaterina and the heavy cruisers Luga and Tosna were finally clear of danger and beyond the effective range of the Hertak’s weapons.

Ekaterina’s flight decks were finally cleared of debris and her first Sodesuka CAP blasted off to meet the enemy Drones and Ravagers. Luga angled her armor and turned her drives directly toward the Armageddon, blinding its sensors with the EM wash of her exhaust plumes and raking its forward beam emplacements with ripple fire from her missile emplacements and aft batteries. And Tosna screamed around, in a high-g manoeuver that redlined her artificial gravity generators, and charged the Armageddon head-on, her forward batteries blazing.

It was no suicide charge, although the Hertak commander could be excused for thinking so. The charging cruiser had appeared out of the glare of Luga’s drives, rapidly closing the distance, in a collision course. Alarms blared all across the Hertak ship and it began slowly, ponderously, to swing around, unshadowing its starboard beams.

Anastasia jumped in, less than five hundred metres from its dorsal side, opening up with every energy battery she could bring to bear. She was moving too fast to allow the Hertak to retaliate and did not cause any significant damage as she blasted past the capital ship and, once again, opened the distance. But she did accomplish two things. Firstly – a shot from her Gamma battery gouged a massive scar across the armor of the Hertak ship, exposing the structures and bulkheads underneath. Secondly – she drew the attention of the Hertak helmsman, who reversed his course to avoid what he thought would be another collision.

Unfortunately, that exposed his flank to the Tosna.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Every Yonsakuren responds slightly differently to their battle instincts but all agree that the endorphin rush they get when they expect to join battle is sublime. The men and women of the Fifth and Sixth Marine Companies were no exception.

As the range closed, and battle drew closer and closer, some trembled in their armour. Others cried, silently, joyfully, emotion nearly overwhelming them. Others paired off and recited parts of their marching songs, their heads banging to the rhythm. Others listened to soft music with their comm sets; others pumped heavy metal and shook like wet dogs.

This was not unprofessional. It has been said that you never feel more alive than when death is close; never has that been more true than among the Yonsakuren. In those short moments, they experienced life to the fullest, in what they perceived to be the just reward for their service.

“Five hundred!” came the range count from the ship’s intercom and the Yonsakuren assumed breaching positions in the blink of an eye. Weapons clicked ready; visors came down, breaths slowed.

Time
stood
still.

*** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** *** ***

Tosna rammed the Armageddon perfectly, ripping her own forward plating and part of her decks off, but firmly lodging herself into the gap in her opponent’s armor. The cruiser shook like a living thing as Hertak bulkheads crumpled before her but she kept going, burying herself deeply into the enemy’s underbelly.

Slowly, underscored by the groans of ripping metal, Tosna came to a relative stop.

Breaching charges went off. Atmosphere boiled off into vacuum.

And, with a bloodcurling yowl, like starving wolves, the men and women of Tosna poured out of their ship and into the corridors of the Hertak Armageddon, riding a wave of death. With rifle and pistol and knife, ever driven forward by their leaders, and with shouts of ‘Yu Ki! Yu Ki!’ and ‘Uuni’s hand!’, they pushed; and, to the Hertak’s dawning but short-lived horror, they did not stop.

Why didn't they st-
'Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent'  -Salvor Hardin, "Foundation"

So don't take a hammer to your computer. ;-)