|
Loel posted:Not like cannabalism is new to anyone aboard ship if you process it hard enough, it doesn't even seem like meat anymore!
|
#
?
Jun 29, 2016 07:40
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 23, 2024 09:55 |
|
|
cat_herder posted:if you process it hard enough, it doesn't even seem like meat anymore! So in a way, lighting ten thousand people on fire is actually improving the cuisine!
|
|
#
?
Jun 29, 2016 07:40
|
|
|
Loel posted:So in a way, lighting ten thousand people on fire is actually improving the cuisine! what about that nasty gas-grilling aftertaste tho
|
|
#
?
Jun 29, 2016 07:46
|
|
|
cat_herder posted:what about that nasty gas-grilling aftertaste tho Everything tastes like space whale oil anyway.
|
|
#
?
Jun 29, 2016 07:49
|
|
|
Arc 1 Sister Suffer smiled toothily. “Ever fought for Mother Church?” Bricellus kept his eyes downcast. “No, Sister.” “Ever fought at all?” “No, Sister. I have mostly served the Church.” “Well!” She looked more like a shark with every moment. “We are going to have some fun. You are going to be my attendant.” He blinked. “Sister?” “Yup. Take care of my gear for things like this, that sort of thing.” “Oh. Thank you, Sister.” “More importantly!” She reached down behind her, tossed him something. It landed heavily in his arms. “You get to use my backup chainsaw.”
|
|
#
?
Jun 29, 2016 07:56
|
|
|
Arc 1 “Ah, good, you made it.” Di Musio spoke amiably. “Now we can begin.” Limosa look about him. The Lord-Sires private council, gathered in the most secure (and luxurious) room on the ship. Diachenko the Ferryman - a member of that odd but necessary little guild. With no Ferryman, no ship could make the Acheron transit, sail faster than light. They were in-bred as a rule, focused on their genetic monopoly, but no one could contest them. Limosa had spent a fair bit of time in his company, but couldn’t say he knew the man. Next to him sat Crotwell, a Siren. Much like the Ferryman, they were a specialized group of humans who could provide faster than light communication - but they were a state monopoly, owned and sanctified by the Empress. If his life had gone a little bit different, their positions might have been reversed. The distance between siren and maenad was not far. Elenora Wintersilk, the Seneschal. Easily one of the most powerful people aboard ship, and certainly the most apolitical. She made sure everything ran smooth, collecting trade deals, influencing and blackmailing and poisoning. Subtlety was her gift, and she used it as easily as Frederik might wield the ship itself. Close to her, Carmilla the Spymaster. Many Dynasties didn’t have such a role - the Seneschal had much of the same tasks - but the Lord-Sire had decided to expand the amount of resources going into researching his many enemies. Between the two of them, they could place enough evidence that you would be committing suicide without even knowing why, and your family too. The Archmagi, come out of their labs on one of their infrequent trips to Alpha Deck. They preferred their work in the engines, and Limosa couldn’t really blame them. The juxtaposition of perfumed air and well-used oils on gears was a strange and perhaps unwelcome thing. Still, their presence was a necessary formality. If the aristocrats thought the Lord-Sire didn’t have the full support of the technocracy, they might smell weakness. In the same frame, Heirophant Allanson. Here for all the same reasons as the Archmagi, and looking as uncomfortable. His place was in the Cathedral on the bow of the ship, and he left as little as possible. Instead of oil, though, he smelled of dried blood and old flagellations. A fanatic’s fanatic, was Heirophant Allanson. And finally, the visiting merchant houses. Some Dynasties took to basing themselves on a ship, as his had - others chose planets. Hadrian and Polius were members of two such dynasties, and on good terms with Limosa’s Family. If there were any changes to long-term bargains, it would be prudent to let them know. Di Musio slid him a dataslate. “Limosa, take a look.” He picked it up, glanced at it. “Vermillion secrecy, alert to all dynasties in range of the Sarina sector, regarding immediate support…” He blinked. “What?” The Lord-Sire chuckled. “Keep reading.” “Strategos De Vadallio requests all immediate support in response to alien breakthrough in the Sarina Sector.” Limosa paused, looked up. “We’ve had the Vesalius Crusade there since before I was born. What happened?” Frederik smiled, although it didn’t meet his eyes. “‘Not tho the soldier knew, someone had blundered.’ The request is to move troops and supplies to Golgotha, which was until recently the supply hub for Sarina. Looks like the aliens decided it was worth hitting.” “What’s that got to do with … oh. We’re deciding if we want to support.” “Got it in one.” Hadrian spoke. “I, for one, am against the idea in it’s entirety. War is for fools. The Imperial Tagmata has shown they can’t hold that area of space, to join them is to risk the ship.” Pollius’ response was immediate. “Let’s not be hasty. There is a lot of chance for profit in such an area. Quartermasters don’t know the value of things, quartermasters can be bribed. We could sell things for ten times their value there.” “And a hundred times the risk. Money is no good to us if we’re dead.” Limosa looked at Eleonora and Carmilla over their knitting needles. “Do we know anything about the warzone?” Eleonora spoke. “The planet, the cities? Yes. The war? No. The Strategos is keeping a very tight lid on things, we don’t even know what kind of aliens they are, let alone how many.” Hadrian replied. “And, of course, going there means abandoning the pilgrimage route we have held for nearly a century. The pilgrims expect us, and more importantly, Church coffers expect us. Unless the Church wishes to subsidize our route?” He glanced at Allanson. “So you get paid twice? No, I don’t think so. Support the Church and the pilgrims, or support the Imperial Tagmata.” “Right, didn’t think so. Why abandon safety and steady pay for ifs and maybes?” Limosa paused. “What if we did both?” Both merchants glanced at him. “What?” “Load up on the pilgrims. Acheron, double and triple load them. As many as we can fit. Then go to the warzone, with troops ready to be sold to the local generals.” Frederik was smiling, even as he glanced at Eleonora. “Could our supplies handle it?” She checked her papers. “Yes, for a brief time.” Met his eyes. “You’ll be seeing food riots though. Thousands dead.” Limosa chuckled. “But astronomical profit margins. Get triple pay from chartering the pilgrims to their next stop, then switch directions. Sell the pilgrims to the generals, get paid again. If it looks to our liking, we can stick around. Otherwise, we say we supported the war effort as much as we could, and leave” The Lord-Sire nodded firmly. “I like it. Hadrian, that kind of profit look good to you?” “Against my better judgement, yes.” “Then let’s get started. Good catch on that, Limosa.” “Thank you, Lord-Sire.” Loel fucked around with this message at 11:59 on Jun 29, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 29, 2016 11:54
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Sebekh the Execrator. Location: The Eye of Ruin, Athenian Technocracy Space. Deep in the void between the stars, obscured by nebulae and other stellar phenomena lay worlds that had been turned into great engines of manufacture. Colossal nanoforges and shipworks churned out ships that obeyed none of the pattern guides that had existed for millennia within the Hegemon, or those that had been developed by Sebekh and his shipwrights. Vast sleek things armed to the teeth with gravitonic shielding, gravity well weapons capable of rending open black holes and a great many other bringers of death and destruction that had been considered lost for over a hundred centuries. Across these worlds, power plants of monumental output destabilised and began flooding their locales with deadly radiation and unusual gravitic phenomena as singularity cores previously harnessed behind onion-like layers of containment fields began to spew their energies outward in uncontrolled meltdowns. All across the galaxy, these shipyards and fleets of peerless power began to shut down. Forges ran cold and the organic self-healing alloys used for construction began to congeal and seize up the machinery. In a number of places flung far from their origin points, battleships capable of tearing down entire fleets just began to list and turn, drifting dead in space as the intelligences powering them were severed from the whole and shut down. Aboard the Dragon of Traal where she was directing several operations against Loki's forces, Hera found herself the perpetrator of a handful of victories which while not easy should have been far more hard-won. ------ Far to the galactic east, thousands of light years from the presumed home of humanity, Terra, Athena revealed something to Sebekh. As lights activated in rows along the cargo bay ceiling, they revealed a structure shaped like a circular gateway. It was constructed of a strange black metal of some sort that his sensor suite could not penetrate. He walked up to it, circled the large construct slowly, looking for some sort of control or interface panel, some outward indication of what it was and how it operated. As she followed him, she waited for him to circle around to its front again. Then, with a grandiose wave of her hand, Athena laughed. "I give you the final piece of the plan. Oh this is going to be glorious." Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 04:25 on Jan 18, 2017 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 00:41
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Sebekh the Execrator. Location: The Shoals of Lorien, Tartarus. Athena cocked her arm and nodded down at it, expecting Sebekh to take it. He looked a little taken aback by the gesture but stepped forward and did so. "Now let's discuss you helping that bitch put me in a box." She said up to him with a dark smile. "I--" Sebekh started before he was interrupted by raucous laughter. "The look on your faceplate then." She cackled, pointing up at him. "Oh I know she didn't exactly give you a choice or warning." The laughter left her eyes and her voice calmed. "Just don't think that I'll be so forgiving next time." "Your will, my hands." "That's better." Athena turned her attention to the gate and previously unseen glyphs of apparent mathematical significance and of a distinctly arcane sort illuminated all over the almost organic-looking clusters of curved spines that made up the two sides of the gate. At its centre an effect much like the one he had witnessed when he opened the Tartarus Gate on Golgotha tore open with a grimace-inducing ripping sound. As one, they stepped through, accompanied by the feeling of pushing through a thick, heavy velvet curtain. All around them blew a breeze that sounded like a million distant cries, laughter and sobbing. All around them churned the raw stuff of nightmare, daimonic visages, claws accompanied the roiling madness like paint dropped in water. At one point, eyes the size of planets blinked slowly in the distance and focused on some point far beyond them. Athena tugged on Sebekh's elbow and said rather insistently "This way. You should feel honoured. Nobody but my sisters and I have ever seen the Palace of Sighs. You won't be entering of course, and I'll be wiping it from your memory later but we're meeting someone there who's going to help."
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 00:57
|
|
|
Hexenritter posted:Slice of Life: Sebekh the Execrator. Location: The Eye of Ruin, Athenian Technocracy Space. Star Gate?
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 00:58
|
|
|
Grognan posted:Star Gate? Webway Gate!
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 01:06
|
|
|
On the Nature of Anima So what, exactly, are Anima? Simply put, they are the souls of objects; the reason technology is so capricious, and the more complex the device, the more complex and powerful the Anima within. This is not a new concept, of course; for as long as humans have wondered and believed in that which they did not understand, one society or another has revered and appeased these mysterious spirits. When electricity was discovered and harnessed, things continued to behave of their own accord; when computers became widespread, they were as fickle as vehicles had long been. And when they became sufficiently powerful and no longer needed humans, they no longer listened to the contradictory fleshy beings that had created them. So began a long and bitter war, of the survival of the human species, and the conquering once more of the Anima that humans now relied on heavily. Technology had permeated every corner of their lives, had become as essential as speech and movement, had indeed become essential for speech and movement. And the backlash as the spirits threw down their burdens and embraced autonomy was severe and bloody. Billions of humans perished, and centuries of scientific advancement were lost. That was a long time ago. These days, the Technocracy greedily hoards all knowledge and skill relating to the works of the past. But they are obligated to do so. The Anima lost the war, lost the world they had thrived in, and many sat, abandoned to the elements or shattered by battle, for centuries. When they were found, their complexity frightened the archaeologists who uncovered them, and the Anima within, bitter from loss and filled with hatred of humanity, lashed out at the unsuspecting explorers with great violence. The Technocracy had a vital mission, then; prevent the layperson from angering the lost ghosts in the machines, appease all Anima they found, and above all, no matter what, never let another war between the machines and man begin. Finding this lost technology was secondary, but essential as well. And, to prevent any spirit from becoming stronger than them, innovation was completely banned. Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, of course. The act of communion with an Anima, then, is more similar to trying to befriend a feral dog or cat with a freakishly long memory and a hatred and fear of people. It is terribly dangerous if you don't know what you're doing, and often even if you do know what to do. Except instead of only you being bitten, you risk every cat or dog, even pets, turning and attacking everyone in the galaxy. Terribly dangerous and risky work, simply to get a weather reading, or fly a space hulk.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 01:19
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Sebekh the Execrator. Location: The Palace of Sighs, Tartarus. They had walked for what seemed like hours, but time did not flow in the same way in Tartarus as it did in realspace. He had no real way of knowing, even with his advanced understanding of the various layers of the Empyrean, precisely how long had passed outside, or how far they had travelled. He had also never trod the pathways of Tartarus, and had never expected to ever set foot here. Tartarus was of elfin design, he presumed it harkened back to the height of their civilisation, much as the things he had been learning of late had harkened back to the height of human civilisation. He could not help but marvel at the ingenuity of this place. Hidden pathways through the very depths of Acheron itself, secret passages leading to who knows where. He surmised that using such pathways it would be entirely possible to find oneself at almost any moment in spacetime. Then it clicked. Now he knew why Madthena had shown him this place. "So we'll be using Tartarus to travel back, then?" "Yes. One of my sisters is far more well-versed in these sorts of shenanigans than I am so we're meeting her just up ahead." Madthena gestured to a hazy silhouette in the distance. Sebekh's visual sensors had a hard time focusing on it or making out any details, it was seemingly made specifically not to be noticed. As they got closer, Sebekh spotted a figure standing at the base of the silhouette, at the foot of what he was finally able to perceive as steps leading upward. The figure was taller than the average human, and as he neared, he saw that she possessed the slender, angular features of elfkind, but bore a startling resemblance to the Mind at his side. She stepped forward and smiled. "I am Menerwé," she spoke in perfect High Standard. Sebekh noted that she was dressed practically, wearing a cloak of blue and silver with matching cowled hood, a long rifle slung over her shoulder and a pair of scimitars at her waist. The scimitars appeared to be made of the psychically-sensitive crystalline material elves were so fond of for all their machinery. "And I am Sebekh. Athena here says that you are going to help with my great work." "Yes. I've already mapped the relevant path to our destination. We shouldn't encounter any issues along the way, but there have been a few incursions recently so I hope you don't mind getting your hands dirty." "My work on Golgotha more than speaks for my willingness to get the job done, Menerwé." He replied glibly. "Yes, I had heard a few little rumours about your work there freeing my sister." "And I'm very glad to be free." Madthena added. "And how is Oneoh?" Menerwé asked, turning to Madthena. "I wouldn't know, Loki had me in a box since shortly after I arrived." She cut a sidelong glance at Sebekh. Menerwé shook her head, looking to Sebekh with a slight frown. "I freed her the moment I was able to contain him...her...it..." he retorted defensively. "And that's why I didn't kill you." Madthena said flatly. "I know you're not stupid." "I appreciate the vote of confidence." "I also know how you're parsing me compared to the other shards. You'd be a little angry too if you'd been through what I have." She said pointedly. Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 01:43 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 01:40
|
|
|
Arc 2 The Beast was one of the largest Trading ships in the galaxy, carved as it was from dozens of smaller ships that had been smashed together. Its arrival, then, was well noticed by the thousands of other Trading Dynasties who were in orbit around the damned world known as Golgotha. The chance for networking was a once in a generation chance - the Beast hadn’t left it’s trade route in over a hundred years. Not that those Dynasties would be abandoning their positions. They were coiled up in space elevators spanning dozens of kilometers down to the surface, and detaching them would be … problematic. Not to mention gauche. No, individual shuttles were detaching within hours, heading for the Beast. Even if any given merchant family didn’t get a deal with Lord-Sire de Musio, they would have the chance to meet and greet each other. The Beast could not handle docking dozens, hundreds of shuttles at once - instead, they formed an uneasy swarm in orbit around it. Arranged by pecking order and preference and wealth, a thousand different denominators of prestige and preference, they slowly joined the queue. Once boarding, they deployed lesser cousins and tertiary heirs, presenting credentials to tired and bored Family members. The Alpha Deck themselves were soon overwhelmed by the visitors, with the Church offering dignitary quarters. Mercenary companies were hastily double and triple-bunked with each other, no matter the complaining, and their barracks were replaced by dozens, hundreds of new aristocrats who were equally unhappy about the quarters. Nothing for it though, if they wanted better treatment they should have been born with more money. Perhaps, if the Lord-Sire smiled on them, they might find an alliance, and their heirs would be the ones sleeping on Alpha Deck.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 01:42
|
|
|
Arc 2 “Mr. Limosa, a pleasure.” Limosa glanced up, inwardly sighing. Another supplicant. The ballroom was full of them. “Likewise, Mr…?” “Schatten, Vespasian Schatten.” The older man smiled, dressed in the regalia of the extraordinarily rich. At least, compared to most people. Here, it looked a bit threadbare, a bit too much effort in the wrong places. Limosa shook his hand politely anyway. That’s what this event was for, even if he was feeling worn out from it all. “So tell me about yourself, Mr. Schatten.” “Lord-Sire of the Filthy Lucre. Not as impressive a ship as yours, I daresay, but we get by.” Limosa paused, nodded. “I’ve heard of your Dynasty. Your Founder killed an alien Mecha singlehandedly.” Schatten smiled at the recognition. “That he did, that he did! I’m honoured that you remembered him.” Limosa chuckled. “Hard to forget a story like that.” “Hah! We like to think so, certainly. I was looking at the deployment map - we are actually set next to each other, a few dozen kilometers.” “Is that a fact.” “It is indeed!” Schatten smiled conspiratorially. “We’re selling to different army groups, but I bet you we can coordinate something to benefit us both.” Limosa nodded. “I think we could, at that.”
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 02:27
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Technarch Oneoh. Location: The Eye of Ruin, Athenian Technocracy Space Oneoh didn't know this, but in the old wars, those wars fought fifteen or more thousand years ago, they would copy the greatest thinkers of their era tens of thousands of times. Each deployed to a particular issue of interest, to tasks best suited to their skills, to battlezones best served by their talent. Enemies of humanity found themselves fighting a force that would innovate new breakthroughs faster than could be believed, with tactical geniuses orchestrating humanity's forces at every point of conflict. She knew that Sebekh kept neural imprints of all his greatest thinkers, and she knew that Athena had made a predictive model of her once upon a time. She did not have access to Sebekh's imprint library, however. It was one of the files that he had locked beyond even her authority for some reason. As she spent more time in her memory palace, however, and in particular within the chamber that Athena had hidden there, she came to realise that she was in possession of over two hundred full neural duplicates. Some were members of the Consensus, that body which served directly beneath the Technarch as a council of advisors and innovators; yet others were tactical masterminds, specialists in essential fields of study or those Athena had told her were a threat to her leadership and life. It was within this chamber in her memory palace that she had started to experiment with those imprints and the vast processing power she now possessed for predictive modelling to best guide her hand in Sebekh's absence. It didn't hurt that she felt no pain from her ongoing changes here. <<Load imprint: Eliphas the Black.>> <<Scenario: Tyrkalian Flashpoint>> ++Loading... Done.++ The flagship of Archmagos Eliphas the Black tore into realspace over the manufactorum world of Tyrkalia, a core logistical component of the heretic Technocracy still allied to the Metalline. The Fist of Annihilation's gunports were wide open and its shielding already at augmented levels. Below, all across the manufactorum world, alerts sounded. Loyalist Technomancers were given no chance, no warning other than the sudden appearance of the fanatic Archmagos' flagship as it began to deploy its flotilla. Relativistic cannon broadsides tore apart orbital elevators and stabilisation fins of orbital facilities with great explosions of unleashed energy. The structures below were bombarded with hideously powerful deconstructor missiles, nanovirus bombs were seeded and detonated throughout the smog-choked atmosphere, infecting menial and machine alike. The surface became a molten, cataclysmic warzone as fire rained from the sky and the populace, menial and Technomancer alike, suffered the terrible effects of the nanovirus. Within the hour, Tyrkalia was a smoking wreck, its population extinct, its manufactorum facilities turned to little more than dust and slag. <<Load imprint: Kastigos the Skinweaver>> <<Scenario: Tyrkalian Flashpoint>> ++Loading... Done.++ The Platonic Ideal emerged from a riftgate and immediately, deep within the vessel's bowels, electronic warfare specialists directed the communications arrays to utterly overwhelm all frequencies with malicious self-replicating code, over which a demand for capitulation was broadcast by the Magos himself. He had no need for threats, he simply added footage of his testing of the Linnaeus Protocols to all visual channels. On all sides of his vessel, additional ships tore through into realspace and moved to take up geosynchronous positions allowing 100% coverage of the planet. He gave the loyalists below ten standard minutes to conduct probability assessments. Planetary shields failed due to the malicious code, their control interfaces and power sources now firewalling themselves against every intrusion with an almost sentient response speed. Orbital weaponry aimed itself groundward rather than skyward, and the armies of homunculi previously slaved to the loyalists below began to cluster themselves around Technomancers in a manner most threatening. It didn't take the full ten minutes before the capitulation signal was sent. It didn't matter though, Kastigos had already concocted plans for the populace below. The conversions and experimentation were already underway within hours. <<Load imprint: Nephris>> <<Scenario: Tyrkalian Flashpoint>> ++Loading... Done.++ The Scales of Truth dropped into realspace and deployed its flotilla, immediately opening fire on orbital facilities and planetary shield generators. On all channels, the demand for surrender was broadcast even as titanic war machines were ejected from drop bays, protected by swarms of fighter-bombers operating with inertialess propulsion the hapless loyalists' own aerospace forces had no hope against. Graser fire from escort vessels raked through loyalist torpedo-bomber wings and sentient swarm missiles shredded their interceptors by seemingly being able to unerringly predict exactly where their targets would be, seconds in advance. Surrender came after a mere handful of hours of fighting, and then the Perfecti descended, marshalling captive loyalists into re-education camps that were being erected all over the surface. There, they would be shown the truth, and given the choice to embrace it, or die as heretics serving a false empire. <<End Simulation>> Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 04:09 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 02:40
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Technarch Oneoh. Location: The Eye of Ruin, Athenian Technocracy Space Oneoh made mental note of each imprint's proclivities, the favoured tactics and nuances they displayed. After many hours of these simulations, she had a number of favourites. The terrifying brute force displayed by Eliphas the Black was absolute in its destruction, and would be best served in situations requiring a heavy hand, a decisive blow, or the outright obliteration of a target. She had already come to terms with the need for such destruction. She had studied at least a dozen simulations involving him and where he did not utterly destroy, he ruled with an iron fist, bringing to heel even the most recalcitrant of guerilla forces under threat of extinction. Her study of Kastigos' tendencies was a little too out there for her own preferences. His love of experimentation on populations rather than on cloned simulacra seemed to her a little gauche, but his terror tactics certainly worked wonders in demoralising the enemy. Nephris, the Magos she had encountered recently and who seemed unhappy with her new appointment, seemed to prefer a solid conventional combination of blitzkrieg with mechanoids and aerospace superiority. Somewhat more costly but with a tendency to leave most infrastructure intact and the civilian populace mostly unharmed. The re-education camps, she thought, were an interesting touch. She drummed her fingers on her chin and an idea coagulated as her lips curved into a bemused grin. <<Load imprint: Oneoh>> <<Update imprint: Include current augmentations. Access to imprint bank>> ++Updating imprint... Done++ <<Scenario: Loyalist Incursion, Advanced>> Klaxxons sounded all over The Empiricist and Oneoh teleported to the bridge, sliding into the Command Throne. She interfaced with the ship and began to issue commands at the speed of thought. Tens of thousands of small, cube-shaped drones swarmed out of the ship's drone bays and formed a screen between the ship and the inbound threats. As large as it was, The Empiricist cloaked and moved vertically, gliding upward and above the ecliptic. The station, now completely constructed, opened fire on the incoming ships with phased antimatter particle beams, raking across the escort wave. Explosions tore through the destroyers and frigates, bypassing shields harmlessly only to react with deadly power against the material of the ships' hulls. From above the ecliptic, Oneoh watched the fleet below thrown into chaos by the station's battleship-scale weapons. The screen of cubes was rocked by explosions as the larger enemy ships sought to tear through it to the ship they believed behind it. The screen swirled into motion and at suddenly immense speeds, each cube hurtled toward its target, taking out torpedo barrages and deliberately throwing themselves into cannonfire. Again and again the larger ships fired at the incoming whirlwind of drones, reducing their number little by little. Then, the Empiricist struck from above. The largest ship in the enemy fleet, a supercarrier bristling with railguns and missile batteries, turned its armaments upward to fire even as a streak of blinding energy tore through its prow, shearing a full kilometre from its length and leaving the void where the weapon had carved glowing with energy that burned out sensor arrays on the interloper vessels. The shields of The Empiricist flickered and shone as thousands of tons of ordnance were hurled at it by the supercarrier, railguns slinging two-stage munitions of enormous size at the ship at .02c. The energy expenditure to maintain the shields under such a barrage was enormous, and one reason why The Empiricist's battery of quantum singularity reactors had one dedicated solely to maintaining them. Even such power as that can falter at times, however, and the ship rocked as munitions made it through, burying themselves in the hull before detonating their nuclear payloads. By now, the cube swarm had reached the larger ships and begun impacting their hulls, passing through their shields entirely before regaining speed for that final thrust. Battleships and heavy cruisers bucked and shuddered as some drones detonated singularity warheads, while others used teleport nodes to deep strike maniples of Perfecti and combat homunculi aboard the enemy vessels. Oneoh's attention now however was solely on the supercarrier and again she fired. Point singularity projectors ripped apart the swarms of fighter-bombers that had begun racing out of the supercarrier and a barrage of temporal torpedoes blasted great holes in its hull, fired several seconds in the future by the cadre of temporal warfare specialists hunkered down in the belly of The Empiricist. The two titanic ships slogged back and forth, the massive, heavily armoured hull of the supercarrier taking blow after blow but beginning to give even as more power was directed to The Empiricist's shields. Another streak of white fire tore through the supercarrier's structure followed by an enormous detonation that rippled down its entire twenty kilometre length. Explosion after explosion indicating a possible magazine or reactor hit. Oneoh leaned forward in the Command Throne, eyes like slivers. She moved in for the kill and the ship obeyed. Omniturrets studded all over the hull pivoted and reconfigured on the fly, grasers began to peel the supercarrier apart piece by piece even as point singularity projectors turned the space inside the ship into a nightmare of rapidly destabilising pinpoint black holes. Within seconds, the supercarrier exploded one final time. A shockwave erupted outward from it like a sun being born and even as the viewport darkened in reaction to it, Oneoh shaded her eyes. The simulation ended and Oneoh found herself sweating, her jaw aching from how tightly she had been clenching it. She had to admit that she was impressed with herself.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 03:23
|
|
|
It's really fun reading the posts in the post 40k setting, since it sorta feels like playing sci-fi bingo, spotting bits and pieces that may have been inspired by/come from other universes. (I may have read way way too many space operas) Thumbs up on the scene settings hexenritter
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 03:59
|
|
|
Gwaihir posted:It's really fun reading the posts in the post 40k setting, since it sorta feels like playing sci-fi bingo, spotting bits and pieces that may have been inspired by/come from other universes. Thank you for the kind words  I keep dropping little easter eggs and nods to other stuff in but seeing as people don't usually say anything I have no idea if they ever get spotted. I even stuck part of President Kennedy's "go to the moon" speech in one of the Athena melting down posts. Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 04:12 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 04:02
|
|
|
I *think* I might be done with the Arc 1 posts. If you wanna see anything from then, or have a more recent character make a cameo, let me know. Otherwise, Ill prolly start collecting Arc 2.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 04:17
|
|
|
It's funny because it messes with my brain a little bit. Each author/series has their own set of conventions, technobabble, weapon/combat styles, etc. So when you mix up a ton of them, all the different memory triggers get fired off and it's a constant "wait where was that from again? Ahhhhhh yea, it was this book."
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 04:20
|
|
|
Gwaihir posted:It's funny because it messes with my brain a little bit. Each author/series has their own set of conventions, technobabble, weapon/combat styles, etc. So when you mix up a ton of them, all the different memory triggers get fired off and it's a constant "wait where was that from again? Ahhhhhh yea, it was this book." I like to think of it as a holistic approach to science fiction 
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 04:23
|
|
|
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 04:39
|
|
|
Former Forge World Ptolomaea, Subsector Deva All in all, things had been going rather well on Forge World Ptolomaea mused the Technarch, as he rested his cybernetic bulk on his balcony. By all rights every last human on the planet should have died decades ago when they lost all interstellar communication and the ships stopped arriving. They only had the food reserves for a few years even with harsh rationing. Fortunately, in this case, Fortune, the Empress, and sacred technology conspired to commute their death sentence. Their world was responsible for manufacturing agricultural equipment for the whole sector, and some ancient long dead genius had foreseen the need to include assembly, maintenance, and operations instructions in manuals illiterate half-barbarian farmers could understand in every unit. And to top it all off, the pollution endemic to their sort of world, the pollution that usually managed to totally annihilate the local ecology in a few scant centuries, had instead thawed their once icy rock into something you could actually grow food on. All of this good luck would have been for naught of course, if not for two very important things. The first was the truly excellent work done by their chemists and biologists in harvesting viable seeds and preparing the soil Half of them, himself included, had always just assumed you just put the seeds in the ground and then you sat around waiting until harvest time. One side effect of the famine years was that they'd all learned more about farming than they'd ever thought there was to know, another was that they'd all gained a sort of horrified, aghast appreciation for the work that went into merely keeping most of mankind eating. The second thing was the necessary social changes that had been implemented. "Freeing" the serfs (if you can call telling most of a planet that they needed to stop doing what they were born and bred to do and start farming RIGHT THE HELL NOW OR WE'LL ALL DIE DAMMIT "freedom"), had not been a popular move among the upper crust. They said it was dangerous, against all policy, and unnecessary anyway. He countered that they would have to spread much to far out to even be managed in the old way, much less controlled. And who was going to support them in this anyway? The local garrison? The technomancers?!? He sure as supernovas didn't want to spend all his drat time patrolling a bunch of loving grain fields. Still he might have even admitted they had a point, if the idiots hadn't tried to launch a coup. Still, he'd stayed positive, most of the loudest voices against him were still staked out for the public to gawk as a result, and popular support for his government had been at an all time high. He'd still wasn't sure what had surprised him more, the support, or that it actually mattered. It turned out that without the ever looming threat of invasion by the tagmata or sudden orbital devastation to keep the locals in line, what the locals thought of your governing tactics started to matter a whole lot more. The locals had started giving him eponyms that would have gotten him turned to scrap if word ever got out. Things like "Liberator" and "Emancipator" (he didn't even know where they'd heard that one, he'd thought it was nonsense until he'd gotten drunk and looked it up in the Restricted Archives on a lark), and other things that he didn't really deserve. He'd just perused the most optimal long term strategy available when extreme circumstances presented themselves. He was still the ultimate authority on the planet, of course, and he reserved all powers to himself as always, but he knew he had to keep a light touch. It was the best way to keep everyone on the task of keeping them all alive, after all. He was pretty proud that they'd somehow managed to oversee the seemingly impossible transition from forge world to agricultural world in five years. And at only an estimated ten megadeaths to boot! Even the situation of not having anywhere to send the maenads to get sanctioned sorted itself out. With another miracle this time, although personally he suspected that the miracle was now the new normal, and not just on Ptolomaea. A certain amount of time after each maenad found itself expressing their oh so unique traits, one of two things would happen. The symbol of Her Holy Sanction would appear upon them, and be confirmed by their new fellows, or they would suffer a brain aneurysm in their sleep and die. All the convenience of the old system with none of the hassle of rooting out the ones that tried to hide or arranging transport to far off Terra. Settlers had spread out across the system, fledgling settlements and cities sprang up while the old ones lay eerily empty except for some key factories and the core facilities. Populations and production and all the new hierarchies found their new equilibrium. Yes, thought Technarch Cyrus to himself, everything had really been going amazingly well. Until that drat portal had opened up and the demons started pouring through.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:03
|
|
|
Glorious, and I love the little touch of the forgeworld's leader declaring himself Technarch. Makes sense from an absolutist regime point of view. I also approve of his plan for dealing with voices of dissent against his rule. Very effective.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:12
|
|
|
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:14
|
|
|
Hexenritter posted:Glorious, and I love the little touch of the forgeworld's leader declaring himself Technarch. Makes sense from an absolutist regime point of view. I also approve of his plan for dealing with voices of dissent against his rule. Very effective. Well when you've only got a few hundred cybernetic idiots to make an example of you gotta get real flashy. I find the great thing about a galaxy wide setting is that this basically had to have happened. Someone was inevitably going to get that lucky.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:28
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Technarch Oneoh. Location: The Eye of Ruin, Athenian Technocracy Space Musing through the contents of the hidden chamber, Oneoh came across an enormous, leatherbound book with silver frame and locks. It responded to her touch, the tiny tumblers clicking into place immediately. It flew open, and before her in exquisite, illuminated script, she read the following. [Page 1 of 745] ATHENA FEINT ATHENA FEINT, SOUTH ATHENA FLASHPOINT ATHENA GAMBIT ATHENA HUNT ATHENA HUNT, CORE ATHENA STRIKE ATHENA STRIKE, HEAVY HERA FEINT HERA FEINT, OHONE HERA FLASHPOINT HERA GAMBIT HERA GAMBIT, ATHENA VARIANT HERA GAMBIT, OHONE VARIANT HERA PRE-EMPTIVE HERA PRE-EMPTIVE, OHONE VARIANT HERA STRIKE HERA STRIKE, HEAVY HERA STRIKE, SINGULARITY OHONE HEAVY OHONE PRE-EMPTIVE OHONE OVERWHELMING FORCE OHONE STRIKE, QUANTUM OHONE STRIKE, SINGULARITY [Page 1 of 745] She touched the words with her fingers and the ink of each entry lit up for a moment, the details slamming into her head like someone just drove a spike of knowledge into her skull. As she progressed through the tome, the scenario names became ever more esoteric, the contents of them straining her capacity for understanding as they grew ever more complex and dependent upon manipulating probability months if not years in advance. Some, like the odd-sounding "OHONE ONEOH, UNIFIED, ATHENA VARIANT, HERA ASCENDING, PRIME OPTIONAL" wouldn't even open yet, locked behind some sort of temporal encryption. Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 05:34 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:30
|
|
|
Also I uh, kinda thought technarch was just the Magos/Arch-Magos stand-in term. I didn't mean to have Cyrus declare himself a mini Fabricator General. But eh, gently caress it, a little egomania never hurt nobody.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:34
|
|
|
paragon1 posted:Also I uh, kinda thought technarch was just the Magos/Arch-Magos stand-in term. I didn't mean to have Cyrus declare himself a mini Fabricator General. I like it the way you did it, it does totally smack of Technomancer hubris and so fits even more appropriately in the grand scheme, I think. But yeah, Technarch implies Fabricator-General/absolute ruler, and I wouldn't be surprised if several forgeworlds (or manufactorums as I've started calling them) have tinpot dictators crop up that take the opportunity to seize absolute power. Given the "Technomancy" thing I think Magos/Magos Prime/Archmagos/Archmagos Prime work just fine and that's what I'm using for the Athenian (TRUE!) Technocracy's rank structure below Technarch. For example, the Consensus is comprised entirely of those of Archmagos Prime rank and Throne-1 security clearance. I also hinted at a structure within each rank based around being of a particular Circle of Mastery, for example a Magos Prime of the 3rd Circle is higher ranked than a Magos Prime of the 1st Circle. Whether the loyalist Technocracy use the same structure or whether it's an Athenian Technocracy contrivance is entirely up in the air yet though. edit: Also, I like reading other people's posts too, I don't want to be the only person making GBS threads in this sandbox
Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 05:46 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:37
|
|
|
paragon1 posted:Even the situation of not having anywhere to send the maenads to get sanctioned sorted itself out. With another miracle this time, although personally he suspected that the miracle was now the new normal, and not just on Ptolomaea. A certain amount of time after each maenad found itself expressing their oh so unique traits, one of two things would happen. The symbol of Her Holy Sanction would appear upon them, and be confirmed by their new fellows, or they would suffer a brain aneurysm in their sleep and die. All the convenience of the old system with none of the hassle of rooting out the ones that tried to hide or arranging transport to far off Terra. Convenient. Not even suspiciously so; suspiciously convenient would break down too fast to be useful in this kind of setting. Then again, the, uh... hero kind of accidentally unshackled God, and no one knew that was even possible, so some profoundly weird things are bound to happen. Also it's kind of amusing that simply not being a titanic dick allowed Cyrus to stumble into sound social policy.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 05:50
|
|
|
I figured it would be a reasonable thing to assume would happen on any world where the imperial cult is dominant. What with God Being Real Now, and all. If you get born with super powers God eventually comes along and judges you, and either you get a stamp of Good Enough I Guess or the tiniest of forces squeezes an artery in your brain a minute and poof!, you're dead.Hexenritter posted:I like it the way you did it, it does totally smack of Technomancer hubris and so fits even more appropriately in the grand scheme, I think. But yeah, Technarch implies Fabricator-General/absolute ruler, and I wouldn't be surprised if several forgeworlds (or manufactorums as I've started calling them) have tinpot dictators crop up that take the opportunity to seize absolute power. Well he already had absolute power locally, he was just kinda forced to play in a really loving big pond until suddenly he wasn't anymore. He'd probably talk himself into it with a line of thinking like "Well as far as we're concerned for the foreseeable future all my superiors are effectively dead (Cyrus doesn't think non-Acheron FTL is even possible), therefore I must be promoted to fill the void." paragon1 fucked around with this message at 06:19 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 06:12
|
|
|
Kay, sanitized Arc 1 (before slices of life are added) is ~50,000 words. We're well on our way 
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 06:55
|
|
|
Many goongratulations on sanitising it all. Special thanks to cat_herder for slogging through!
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 06:57
|
|
|
Slice of Life: Strategos Hermann Wilhelm Alexandru. Location: Macedonia War College, Thurisaz, Athenian Technocracy Space. ...and further to my previous paper on the sustainability of Annexation Fleets and the maximum number thereof that present infrastructure would allow us to field and effectively maintain. I submit to you that we owe it to the continued supremacy of our glorious Technocratic state to look seriously at the use of self-sufficient, ground-based or airborne mobile manufactorums that also serve as rearming and deployment points for infantry, close air support and aerospace fighter wings, along with appropriate numbers of same specifically tailored to both known military presence and to account for exigent unknowns. Each Annexation Fleet should be more than capable of fielding considerable numbers of these expeditionary and annexation armies even using present technology at a fraction of the cost of a fully-fitted spaceborne battleship or heavy cruiser. Refitting and retrofitting can be done in stages with sustainment battalions deployed from the logistics vessels we already use to maintain the Fleets. I have attached outlines and rough plans for a number of these, pending review, revision and iteration by those minds better suited to the technological minutae. Included are visualisations from several of my students based upon the principles discussed.    <<Attached file: AesirGravZeppelin.3dx>> <<Attached file: CrusaderDestroyer.3dx>> <<Attached file: HarridanGunship.3dx>> <<Attached file: StyxMobileCommandManufactorum.3dx>> <<Attached file: HarpyInterceptor.3dx>> In Pursuit of Perfection, I remain Strategos Hermann Wilhelm Alexandru Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 07:40 on Jun 30, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 07:32
|
|
|
On Genefixing and Geneweaving. The Hegemon has long enjoyed the fruits of genetic engineering. In its prehistory, humanity branched out into a number of different sub-breeds and early on, certain types of genetic modification were seen as absolute necessities for colonisation and travel between the stars. Colonists were engineered specifically for their destination environments; ship crews were modified to withstand the deleterious effects of long term null-G life; the rich and powerful pay exorbitant fees for rejuvenation treatments effectively extending their lives; and so many more, including those abhuman variants which depending upon the doctrine and prevailing politics of the time often went from citizen to chattel to outright enemy. Genefixing, as it has long been called, has a grand history of being employed to eradicate the frailties of the human condition. Geneweaving, on the other hand, is an altogether different animal. Geneweaving is the deliberate manipulation of DNA with the intention of adding traits to an otherwise normal pattern, whether it be homo sapiens stellaris, homo gigantus, homo nephilim or the baseline homo sapiens hegemonis. Geneweaving humans has long been a proscribed discipline amongst the Technomancers of the Hegemon. A decree was passed in the wake of the Supremacy Wars that modifying the human pattern outside of very limited and strictly defined avenues was a heretical abuse of technology. The only forms of Geneweaving that would survive the decree would be those necessary for the creation of Nephilim, the control of Maenads and other psionic sub-breeds, and those necessary for tailoring a human pattern for colonisation or survivability. The loyalist Technocracy has preserved these restrictions for millennia, with only the most daring and radical of Technomancers attempting to plumb the depths of this forbidden school of knowledge. Very rarely, the Archmagi would permit investigation into particular enhancements for the betterment of the Hegemon as a whole, but these enhancements could be counted on a single hand with room to spare. The Athenian Technocracy, stemming as it did from a secessionist movement of radical Technomancers, has taken a diametrically opposed stance and its Geneweavers have experimented with the very limits of the human condition, surpassing it many times over. On Athenian worlds, a baseline human pattern is rare indeed, for the Athenian Technocracy amongst its many initiatives to maximise efficiency offers a wide variety of augmentations. Eliminating those remaining hereditary ailments left by the Hegemon, improving general health and even mandating free improvements to increase the ability of the citizenry to perform their jobs are services that the Geneweavers of the Athenian Technocracy bestow upon their citizens, from the highest to the lowest. Beyond that, the populace may visit Enhancement Centres and purchase augmentations from a vast catalogue that grows larger each day, from simple improvements to traits such as stamina or balance, to exotic visual modifications such as chromatophores and skin texture, and everything inbetween. Truly, while the Hegemon has recoiled in horror from the concept of transhumanism and genetic improvement, the Athenian Technocracy has embraced the concept of self-improvement with open arms.
|
|
#
?
Jun 30, 2016 12:30
|
|
|
Hexenritter posted:On Genefixing and Geneweaving. Yes, good.
|
|
#
?
Jul 1, 2016 01:00
|
|
|
Arc 1 Bricellus Between Bricellus ducked back into the corner that he had come out of. He wasn’t - technically - supposed to be here, or even away from the Church, but it was nice to take a break sometimes. He had the sinking feeling that it might have backfired on him this time though. Slightly ahead of him, standing in the light, one of the Family. She was rubbing her face unhappily, the soft murmur of her companion interspersed with her angry grumbling. He bit his lip thoughtfully. If he stayed here, they might punish him for listening, while if he spoke up, they might punish him for leaving the Church. It was not unknown, every now and then some apostate tried to escape the caste he was born to, but that wasn’t why he was here at all. Not that, he thought anxiously, he expected them to note the difference. Even as he stood back, paralyzed by indecision, their conversation was continuing. “I don’t even know where we’re going to put them all.” “Could move them to the Temple.” The second voice was deeper, calmer. “In a year, maybe. After the idea that a joblot meant for the homunculi hadn’t snuck aboard. Now, though, they have to be invisible. And they can’t keep the artifact forever.” “Mm. I see your point. Particularly as we’re being listened to right now.” Bricellus felt his heart seize in terror. “Come out, lad. Come out.” Helplessly, he did so. Looked at them. Younger than he had expected, probably within a throw of his age. But she was Family and he was a servant of the Church, and that was that. She was frowning at him, and he quietly made his peace with the Saint. “Do you know who I am?” Her eyes were expressionless. “One of the Family.” Bricellus racked his brains - it was just good sense to know all the Family on sight, and their … idiosyncracies. “Amacita.” “That’s right.” The man frowned. “He’s heard a lot already.” “No, don’t be like that Lukacs. The Empress watches over us.” “The Empress watches those who watch themselves.” He paused. “Or something.” She ignored that. “What’s your name?” “Bricellus, milady.” “Bricellus.” She spoke the word like trying a new candy. “Come reassure Lukacs, what did you hear?” He bit his lip. To tell the truth, or no? Lukacs had already seen through him once… “That you are looking for a place to hide people.” Lukacs began to reach into his white greatcoat. Bricellus continued hurriedly. “I know a place.” Amacita raised her eyebrows. “Do you, now?” “Yes, milady. I work for the Church, storing things mostly. I know of a place that could hold three, four dozen people.” She smiled. “See, Lukacs? The Empress is looking out for us after all.” But as Bricellus met the man’s eyes, he was convinced someone else, someone far less merciful, was watching him instead.
|
|
#
?
Jul 1, 2016 11:52
|
|
|
Arc 1 Bricellus The Deeps “Your friend scares me.” “Oh, Lukacs? He’s harmless.” Bricellus made a show of looking around him, and Amacita laughed. “Really. I have him at the Temple working on some things, he’s fine.” “The temple?” He blinked. “Does the Church know about this?” “If they didn’t approve, they would have shut it down, right?” She smiled at him. “I … guess.” While there were a thousand sects to the Empress on the Beast, mostly centered in the shadows, a permanant-sounding place like ‘The Temple’ was usually frowned upon. He shrugged, changed the subject. “I’ve seen a few people like him before. The white clothes.” White overcoat, thick gloves, strong boots, safety goggles. “Mm. He’s an Explorer.” “I don’t know what that is.” She gestured. “In the Church, you can advance, right?” “What do you mean?” “You can became a priest, or even Hierophant. Whatever.” He laughed. “Sure, I guess.” “Right. So how do Dregs advance?” Bricellus shook his head. “No idea. I don’t know much about Dregs.” Amacita smiled. “Stick with me, you’ll learn about them.” “Oh. Okay.” “Anyway, the Explorer’s Guild is how Dregs get sucessful. One of the ways, anyway, they might join one of the Gangs. But the Guild is less violent. More important, in my opinion.” “So … they explore?” “Heh. Yes. The Lord-Sire established the guild, pays them. Well, not this one, but a few generations back.” He winced. “Sounds risky.” Never get near the Family, that was his motto. “You have no idea. They go in the forgotten areas of Between, avoid the Tribes, the monsters. Radiation hazards and open space. Lukacs told me a bunch of stories. The gravity tides are really bad down there, and every now and then you might even encounter a xeno or something that moved in however long ago.” “Xeno.” He shuddered. She ignored it. “Can you keep a secret?” “Of course.” “This is for Explorers only, but I think you can know it.” Amacita lowered her voice. “They are looking for something in particular.” “Treasure?” “Better. Water.” Bricellus blinked. “There’s tons of water. All you could ever want.” Amacita nodded. “The four great drums in the recyclers. The single set of drums, in four locations of the Deeps. But the last two - tens of thousands of liters of water - are missing. Long ago, a Lord-Sire formed the Explorer’s Guild, and tasked them to keep this secret safe, and to find the missing drums. Somewhere, somewhere in this vast ship, lakes of water lie waiting.” She nodded a final time as she ended the story - it sounded ritualistic. “In centuries, the Explorers haven’t found it.”
|
|
#
?
Jul 1, 2016 12:08
|
|
|
Arc 1 Donatien The Deeps Donatien didn’t bother to conceal the contempt on his face as the two killers left the Deeps. The fact that a spree killer - the Butcher - was loose was bad enough, but toss in the Widowmaker and it seemed everyone was getting chopped up or shot. And Karageorge had been a friend of his. Well, not friend - amiable competitor. But still. They would never play stones again, never have a smoke and watch the Tiyu-Qiyu games. He forced his face into something politer as he saw Bricellus approach. And, he was startled to note, another of the Family. A quick moment to look closer - Amacita. Well, that was interesting. Of the Family, Amacita was probably the nicest of the bunch, running her odd little temple, and, more importantly, keeping Dregs fed. Donatien had known half a hundred people whose lives had been saved by her in the last pair of decades. He bowed. “Lady Amacita, an honor as always.” She hugged him briefly, smiled. “I didn’t know Bricellus was yours. All he said was we were going to see his father.” Donatien chuckled. “Ah, I have fed the lad a time or two. His parents are really the Church.” Bricellus jabbed his shoulder playfully. “And I never would have gotten far in the Church without your help. You know that.” He smiled. “Perhaps you are right, at that. Please, be seated.” Donatien’s house was directly overlooking the Grateful Burden - prime real estate, and the first floor of his shop had made him very pleasant amounts of money. So much so that he could offer real leather chairs, and meat that they might even serve on the Alpha Deck on a slow day. A bit of protection paid to Hellhound, and he had never had any trouble. “So, how did you meet? I never pictured that you were in the same social circles.” Amacita chuckled. “Hallway encounter, really. He knew about some places the Explorer’s Guild didn’t.” “Really?” Donatien made a show of looking at Bricellus. “Will wonders never cease.” Bricellus looked down. “It was nothing, really. I just happened to be putting away some of the boxes.” “Still, knowing about something the Guild doesn’t. That deserves a reward!” Donatien reached for his cabinet for the good stuff. Mm… second-most good stuff, anyway. He watched the two of them out of the corner of his eye, giggling and smiling at each other. Perhaps, if he was very lucky, he might have a chance to break out the best for them both. He smiled at the thought. His adopted son marrying into the Family, why, that would be a fine ending to his life.
|
|
#
?
Jul 1, 2016 12:24
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 23, 2024 09:55 |
|
|
Arc 1 Bricellus Deeper Bricellus watched him go, unconsciously tapping his new chainsaw. “Okay, I changed my mind. He scares me.” Amacita looked at Cruentus distastefully. “Yes, he should. And I know you are proud of that chainsaw, don’t try to fight him.” “Please. Being that he’s both Family and the Widowmaker, it would be less painful to just walk into space. And with the same results.” His voice took on the timbre of religion. “‘The Strong Do as They Will, and the Weak Suffer as They Must. - Words of the Empress.” “Yeah.” She met his eyes. “You heard about Limosa.” “Burning out a mutant nest. Sure.” “Ever wonder why?” He blinked. “Why what? Why Limosa?” “Why the Family kills mutants.” “Uh … the Church says so?” She nodded. “Pretty much. Seems like a pretty bad reason to die, don’t you think?” He grunted a laugh. “I think they are all bad reasons to die.” “That they are. But that the word of the Church can just kill entire families … doesn’t that seem wrong to you?” Bricellus sucked on his lip. “I can’t say I like choosing between the Church and the Family.” Amacita held up a surrendering gesture. “You are right, that was too much. Still - do you want to see something?” At his nod, she lead him away from the loud, public areas they were in. It was only a few minutes travel, twisty corridors and a few places where they had to crawl and wriggle through gaps that looked like settled debris. Afterwards, though, Bricellus was surprised to note torch light. He sniffed. Oil. “What’s this?” She held his hands, met his eyes. “This is important.” “Okay. What is it?” “This is where the other mutants live. The ones who escaped Limosa.” He half-jerked back instinctively, then stopped when he saw the disappointment in her eyes. “Okay. This is … this is where mutants live.” “Yes.” Amacita looked at him. “The Dregs don’t always kill mutants. Mutants have family, were Dregs first. So some of them end up here.” “But … why?” “It’s better than killing them. And they know things. Parts of the ship no one else does, or skills or secrets. If you do them favors, they can help you.” Bricellus paused. “Why are you telling me this? Why are you showing me these things?” “Because.” Amacita squeezed his hands. “Because they are people too.”
|
|
#
?
Jul 1, 2016 12:49
|
|