|
Hahahah take him for a ride Limosa. Kneecaps and all!
|
#
?
Jul 4, 2016 21:23
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 14:34 |
|
|
Arc 1 Elenora Alpha Deck The Seneschal tapped her pen thoughtfully. She knew the numbers when Limosa made the proposal, and she knew the numbers now. Adding a hundred thousand people to the ship was simply untenable. It would start with food scarcity and end in famines and riots. She knew it, the small council knew it. All that could be done was manage the symptoms as best as possible, and hope they get to Golgotha quickly. Limosa, through some quite cunning diplomacy, had managed to scoop up an entire city’s worth of pilgrims, granting the Family a ludicrous amount of money. It was quite the unexpected windfall, and Elenora was quite pleased with it. Her mind was already dancing along possible investments, perhaps branching out the Family. A smaller ship, and a trustworthy captain. Or, perhaps a low population world. When a hundred thousand people gave you their life savings (and, frequently, their family's life savings), you found yourself with new options. And the slush fund would be supplemented nicely, when they sold the pilgrims to the military. Frederik was already planning on calling them ‘light infantry divisions.’ Light enough that they had to bring their own weapons, but that was life in the Hegemon for you. She had already placed orders to put the Dregs (and newly arrived pilgrims) on half rations. The recyclers were running overtime, stacking up protein grounds and appetite suppressants and cellulose. The Tribes had their own sources of food, herds and the like, but she would prefer not to seize them. Keeping the batteries running was more important than feeding some fresh-faced pilgrims who would be dropped on the battlefield shortly anyway. Elenora frowned. It still offended her sense of neatness.
|
|
#
?
Jul 4, 2016 22:21
|
|
|
Arc 1 Interlude The Deeps The first few thousand pilgrims entered the Beast with a sense of wonder. Past generations had done this pilgrimage, taken twenty years to see the most holy sites in the sector. Their grandparents had returned as revered elders, and had told the many tales of faith, and sacrifice, and exploration. Seeing a dozen or more shrine worlds to a society that was mostly planet-bound - well, wasn’t that a miracle as well? So it was with a sense of awe that they filed into the Shallows, into ten thousand merchants who knew an easy mark. They bought things that were said to be relics, tried food that was probably from other worlds, got into a thousand arguments over the finer points of religion. Such things happened every time the Beast went to a new planet, ten or twenty thousand pilgrims left, and similar numbers came aboard. This was more, though. The first wave, disgruntled, was pushed into the Deeps, where things were not so welcoming. Behind them, the second wave of pilgrims was going through all the same emotions they had - but in the Deeps, things were different. The language was nearly incomprehensible, the sport alien, the Saint, unfamiliar. Tempers rose. The third wave pushed everyone deeper into the Ship, the first pilgrims encountering the guards at Alpha Deck, or perhaps the dangerous places of Between. By now, tempers among the Gangs were becoming sharp, and more than a few people had gotten knifed or shot. And still the pilgrims came aboard, four and five waves where there were usually one, at most two. The Beast was simply unprepared for them. Every aspect of a space-faring ship required constant attention. Even before conversations about housing, or food, or water, the Beast strained to manage the vast new amounts of waste heat. The ventilators strained with it, temperatures rose, tempers rose. The Church did their best, preaching about stoicism and suffering and silence. When the food rations were cut in half, the prices of stored food skyrocketed, and the Gangs began imposing a more draconian order. Still, it was only a matter of time before the hordes of people - hungry, tired, without sleep - began pushing forward, to the place where the local Dregs had told them had food. The recyclers.
|
|
#
?
Jul 4, 2016 23:07
|
|
|
Jesus. Nevermind the aliens and war, this is the real grimdark.
|
|
#
?
Jul 4, 2016 23:15
|
|
|
Isnt backstory fun?  Right about now Ohone is knocking out Amacita 
|
|
#
?
Jul 4, 2016 23:32
|
|
|
Arc 1 Sister Suffer Recyclers Sister Suffer stretched, cracked her knuckles. A habit she’d picked up from dearly departed Cruentus, part of her absently noted. Today was a day for such memories - she was with Bricellus, who he had trained, and they were about to kill a whole ton of Dregs, which was his hobby. Part of her regretted that he would miss this. It would have been his favorite day in at least a decade. Bricellus wasn’t looking nearly so enthusiastic. She would almost describe him as pale, going over his weapons over and over again. She appreciated his dutifulness, and noted that they were well within working order, but she didn’t want him to cycle himself into a panic attack. Around them, other Sisters, other acolytes were beginning similar preparations. She clapped his back, and he jumped. “Hey there. Relax.” He looked away nervously. “Yes Sister.” Sister Suffer smiled at him reassuringly. At least, she hoped it was reassuring. He looked like he had just seen a shark. Vicious things they were, sneaking out of the dark corridors on eight legs. Regardless, she continued. “Hey. We’ve got a full platoon of us, and they have to run a hundred meters of open ground. We’ve got half a dozen machine guns here. And you have my favorite chainsaw. We’ll be fine.” He smiled wanly. “Your favorite chainsaw?” “Mmhmm. So don’t screw up.” “What’s it’s name?” “Hm?” “The chainsaw.” He hefted it. “What’s its name?” “Duty.” He blinked. “Why?” She chuckled grimly. “"Duty calls, and even the faithless and the heretic shall be called to serve." After a pause, he joined her. “Heh. I like that.” The noise of the mob was getting closer. “Ready?” He took a breath, nodded. “Ready.”
|
|
#
?
Jul 4, 2016 23:44
|
|
|
Arc 1 Bricellus Recyclers The blood was a centimeter deep in some places - his boots were soaked with in. His whole body was shaking with the after-effects of massive amounts of adrenaline pouring through his system, and all of his clothes were soaked with sweat. Still, Bricellus couldn’t help grinning, an expression he saw mirrored on Sister Suffer’s face. “That was … amazing?” She chuckled. “Right? Killing is better than sex.” She stretched. “Empress, I haven’t had a workout like that in ages.” Bricellus glanced down the length of the corridor. “Think we got them all?” “Nah. They are just weighing between hunger and fear. They’ll come back.” She paused. “Might try another place first though. Alpha Deck, or the gangs’ compounds.” “Probably go about the same there.” “Yup.” She absently began cleaning bits of bone and teeth out of the links of her chainsaw. “I don’t know why they just don’t eat each other. Lot safer than attacking entrenched positions.” “Right? Half the slurries are from dead Dregs anyway, so it can’t be a dietary thing.” “Yeah, I dunno.” She shrugged. “I guess they think the recyclers spawn pure grown … whatever they are.” “Goats.” “Right, goats. They could go attack the Tribes if they wanted goats.” Bricellus laughed. “Can’t you just picture…” “Omega.” The Sisters looked at each other, faces suddenly grim. Bricellus felt his own face relax, going into the full combat mode that Cruentus had taught him. Keep your breathing slow, your heart slow, and you won’t miss your shot. Sister Suffer spoke. “Do we know the location?” One of the other Sisters checked the signal, considered it. “Behind us, in the recyclers.” Another moment of silence. Then, wordlessly, they left their positions, reloading guns, clearing weapons. Doing whatever small ritualistic things that would reassure them, give them the slightest combat edge. First wave at an Omega meant first to die. But then, everyone is called to Duty. Loel fucked around with this message at 00:15 on Jul 5, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 00:11
|
|
|
Hey Loel, what are we calling the Orks now, if they still exist?
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 00:28
|
|
|
"Americans"
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 00:35
|
|
|
paragon1 posted:Hey Loel, what are we calling the Orks now, if they still exist? Honestly, I have no idea Nids/Zerg/Chrysalids are easy enough to replace, space bugs are pretty common. Orks though? Might go with ... fungal war project gone mad, that plays well with the Elf motif. Maybe mycobiota? which ... leads us into slang: 'cobs', which relates to their knobby skin There we go. Mycobiota, Cobs. Loel fucked around with this message at 00:44 on Jul 5, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 00:38
|
|
|
You could excise them completely and nothing of thematic or plot importance would change.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 00:56
|
|
|
Also true
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 00:58
|
|
|
VanSandman posted:You could excise them completely and nothing of thematic or plot importance would change. How very engineer of you. DO IT  On that note, it does seem like science fiction in general is lately trending toward homo sapiens being the sole source of sophont life in the observable universe (can I use sophont as an adjective?). Maybe because there should be weird poo poo all over the galaxy but there isn't, maybe because people would rather not be burned off the face of the Earth by climate change despite our antediluvian apocalyptic government's best efforts. I don't know, maybe self-awareness and self-consciousness are the least likely things that have ever happened? 
dont be mean to me fucked around with this message at 01:23 on Jul 5, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 01:21
|
|
|
Semi-sentient semi-hive minded psionic primarily fungal biome that was found during humanity's height that is super helpful for burgeoning worlds and in general (food, health benefits, little mushroom men to fix your stuff/clean your house/play with your kids, the works). Cue everything exploding in an orgy of robo-violence, and all the fungus gets horribly traumatized, spread across most of the galaxy, and everyone who had in depth knowledge of them is dead. Fungus goes into full on survival mode, gains full sentience (debatable), and starts wrecking the poo poo out of everything it perceives as a threat, which is everything including itself. Powerfully psionic, mostly appropriates human techonolgy since that is what it knows (the fancier the better in fact, its more comfortable with the high tech since that is what it was raised with). Come many many many millenia later, and you got Spore Hordes (needs a better name) running around, wrecking everything, looking for the kind ol' species that made them cookies, gave them blankets, and took them to all sorts of nice places and are now all a horrible galactic fascist police state that they do not recognize. The Beast is somewhat unique in that it keeps fungal biome in enough of a check that it has reverted back to being mostly useful (to the Tribes, if wider society finds it it is getting torched), though any contact with outside fungus will likely cause a reversion to Very Bad Behavior. tl;dr: We developed a mutually beneficial relationship to the dumb version of the fungus from the Alpha Centauri games,spread it to the stars, and now its psychotic. paragon1 fucked around with this message at 03:40 on Jul 5, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 03:28
|
|
|
Excising is probably the right choice, though they could be replaced by something decidedly un-Orky but appropriately aggressive if you felt the need to have an orc-alike around. They're functionally marauding barbarians who also happen to be exceedingly resilient and difficult to dislodge for various reasons.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 03:40
|
|
|
On the one hand Orks are awesome. On the other hand they're probably the most 40k of the races so turfing them makes a lot of sense if you want to avoid comparisons.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 04:40
|
|
|
Outrail posted:On the one hand Orks are awesome. On the other hand they're probably the most 40k of the races so turfing them makes a lot of sense if you want to avoid comparisons. There are four evil gods and one rigid, ultrareligious human hierarchy. You're gonna get 40k comparisons, mostly because it started as 40k fanfiction.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 04:58
|
|
|
Former Manufactorum Ptolomaea, Subsector Deva Brevet Corporal Jana Oglethorpe of the Ptolomaean Emergency Defense Force had thought she knew fear. First, she thought she'd known it when the whole galaxy got ripped out from under them, and got told it was never coming back. She thought she'd known it when the technomancer in charge of her block had walked into her cohort's quarters, and told them they were all being reassigned. Again, she thought she'd known it when her supervisor handed her a book she couldn't read and a sharp piece of metal and told her to get working or starve, when a mob had ripped a man from their work group apart for hoarding food, and when she'd nearly been killed by their ad hoc dwelling in the fields collapsing on top of them. She remembered thinking she'd been a fool to be afraid before, that real fear was being a psionic maenad freak who was surely going to be burned or kill all her friends in her sleep. And thinking that again later when she was actually staring the Empress in the face as she decided whether Jana should live or die. And thought it again, when the sky tore open and the nightmares began. All that was a bunch of bullshit. Real fear, Jana had decided, was what you felt while trying to explode a thousand years of stabbings with your mind in the middle of trying not to get torn apart by claws and fiery swords while fighting on a Grade II wheat harvester turned weapons platform. It was raw, unimaginable force versus her puny meat brain and about thrirty high caliber machine guns. She'd thought she'd been doing rather well, really, holding off most of the thing's more dangerous abilities, until the thing screamed and caused Private Thorvaldson's head to explode. She'd had a moment of doubt then, wavered, and the thing had used that brief moment to catch them. One moment, they'd been backing up, firing at it, Jana slowing it down, the next it had been on them, all blades and fury. Yeap, it probably would have been the end for them if Crush (that is Private Crush-The-Xeno-Scum Williamson) hadn't somehow managed to put a loving rocket down the things throat like something out of a propaganda broadcast. Everyone, even the demon, had looked surprised. That had given Jana the (literal) opening she'd needed to rip the thing apart. They'd all just sort of stood there for a minute, then she remembered that there was a war on and got everyone moving. They'd stripped the dead, reloaded, and were looking for their unit when night fell, forcing them to stop. The lights on their vehicle had been smashed in the attack, so they were forced to stop. Jana wondered if you could still see the gallows humor inspired "Blood Harvester" name someone had painted on two weeks ago through all the actual blood now. She wondered if they'd have time to fix half their broken equipment before being ordered back into the fight. She wondered if their unit even still existed. And then she fell asleep, and had to fight the demons there instead. paragon1 fucked around with this message at 06:03 on Jul 5, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 05:05
|
|
|
That read like Harry Turtledove writing 40k. sweet.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 05:30
|
|
|
That's epic
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 14:15
|
|
|
Arc 1 Frederik Alpha Deck Woodhouse winced. “Too bright.” Frederik sat next to his bed, watching him. A weapon in nearby reach, guards outside the door. “It’s a side effect of the drug you took.” Woodhouse paused, sniffed. “You’re here to fight.” The Lord-Sire looked at him curiously. “You can smell that?” He chuckled. “It’s one hell of a drug. I can … hear your heartbeat. The heartbeat of the guards outside.” Another small laugh. “I feel young again.” “You know what is going to happen, then.” “Of course. Can’t let the Dregs getting uppity. Can’t let them have access to the same anti-agathics.” Woodhouse raised his eyebrows. “Never get old, Frederik.” “I plan to avoid it. But no, it’s not just the anti-agathics. It’s an infection vector for cultists.” “... ah.” Woodhouse nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” They didn’t speak for a while, Frederik letting him go over his thoughts. Then: “So what are you going to do?” “All the infected are being rounded up. The Archmage has a luminal display running, everyone is getting caught. We’re wrapping them up with the pilgrims, dropping them on the battlefield.” “Hah. Always making money.” “That’s the job.” Frederik glanced away. “You deserve better. I wanted to ask your preference. In your sleep, or a bullet…” “A knife.” “Mm?” “I was a Master of the Sword. I want to die with a knife in my hand.” Di Musio’s memory flickered back, to when they had met. Half a dozen decades before. “Captain Devries. A pleasure, as always.” Devries bowed with a flourish. “Colonel, is it? Di Musio.” “I sold my share, actually.” “Really? You were running … what was it, that mercenary unit. Greyguards.” “And now I am a gentleman of leisure.” He smiled. Devries barked a laugh. “A smuggler, maybe. Gentleman-scoundrel.” “Aye, you may be right. Who is this?” “Always to the point, you are. This is my present to you, Commissar Woodhouse. Former commissar.” Di Musio raised his eyebrows. “Better condition than your usual.” The commissar was wiry, with too bright eyes. Just glancing at him, Di Musio could see half a dozen knives, and the well-worn revolver. Woodhouse gave a sardonic nod. “I like to keep my nose clean, Colonel.” “By which you mean, Devries keeps you well stocked. What’s your pleasure?” “Opiates, for the most part.” He smiled. “Devries has been a most knowledgeable instructor.” “I’ll bet. And why, Mr. Woodhouse, would I need a former commissar? I am not Tagmata.” “I understand you are lacking a Master of Sword. I wish to fulfill the post.” Frederik glanced at Devries quizzically. Devries gestured. “He’s from a feudal world. Apparently noble families employ and title their top-tier swordsmen. I don’t know anything about that, but I’ve never seen a better use of a blade.” “Really.” Frederik shrugged off his coat, showing thick muscle and dozens of scars. “Let’s see what you’ve got.” Woodhouse nodded to him as they circled. “Stiletto blade. Trained with the Tagmata?” “Here and there. Some street fights.” “I see that.” A few initial swings, no contact. “You favor the thrust.” “I find it gets the job done well enough.” First blood to Woodhouse. “If you can land it, sure. But the slashing - ah, that is more sure in the end.” He smiled. “You don’t need to…” Di Musio moved Woodhouse’s blade out of the way with his, getting a solid punch in. “Ah, a brawler.” They danced apart. “A few street fights.” “You’ve got some good strength there.” Woodhouse caught the next thrust with his offhand, twisting Di Musio’s wrist in a lock. The Commissar’s knife got a few more slashes on Di Musio before he could break free. “Ah, I see. A bull. Very strong, very stubborn.” Frederik backed up, ignoring the fire of the wounds, eyes narrowed. Stiletto probing. “You are very good.” “My world doesn’t have gunpowder. We have to be.” He grimaced, internally nodded. Began advancing, using his arm as the shield, soaking up small cuts. Woodhouse couldn’t (or didn’t) go for the the arteries, content to simply cut strips off him a centimeter at a time. Di Musio only needed to land once - even a three centimeter jab would end the fight. But Woodhouse was never there, and Frederik’s great punches were slowing down. A few did manage land glancing hits, but others were caught in Woodhouse’s joint locks and parries. Finally, Di Musio nodded. He was already starting to slip on his own blood, running down his arm in little rivulets, while he had only gotten bruises on the duelist. “Very well. If you want the job, you can have it.” Woodhouse bowed. “Very well. Let’s patch you up. What should I call you?” Frederik grunted. “Lord-Sire.” Woodhouse chuckled. “I got old, though. Couldn’t fight for you any longer, couldn’t train your men. Muscles got old.” “You were the adopted father of Ohone.” “Yes.” A pause. “Yes. How is she? Did she …” “Yes, she’s alive. Killed the Acheron incursion. She’s recovering in a nearby room.” “Can I see her?” Di Musio reached up, tapped a screen. Showed the sleeping Technomancer. “Can’t let you in there with her, for obvious reasons.” “Ah.” Woodhouse took a breath. “Yes, I suppose so.” Frederik waited, let him compose himself. “I have your blade here, when you are ready.” Another breath, Woodhouse relaxing. “Yes.” He sat up slowly. Frederik moved to the opposite side of the room, pulled his stiletto. Woodhouse raised his eyebrows. “You still favor it?” He sighed dramatically. “My lessons, wasted.” “You’ll find I’m less eager to let a blow land, these days.” “Well, there is that.” Woodhouse gripped his curved blade, smiled faintly. “It’s been too long.” “You are moving well. The drug?” “Almost certainly. As young as I was, with all the experience of now.” He chuckled. “I won’t go easy on you, Frederik. This is for real.” “You deserve no less.” They raised their blades in a salute. “Whenever you are ready, Frederik.” A faint smile. “Goodbye, Woodhouse.” “Goodbye.”
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 14:38
|
|
|
 Woodhouse
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 14:45
|
|
|
Arc 1 Frederik Di Musio The Gilded Fish A handful of Greycloaks entered the dive-bar known as the Gilded Fish, and were watched cautiously by the inhabitants. Carved into the ancient battle steel, it shows the remains of some long forgotten battle. The tables are scraps of metal and debris, polished by the centuries of oil from human hands. The bar itself is an old warhead, stripped of all its contents. It’s a very select bar, watched but not interfered with by the Grey Guards. Anamaria, the bartender, makes sure of that. It’s occupied by retainers of the Family. See, the retainers have a very stressful life. It is they who keep the Family going, do all the little tasks that keep the Family functioning. However, they fit in with no others - they aren’t Greycloaks, they aren’t mercs or church troops or Dregs. They know too much, and must say too little. As such, their only socialization - their only place of decompression - is with each other. Hence this bar. Even as the Family struggled with politics, dynastic squabbles and murder, the retainers continued their duty. Their masters may kill each other with glee and abandon, but they never fought each other, and attacking the retainers was mostly considered gauche. They served the Family after all. The retainers were gathered now, as many of them as possible, taking advantage of the quiet in the Family. They had been told to assemble and to wait. When the Greycloaks entered the room, a sigh went through them. Behind the Greycloaks, being carried on a stretcher, the recognizable form of Woodhouse. Two piercing wounds in the chest, with the second one being fatal. And behind the stretcher, the Lord-Sire himself. He watched them all without expression, pausing only to say one thing. “The Beast has lost many to the incursion, this day. Many of them cannot be mourned, heretics and cultists, traitors and mutants. Woodhouse fought them, fought for the Ship. He will be mourned. Tell the Dregs, they may mourn here, for him. In ten hours, the wake ends. His body shall be returned to the Family, among the resting place of select retainers. Honor him.” And with that, he was gone. Some of the retainers left, to tell the news to the Dregs. Others stayed, overcome.A retainer older than most of them, someone who had taught many of them all they knew. Someone who had served the Family all his life, as they had, and died for it. Such was life, for the retainers - an honorable profession, but a dangerous one. And while the retainers might not show it to the masters, it was necessary to grieve for one of their own. They poured shots, raised them. “To Woodhouse.” For the next ten hours, tens of thousands of Dregs filed through the small room. Many of them were mourning their own, to be sure - in the only place that it was permitted. But many of them were also mourning Woodhouse, the old hero, the legendary knife-fighter. Much of the styles of the Dregs, and the affectations of the retainers, were taught by him. The Lord-Sire had given no explanation of his death, and so a thousand stories immediately sprang up. He had fought the Acheron breach, and won. He had defeated a hundred cultists. He was untouchable until his blades were taken away, and he could only be harmed by them. Darius even did a serial series about him, until all truth had been forgotten. But those who knew him, those who visited the Gilded Fish, they knew the truth. That he was a good fighter, and a good man, and that he would be remembered for those reasons.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 15:02
|
|
|
Arc 1 Donatien The Church Sister Suffer and Bricellus were lying next to each other, with Donatien to the side of Bricellus. They were covered in burns and raw blunt trauma, but were alive. Donatien was insistent to be there until they recovered, were able to walk on their own. Being Church-Militant was a risky business, but he had no desire to push it beyond the necessary. He didn’t even notice Darius come in. “Hey. Hey, Donatien.” “What? Oh. Hey.” He gestured, taking in the whole scene. “What have I missed?” “I did a quick serial on Woodhouse.” “What? Why?” A pause. “Oh. We know anything?” “Nah. Standard hero motif, you know the tropes.” “Yeah.” “Carla can handle it. I wanted to see how things were here.” “Well. They are alive.” “Any internal bleeding, brain damage, permanent effects?” “The medico don’t think so.” “Good.” Darius slapped down a newspaper. “I’ll need them for interviews.” Donatien reached for it. “What’s this?” “Next issue.” Splashed across the headline: HEROES. CHURCH TROOPS DESTROY DAIMON OUTSIDE RECYCLER In smaller print: SISTER SUFFER AND BRICELLUS HELD AGAINST THE HORDES AND WON Donatien stared at him. “This … this is too much.” Darius smiled as he cut a cigar, lit it. “It’s true, too.” Donatien stared him. “What?” “Yup. Oh, not the details. The daimon got through, ended up getting killed by the Lord-Sire. But Mother Church decided that saying the recyclers had been breached would be bad optics. So, they held at the entrance, which is true. Killed several hundred cultists, which is true. Look below the fold, I got pictures. Fought the daimon, which is true. Even injured it. All that changes is the coup de grace, and the location.” Donatien looked at the two sleeping figures wordlessly. They didn’t look like daimon killers - they looked like they had picked a fight with a trash compactor and lost. Darius continued. “Between you and me, I think they held out long enough for the Lord-Sire to arrive. If they hadn’t fought like they had, who knows what would have happened.” He blinked. “Just the Lord-Sire, one on one? That’s one for the holovids.” “Right? I followed up on that angle too, but it got quashed from above. Also, not quite true. Had some Tribe members.” Donatien had to blink again. “Tribes and the Lord-Sire worked together to kill a daimon?” “I said the same thing. The exact same thing! No explanation, and given the veto. You’ll never guess who else was there.” “Uh. The Archmagi.” “Close. Ohone.” “The technomancer? The new one?” “Yup.” He paused. “We’ll need to keep an eye on her. She’s going places.” “Yup.”
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 15:18
|
|
|
Arc 1 Limosa Alpha Deck Limosa paused as he entered his private quarters. Something … was there, tickling the edge of his awareness. He narrowed his eyes, summoning his power to him like a great cloak. The maenad symbol on his forehead flared with otherworldly light, piercing shadows, highlighting the hidden. It was still concealed, but he knew exactly where it was. It stood out in the room like something without a shadow. His voice was calm, even as he readied a dozen attacks and defenses. Insanity, blindness, manias and phobias, all the dangers of a mind gone wrong. “Show yourself, you should know you can’t hide from me.” An older man appeared, backed by half a dozen figures. Well armed and armored, the gear of the death commandos. One of them had a similar sigil on her forehead, and she smiled at him, their eyes locked. They both knew the only people in the room who mattered were each other, if it came down to that. The old man spoke with the easy command of a voice long used to leadership. “Stand down, Interrogator Limosa. We just have some questions.” Limosa chuckled darkly. “The Inquisition should know all about the danger in asking questions. Who are you?” “Inquisitor Kozilek. Where is your master?” “Inquisitor Siadwell does not divulge his schedule to me. I have been told to remain here.” “And yet you have done nothing about the daimon incursion on this ship.” A brief memory, a thousand smiling dead faces. He had overseen the cleanup, after Ohone had finished looking at them. “Lord-Sire Di Musio ended the cult. Cruentus is dead.” “And yet, it is in the Recyclers of the ship, not even a kilometer from here. Why do you remain?” “I … was not aware it was still aboard.” “And had no interest in investigating it. I can see why Siadwell chose you, one heretical Inquisitor wants another.” Limosa stared at him through narrowed eyes. “Is that a formal accusation, sir? We can go to the Conclave, if you like.” Kozilek gestured dismissively. “No. Just be aware, I have eyes on you and your master both.” He casually pulled open a drawer, pulled out contents. “I see you an elf-lover, as well.” Pictures of his son. “I have worked with them from time to time.” “More than worked, seems like.” Kozilek dropped the portrait carelessly, cracking it. “Consorting with elves, consorting with Inquisitors who keep even worse company. I expect I shall be at your trial someday.” “Is that all you came for? To go through my things, make idle threats?” “No.” Kozilek met his eyes. So cold. “There are things afoot, events so large your mind would break at the knowing of them. I need to see everything you have seen. You don’t comprehend them, but the smallest fact might aid my investigation.” Limosa couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ve given that speech a hundred times myself. Do you expect it to persuade me?” “I don’t care what you believe as long as you obey. Open your mind to my Maenad, here. Show us what you have seen.” Silence as brittle as glass. Limosa calmly weighed his options, killing them or surrender. Kozilek was smiling grimly, waiting for him to make his decision.
|
|
#
?
Jul 5, 2016 17:20
|
|
|
So cold! Interesting that Kozilek is being so open with Limosa, considering how secretive he is in the =][= (many thinking he's not even real)...
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 00:13
|
|
|
That's why he can be; if Limosa tried to spill, no one would ever believe him.
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 00:16
|
|
|
Sir Unimaginative posted:That's why he can be; if Limosa tried to spill, no one would ever believe him. Also he can nerve staple him to remove those memories (as well as the capacity for rational thought and being able to feed one's self. )
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 02:19
|
|
|
Been percolating on my mind for a few days, not sure how canonical it is yet. Thoughts? Arc 2 Bricellus The Church Bricellus frowned. “Nope, I don’t believe it.” Sister Suffer smiled at him. “Why not? Securing the supply lines are vital for the war effort.” “No, not that.” He gestured. “Over a hundred million troops moving in support? It’s impossible.” Her tone was serene, teasing. “The might of the Empress is unlimited.” “But physics are not. You can’t fit a hundred million people on an island that size. I bet there are only five million inhabitants.” “Off by a thousand.” Bricellus raised an eyebrow. “Five million and one thousand inhabitants?” “Five billion, give or take.” “Nope, still don’t believe it.” “It’s bigger on the inside than the outside.” “Nope.” “It’s true. Your teachers were amiss if they didn’t tell you that vital fact.” “You were my teacher.” “And you clearly weren’t listening.” “You spent all of our time on chainsaw drills.” “Which you would know if you hadn’t been sneaking off and looking at the books of the priests.” He stared at her. “That - that doesn’t even connect to my main point.” She shrugged. “Really though. Some places are larger on the inside.” “That doesn’t even sound a little bit true.” He paused, uncertain. “I would have heard about it by now.” “You’ve been living in such a place all your life.” Bricellus spoke flatly, the doubt clear in his words. “The Beast is bigger on the inside than the outside.” “Yup. How long has it been around?” “Five hundred generations, maybe?” “Something like that. And in all that time, with a dedicated Explorer’s Guild, we don’t even have a map?” He paused. “Ships … crash into it, fall off. People change the corridors on their own.” “That much? That we don’t have a map?” Bricellus fought back. “Even if I accept your premise, why don’t people know?” “Why would people care?” “I think a central fact like that would be important!” “It isn’t. Really. There’s a million places like this. Half the spheres of the Hegemon.” “And no one talks about it?” “It’s not important to the day to day life. What does a shitfarmer care if there are more fields in his area than there should be?” “But … it should be observable. We should see people stretching, or something.” Sister Suffer chuckled. “That empiricism you read in books. Not very useful, is it.” “But we can test it, weaponize it…” “Nah. As far as we know, human intent has something to do with it. If a bunch of humans need a battlefield to support a few hundred million people, it occasionally will. But that's all we know. The transitions, if you want to call them that, seem to take time. A general in her entire career probably wouldn’t even notice.” “So … what, the maps are … just weird?” “Yup.” “But that means we can do something with it. Take a few billion people, and ….” “And what?” She smiled. “Make things bigger?” He made a face. “I feel like this should be a bigger deal than you say it is.” “Well, here’s the thing. 99% of people, they don’t even notice. Doesn’t affect their day to day lives. The rare questioning type like you, they find out about it, are shocked, and … can do nothing about it. It’s just one of those weird things.” Bricellus frowned. “Has it always been like this? I feel like I woke up in a completely different world.” “Aha, yes. That brings us to the creation myth.” “The what?” “Where everything came from. Was there a ‘before’ to the Empress?” “Well, there was the Tempus Belli Sepentis. She ended it. Told us about it.” “And destroyed everything that was written or recorded about it. Except one thing.” He blinked. “I never heard about this.” “Mostly? Because it’s very boring. It’s a singular document, the oldest document still existing. At least twenty thousand years old. Two weird facts about it: It doesn’t decay, and doesn’t need translation.” “What.” “Right? There’s a copy in most libraries. Brainy young people like you spend decades trying to figure it out, until they become cynical jaded people like me. There’s no reason to it, no explanation. It doesn't make any sense, either.” Curiosity overtook him. “What does it say?” She got up, dug through the stack of books, muttering to herself. After a few minutes: “Aha.” “Found it?” “Found my old love letters to Cruentus.” He blinked. “What?” Sister Suffer laughed. “Of course not. Here it is.” ”Dr. Gears, Report 184” posted:To those that come after us: we are sorry. Attached to the document was a picture without explanation. Bricellus looked at Suffer quizzically. “What’s this?” She shrugged. “No one knows.” 
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 18:16
|
|
|
I don't know if I'd refer to SCP that directly or even roundabout (1 I don't know their licensing and 2 I prefer to keep them at arms-length on principle) but I am pretty drat okay with the idea that we broke Creation. Putting it back in order may still be so terrible an idea that the state of things - or things that consequentially follow - may still be worth it. I doubt many people actually want entropy guaranteeing the universe will come to nothing in deep time, after all.
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:07
|
|
|
Sooo, I think I get it, but can so. E one explain that before I make a fool of myself?
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:08
|
|
|
is that the Acheron bleeding in, or the Brood?
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:19
|
|
|
Outrail posted:Sooo, I think I get it, but can so. E one explain that before I make a fool of myself? I'm not sure it's really explainable. It's almost like, rather than the leisurely light-speed pace that real-world space fettered with information can inflate to accommodate increasing information within it (corresponding to the Holographic Principle), Prometheus Cycle space can inflate promptly to accommodate things like, well, sophont life. There are conjectures you could do this with pocket dimensions in cosmological domains similar to ours, but not so seamlessly and probably not with a useful amount of control or safety. This would require that sophont life is somehow privileged among cosmological phenomena (which may tie in to why sapience, albeit typically with monstrous purpose, can arise almost spontaneously in Acheron - why should sapience be so privileged and why doesn't it arise spontaneously in standard space?) and that space-time can keep itself consistent and coherent while being deformed so dearly by its presence (which may tie in to why Acheron has FTL and time-bending properties, and indeed why it exists at all). It might also imply that exotic propulsion, Acheron-based FTL, or logical-quantum-dynamic FTL akin to what the Technocracy has at hand may be straight-up necessary just to travel from the surface of a planet to its conventional orbits or even within a space-borne monstrosity like the Beast of Traal. No projections on outcomes for mechanical/electronic computing, electromagnetic radiation (everything from light to radio), genetic engineering, prosthetic engineering, etc. just yet, but I'd be surprised if nothing interesting or staggering fell out of the cosmology for them. Also humans have ork powers, hee. dont be mean to me fucked around with this message at 20:32 on Jul 6, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:25
|
|
|
Sir Unimaginative posted:I don't know if I'd refer to SCP that directly or even roundabout (1 I don't know their licensing and 2 I prefer to keep them at arms-length on principle) but I am pretty drat okay with the idea that we broke Creation. Yeah, Im trying to manage 'tribute' vs 'outright theft' So, heres the idea. Standard scifi, galactic civilization, aliens, AI, the usual. For some reason, the first War in Heaven kicks off. What we've seen so far with the Minds has been gravitonics (gravity and time tricks). The next tier beyond that is tentatively called tessertech (again, a tribute to a Wrinkle of Time's Tesseract). That's when you get to using weird extradimensional poo poo like gridwire, Acheron, hyperspace and whatever. So this post-super-singularity society taps into this other dimension, and starts using its energy. The bleedover effect causes two things - one, Acheron. People are able to touch heaven/hell in a way they never have before, with all the consequences that follow. The other thing it causes is the folding space. Instead of having a million worlds/solar systems, Im having a million 'spheres', which fit on/in a normal planet. This nominal 'planet' is the new universe, and bunches of places on the planet have their spheres which are bigger on the inside. IE, the island of Golgotha holds five billion people, the cities of Terra and Mars are hives with trillions of people, and so on. But you can't tell that from the outside. (to clarify, at some point the Milky Way galaxy became this bizarrely pocketed super planet about 20k years before Ohone's story, with Acheron being the 'ocean') The overall goal for this is a) further distancing from 40k, and b) rule of awesome. so the question is, does this cosmology seem interesting to you? Loel fucked around with this message at 20:30 on Jul 6, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:27
|
|
|
Loel posted:The overall goal for this is a) further distancing from 40k, and b) rule of awesome. so the question is, does this cosmology seem interesting to you? Interesting, yes. Conceivable? Not so much. Comprehensible to those who aren't familiar with this thread? Unlikely. I feel like it's an awesome idea for a setting (Dr. Who TARDIS-tech meets Spelljammer crystal spheres = cool), but on the other hand, unless you really are good about introducing the ideas (which you're starting to in this last post, but really need to be introducing much earlier in SOME way, and sprinkling it throughout to reinforce the idea that this is not normalspace), it's gonna be too much for an average reader.
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:45
|
|
|
mepstein73 posted:Interesting, yes. Conceivable? Not so much. Comprehensible to those who aren't familiar with this thread? Unlikely. I feel like it's an awesome idea for a setting (Dr. Who TARDIS-tech meets Spelljammer crystal spheres = cool), but on the other hand, unless you really are good about introducing the ideas (which you're starting to in this last post, but really need to be introducing much earlier in SOME way, and sprinkling it throughout to reinforce the idea that this is not normalspace), it's gonna be too much for an average reader. Well, yes :p Going through with it means another rewrite of Arc 1. (for example, the Beast becomes a sci-fi zeppelin thing). Im seeing if the thread thinks it worth the effort. (conversations with mepstein in chat remind me that this makes the genre closer to http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/NewWeird then scifi... ) Loel fucked around with this message at 20:52 on Jul 6, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:46
|
|
|
It feels like something that wouldn't really work right unless you started writing with an eye to that cosmology, really. It reads almost like a flat planet the size of the universe; it's basically unrelated to the world as we know it. EDIT: I'm not discounting or discrediting such a concept itself; but trying to make the Prometheus Cycle fit into that seems likely to break it. EDIT 2: Also I didn't realize until that post that you were suggesting that the setting wasn't in space anymore. dont be mean to me fucked around with this message at 21:38 on Jul 6, 2016 |
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:53
|
|
|
It sounds so out there I don't think people would buy it. Having the warp be some other dimension we accessed via technology, which made humans psychic which we then used to pollute the dimension and give birth to evil gods makes more sense.
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 20:59
|
|
|
I think it's a cool concept but I don't think it's worth using here. It's neat, don't get me wrong - but what purpose will it serve in the story? None that I can tell. Keep it on the back burner, expand on it elsewhere - you can always write about more than one universe.
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 21:08
|
|
|
|
| # ? Apr 25, 2024 14:34 |
|
|
Mmkay. That seems to be the universal opinion, so Ill table the world/galaxy for now. Keeping the bleedthrough thing though, thats neat
|
|
#
?
Jul 6, 2016 21:42
|
|