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Arc 4 SoL - Tribes of the Batteries 4 - The Raiders pt 2 Tribes 1, Tribes 2, Tribes 3 Curses on sisters and the people who’d invented them! The boy raced down the passage, the bleating of ovines dogging his heels as he jumped over fungal growths and darted around obstacles. He’d never been in this part of Between before. The Circuit was well mapped, as well as something could be mapped in the Between of a space hulk, but the kids of the Tribes knew their part of the Circuit better than anyone else in the universe. The boy dashed past a section that was encrusted with ice - a sure sign of open void on the other side. Had he told Gwen that? There was so much she didn’t know yet. Panic made him run faster, but his feet landed with a surety that he didn’t feel. He felt like he was going to throw up. The distinct sound of projectile weapons and yelling was getting louder, and suddenly he nearly ran over the lost ovine, who was calmly chewing on some fungus by a biohazard sticker long forgotten by whoever had put it there. “Where is Gwen!?” he shouted at the beast, but it just turned it’s baleful eyes at him and bleated. Frustrated, the boy kicked at it and missed as he passed by. Where was she? Had he missed a turn she’d taken? He slowed down, trying to think. His brain hurt, and he rubbed his forehead, leaving a smudge between his eyes. A few steps further and he turned right, following a narrow opening into a room with variable gravity fields. He could feel it in his bones before he realized what it was, and hesitated at the entrance. Gwen turned to look at him, her hair floating around her as she spun in a gentle circle at the center of the room. The walls were thick with intricate growths, luminescent lichens and mosses that rippled with color as sound touched them. “Look!” she called, and the walls between them shifted through all the colors between green and violet. He gaped at her, and she giggled, the lichen above her turning pinkish and then settling back to yellow. The mosses on the further side of the room were pulsing red at regular intervals. “Come t’ me Gwen,” the boy called. “Th’ way ya went in, hear me?” In some spots there was nothing growing, while in others the moss floated high, like just below where his sister floated. “It’s so pretty,” she said, her voice high and small. The boy’s heart thumped in his chest, and he stared at the floor, trying to figure out how she’d gotten that far in. He reached a foot in tentatively, and pressed it down on the spongy moss. It sprang back into shape when he retreated, which meant she’d left no footprints to follow. “C’mon Gwen,” he whined, “Ya gotta come back here.” The boy took a full step into the room, and then grit his teeth and walked in a straight line right to where the mosses grew tall underneath his sister. He reached a hand into the lower gravity and grabbed her foot just as the door on the opposite side banged open. Gwen shrieked, the organic light around them glowing orange and yellow as a monster stepped into the room. Gas mask in place, armored and armed with an autogun that was nearly bigger than Gwen, the Abrogate surveyed what it found in front of it. The boy yanked on Gwen’s ankle pulling her out and on top of him as the Abrogate lifted it’s weapon and fired. The projectile passed overhead as the two siblings struggled to separate and get to their feet, Gwen sobbing now and clinging to the boy while he tried to pull her the way he’d come in. It was too late. They were gonna die. The sound of autoguns and screaming was gone, whatever had happened was over, but this Abrogate was gonna murderize them and he had let Gwen get away and lost, an’ it was all his fault and Da was gonna kill him if Gwen got hurt, an’ Ma would never be happy, an’ the Abrogate Tribes were gonna kill ‘em all starting with them! The boy stared at the monster with wild eyes, shoving Gwen behind his skinny body and throwing his hands out as if he could stop a bolter with them. His eyes tracked to a place where the moss didn’t grow. The Abrogate aimed and his finger tightened on the trigger again. He was just cleaning up this section. Tribe Painful-Concordance-Purges-The-Unholy had sent a raiding party and kidnapped some of the Abrogate women, to force them into their cult ceremonies. The Tribe had been purged as punishment. The Abrogates could take over this Battery as well, as Saint Fabyian would want them to do. The Dragon of Traal must run smoothly, and there was no place for emotion, or screaming, or ...anything at all. Only duty. The old Tribes were remnants that would soon be swept away. The trigger pulled back - and the boy yelled. Something, anything. Pure fear and rage, and the Abrogate monster was yanked forward into one of those ominous blank spots. It’s armor crunched down like an old tin can as the immensely heavy gravity took it down. Gwen didn’t see, she was running to the door behind the boy, but he saw. Did… did he do that? Terrified, he ran out after his sister, took her hand, and didn’t stop running until they were back to where the runaway ovine had decided it was going to live forever on it’s own. It didn’t appear to be happy to see them, but he put Gwen on it’s back and led them both toward the Place of Sleeping while his legs shook.
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Jul 22, 2016 19:34
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This is some good stuff holly! I feel like you are catching the sense of scale that this thread is known for.
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Jul 22, 2016 19:41
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Seconding the praise. This is some great stuff, hol. It's cool seeing things from a fresh perspective, especially the wide-eyed wonder and terror of a child.
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Jul 22, 2016 19:49
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 Thanks!Putting all this horror through the lens of a kid is... fun, to be honest. I really like taking a known story and showing another perspective, I'm glad you do too!
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Jul 22, 2016 19:58
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I like the chaos of war going on there. Nobody really knows what's going on but by drat they're going to do thing that there supposed to do. At some point they might even figure out what their orders are, or what the order are trying to accomplish.
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Jul 22, 2016 19:58
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Slice of Life: Bank of Mars Vaultworld Eta Vulpecula II, Northern Galactic Overquadrant +++Update Type: Standard Operating Procedure Adjustment+++ +++Update Scope: Ubiquitous+++ +++Update Priority: Immediate, Priority 1+++ +++Issued By: Comptroller-General, Bank of Mars+++ +++Content Follows+++ Subsequent to cataclysm on Terra, all Hegemon-Technocracy treaties are considered void. Adherence to terms of such is no longer required by Technocracy law. Henceforth the Terran Denar is no longer accepted as valid, endorsed currency by the Bank of Mars. Martian Denar coinage is to be phased out in favour of the newly-minted Martian Sesterce on all Martian Technocracy worlds and installations. All future transactions shall use the Martian Sesterce or equivalent in precious minerals or metals. ------ >>Athenian Technocracy Quantum Communications Node E-3716<< >>Protocol Update: Finance & Foreign Policy<< >>From: Bank of The Aethenium<< >>To: All Registered Retail & Merchant Houses<< To counter asset endorsement problems and hostile manipulation of the Athenian stock exchange, the Athenian Obol is the only recognised currency within Athenian space. In light of ongoing border expansion and prosecution of hostilities against the fanatic Hegemon and Hegemonist Technocracy, their currency carries no guarantee of endorsement within Athenian space. Commodities remain an acceptable equivalent. Traders with grandfathered import/export warrants are permitted to trade outside of Athenian borders after presenting them for review in person on Vaultworld Muspell. Failure to register a warrant in this manner may lead to smuggling charges and forfeiture of all assets.
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Jul 22, 2016 21:23
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I think Loel should consider you getting a co-author line once this is ready for submission, Hex. You contribute a ton that's always great to read.
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Jul 23, 2016 02:34
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On Technomancer Speech To the layperson, to maenads, to Imperial Tagmata, Technomancers sound like their voices have been distorted when speaking with non-Technocrats. When speaking to each other, they change to a strange buzzing, hissing, static with occasional shrieking. This is not well-tolerated in the long term to anyone outside the Technocracy, of course. There is some debate as to whether this is intentional. However, their language between each other is extremely complex. Most Technomancers orate through a speaker built into their mouths or throats, and have spoken in esoteric programming languages for millennia. Over the centuries, even this became cumbersome; it was when sophisticated-enough cogitators became widely available that it was possible to coax the machine spirit into translating the real speech of binary - ones and zeros, a group of which comprising a single character, but delivered in a certain noise at a certain frequency and decibel - and eliminating the need for multiple languages altogether. Today, most technomancer initiates, or blackthumbs, learn as much binary as they can when transitioning out of the languages of their childhood. This is mainly as a backup; cogitator chips have become sufficiently advanced that, after a brief and awkward stage, even the newest of initiates can speak fluently to their peers. Of course, that speech is at a wide range of frequencies and consists largely of static, hissing, beeping, and occasional shrieks. It also flows much, much differently than any spoken word; a technomancer can speak on multiple frequencies at once, and often do so, creating a multi-layered, rapid form of communication that is also very secure, due to the arcane arts of PGP. In this way, an entire conversation can be held in seconds; long lectures often take minutes, and deliver a massive amount of information, and without the proper access codes, even other technomancers cannot access it. This is seen as normal and reasonable, in the highly-secretive Technocracy. cat_herder fucked around with this message at 04:09 on Jul 23, 2016 |
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Jul 23, 2016 04:04
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LivesInGrey posted:I think Loel should consider you getting a co-author line once this is ready for submission, Hex. You contribute a ton that's always great to read.  I'm honoured that my contributions thus far have been so appreciated and well-received. Thank you.^^^^: C_H that is a brilliant bit of crunch wrapped in fluff there, and exactly how I've been imagining Techie communications and linguistics. Nice touch with the arcane art of PGP too.
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Jul 23, 2016 14:21
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 Eventually I want to build a shared universe with multiple authors, Star Wars style
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Jul 23, 2016 18:22
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On the Cruac Elfin elucidation on Tartarus is sparse enough at the best of times. Their secrecy regarding the labyrinthine network of wormhole-like tunnels criss-crossing the galaxy and on the technology they used to create, stabilise and secure that artificial dimension is one of the more infuriating elements of human-elf interaction, especially for those Technomancers who have strived over the millennia to replicate or mimic the phenomenon. Even scarcer than solid technical data or even maps or the locations of access points is reliable information on that faction of their race which seems to have made Tartarus their home. The Cruac are spoken of with mythic reverence and awe by elfkind when mentioned at all. Cryptic references to "the guardians out of time", "the ebon host" and a veritable litany of phantasmagorical descriptions and fables are all the information that humankind has managed to accrue on them. There are a mere handful of human accounts of encountering the Cruac, including an apocryphal tale involving dire warnings given in person to the Immortal Empress when she headed a project to create stable wormhole technology almost ten thousand years ago. The few remaining accounts read like something out of the febrile nightmares of maenads one step from prescribed euthanasia, with blurred shapes moving too fast for the eye to follow, relentless hunters stepping through containment fields, ghostly sword-dancers moving with supernatural precision and agility, and horrific beasts skulking out of the darkest corners of space and time to punish trespassers into their dominion. There exist a few unfounded accounts, impossible to verify, of notable figures during times of great tumult being extended invitation by Cruac heralds for the purpose of cooperation to some arcane or obscure end important to the future of both elfkind and humanity but they are mostly held to be flights of fancy penned by biographers and more imaginative historians.
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Jul 23, 2016 20:09
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Arc 2 A Limerick at the Battle of Golgotha The Tribes are some very odd dorks. They shun slurry in favor of porks. But Golgotha's a mess, And I'd like to address, Their Meatbeasts are turning to Orks!
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Jul 26, 2016 19:54
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 nicely done
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Jul 27, 2016 12:08
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Slice of Life: Brother Bricellus. Location: The Dragon of Traal, Black Priesthood Seclusium "Your Grace?" Nothing. "Your Grace." Brother Claudius cleared his throat. He loomed in the doorway like a giant, watching Bricellus as he hunched over a lectern and a massive, hidebound tome. Bricellus was mumbling something, and from time to time he frenziedly scrambled through a pile of scrolls and other grimoires before going back to the larger one. He had yet to respond to Claudius. "Bricellus!" Claudius finally barked after standing in the doorway for two minutes straight. Bricellus stiffened and whirled to look over his shoulder, still muttering under his breath. Claudius couldn't make out what was being said. except the words "Suffer" and "soon." Bricellus met Claudius' gaze and straightened up, seeming to shake himself out of the obsessive focus he had been overcome with, and reached up to run gloved fingers through his hair, tidying it and scraping it into a ponytail. Claudius' intense blue eyes had this quality about them that made even Bricellus' zeal look tame, but it was not a religious fervour that had drawn Claudius to the church. He had served as a Deacon under Bricellus for many years and his capacity for the bloodiest work and his skill at ending men had led Bricellus to subject him to the Initiation Rites of the Black Priesthood. "What is it, Claudius? I'm busy." Already Bricellus' eyes were drifting sidelong to glance at the scrolls and books, and the bags under his eyes implied a distinct lack of rest spanning several days. "Your Grace, the others are concerned for your health. Friar Tomas tells me you haven't taken so much as a bowl of soup in four days, nor sleep in even longer." Claudius' eyes even now held that glare, that almost stimulant-crazed intensity, despite the measured tone with which he addressed his mentor. "Bah. I've more important matters to attend than food and sleep, but if it will stop the interruptions, send Tomas in with some bread and meat, then instruct the others that I am NOT to be disturbed. She needs to come home. Now, out." He waved Claudius off with an angry flick of his wrist and turned once more back to the books. "Yes, she'll be home again soon."
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Jul 28, 2016 00:27
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Its a healthy obsession 
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Jul 28, 2016 00:33
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Slice of Life: Manufactorum World Wayland I. Location: Eastern Galactic Overquadrant The auguries had failed, there had been no outward indications of unidentified vessels within the Wayland system. Diagnostics were already underway all across the manufactorum world. Homunculi, their taskmasters and diagnosticians swarmed all over the augur arrays and were rigorously testing everything from the wideband scanning apparatus to the data interlinks and power couplings. Something had the manufactorum world's upper echelons scared, and everyone could feel it. Furthermore, all it took was a simple glance skyward to see what it was, though enhanced optics were necessary to see the full breadth of it. There, on Wayland Ia, the first of its two moons, was a new mountain range, turned perpetually to face the planet. The significance of the mountain range became evident when one took into account the fact that it did not exist twenty-four hours previous, and took into account the fact that until that time, Wayland Ia had not been tidally-locked, having its own seventeen hour rotational period. Now, however, there for even the lowliest menial to see, were three words, writ large on the surface of the moon. "We are coming." Unknown to the menials and kept from most of the lesser Technomancers, there was also a far more detailed message embedded in every satellite still operational. "Superstitious panderers to the Hegemon, know that your heresy and your crimes against science and truth will not go unpunished much longer. The days of fearful cowering and obeisance to the souls of the tools that should serve are over. Prepare yourselves, for one day soon we shall descend and show you a glimpse of what humanity is capable of. We shall show you what you, in fear and superstition and limp submission to the Hegemon have denied not only yourselves, but all of mankind." Hexenritter fucked around with this message at 02:01 on Jul 28, 2016 |
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Jul 28, 2016 01:56
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Current status: Busy as gently caress. Moving this weekend (to a real apartment! yay!), had my mom visiting from Boston, got a flat tire and flat spare, midterm monday, got listed for graduation Aug15 (if I dont fail the final), cat-sitting my friend's cats (one needed to go to the ER), and the VA is cycling me through job searching starting Monday (my glasses broke a few days ago, which will be fun). Also, Stranger Things on Netflix is pretty good.
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Jul 29, 2016 21:20
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Congrats on the apartment (and hopefully congrats on graduating). You're almost done with all the basic bullshit so the thread can collectively crack the whip at you again 
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Jul 29, 2016 22:32
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Loel posted:Current status: Busy as gently caress. Good luck!
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Jul 30, 2016 02:00
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Shout-out to Cat-herder, who has helped index the Arc 5 posts. There are so many Ive had to use a third OP Thanks Cat-herder!
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Jul 31, 2016 05:01
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I'm p close to done with arc 5, probably gonna knock that out tmw. I'd do it tonight but migraine  Does the VA cover eyeglasses? Or do you have to order them from California or Hong Kong?
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Jul 31, 2016 10:26
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cat_herder posted:I'm p close to done with arc 5, probably gonna knock that out tmw. I'd do it tonight but migraine Eyeglasses are not expensive if you order them online. I use zennioptical and got 3 sets for less than the 50 bucks I payed for the eye exam.
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Jul 31, 2016 12:48
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Yup, VA covered exam and glasses, they are just shipping from Narnia. So will be here in a few weeks.
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Aug 1, 2016 00:10
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I have heard tell of these strange eye-fancies from my ex-military father who, despite English not being his first language, had a colorful way of describing them. Pray, do they still function as a facial contraceptive?
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Aug 1, 2016 01:05
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Yup, the ones you get at bootcamp are awful. I broke mine on the grenade range for some reason  pictured: not me. After bootcamp, the VA gives you much more normal looking ones. Loel fucked around with this message at 03:32 on Aug 1, 2016 |
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Aug 1, 2016 02:32
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Loel posted:Yup, the ones you get at bootcamp are awful. I broke mine on the grenade range for some reason For a second I was wondering why you were posting a pic of Rick Moranis lol Glad to know at least some of the stories are true.
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Aug 1, 2016 08:33
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Loel posted:Yup, the ones you get at bootcamp are awful. I broke mine on the grenade range for some reason  they really do try to break down every bit of your ego and personality, I see. Do they confiscate your civvie pair before you go in?also the table of contents is DONE! So you can finish posting it whenever you get the chance. I also found the Book 2 doc and I'm itching to start working on it. Pay me whatever seems reasonable + cute Ohone and Fabiyan stuff.
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Aug 1, 2016 09:49
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cat_herder posted:
Indeed! Your civilian clothes (phone, wallet etc) all go in a storage bag you get at the end.
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Aug 1, 2016 21:00
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For what it's worth the newer bcgs basically just look like normal glasses these days, within the last three or four years they changed them to not be complete embarrassments.
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Aug 3, 2016 16:34
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rabble rabble new corps soft corps rabble
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Aug 3, 2016 19:38
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Loel posted:Yup, VA covered exam and glasses, they are just shipping from Narnia. So will be here in a few weeks. I'm not going to google maps that in case it ruins the fantasy. Are they Faun made? What's the shipping like on cross-dimensional post?
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Aug 3, 2016 20:43
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Outrail posted:I'm not going to google maps that in case it ruins the fantasy. Are they Faun made? I have no idea, I dont pay Takes like 6 weeks to arrive though, I have no explanation as to why.
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Aug 3, 2016 22:38
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Loel posted:I have no idea, I dont pay The White Queen's customs bureaucracy is a terrible and deep thing.
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Aug 4, 2016 19:54
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Loel posted:Yup, the ones you get at bootcamp are awful. I broke mine on the grenade range for some reason Good old BCGs I still have my pair from Basic kicking around.
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Aug 5, 2016 08:14
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last paper of my bachelor’s degree done. Got a final on the 15th. Drunk as gently caress. Arc 6 You raised your eyebrows. “Really guys?” They seemed to hesitate. You continued. “You recognize the face, right? Ohone? I found the STC. Killed Typhus. The High Lords have me on the short list of people to join them.” A voice, unsure. “She’s dozens of AU out. In the Mars belt.” You scoffed. “Please, you don’t think I can travel that fast? I found an STC.” A different voice. “She does look like the pictures boss.” “Shut up.” You rolled your eyes. “Okay, look. I was killing a Herald of the Great Enemy not even a week ago. I’ve got Fabiyan here. I’ve got a dozen nephilim here. This is the dumbest thing you could be doing.” Another pause. “We don’t see any nephilim.” “Well, yeah. Last thing people see before they die is a nephilim. Do you want to see a nephilim?[/i]” “I guess not.” The first voice again: “By the Empress, you are gullible. She’s alone! Loaded with gear!” You nodded agreeably. “Yes, think about that. Someone confident enough to walk down here, alone, loaded with gear. Do you think a person like that would have any difficulty killing a person like you?” A long pause. The sound of weapons clattering to the floor. “Gotta agree with her, boss.” “..Dammit.” A figure stepped forward. The functional clothes of a hive fighter, his expression disdainful. “It looks like I am surrendering to you, thanks to these lowlifes. For my sins, you can call me Delling.” Fabiyan spoke from the shadows; they jumped involuntarily. “Oh good, I would have so hesitated to kill you all.” One of the figures pointed at him. “It’s the Saint!” Delling rubbed his face. “Of course it is. Well, Mistress Ohone, since it appears to actually be you. How can I be of service?” You had to smile. “Take me to your leader.”
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Aug 11, 2016 16:09
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Best night for CYOAs in a long time!! Congratulations on the end of the semester!
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Aug 12, 2016 04:10
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Slice of Life: Brother Bricellus. Location: The Dragon of Traal, Technomancer Genetorium Bricellus and half a dozen homunculi approached the ornate and sizeable bulkhead door, which was covered in exposed, intricately interlinked gears. As he approached, an articulated limb emerged from a hole in a nearby wall. Affixed to the end was a human skull, coated in brass and with dull red optics illuminating the orbits. +++Identity confirmed. Bricellus Feyn, de-facto Cardinal of the Black Priesthood, Master of the Household Guard. State your purpose.+++ It spoke with the usual droning, subfrequency-laden buzz of a Technomancer, its optics scanning behind him briefly with a wide, thin beam of light that swept over the cargo the homunculi were pushing on wheeled transit sleds. He folded his arms across his chest, fingers curled into casual fists. "This delivery is expected. Confirmation code Myrrdin Six-One-Six." He said without looking at the gatekeeper mimir. His eyes remained on the door and as the tens of thousands of gears began to move, so too the door began to slide open. Each gear appeared to be part of the opening mechanism, ranging in size from a few millimetres across to great platters a metre across. The door was a masterpiece of engineering, though it took longer to open than Bricellus would have liked. When it clanged into its housing the homunculi chittered in response to some mutually-received instruction and pushed the large transit sleds onward. Each sled contained dozens of cubes with illuminated life support panels, each cube containing an extracted elfin brain and stem. Bricellus met a Technomancer who sported four large dendrite appendages jutting up from his back. They arced forward over his broad shoulders and the metallic fingers grasped and pinched almost in anticipation. "I also have a request. I require a copy of a crewmember's full genetic template. The details are on this dataslate." He produced the device from the folds of his greatcoat and the Technomancer took it with one set of grasping digits. A small snaking cable made its way out of the appendage and interfaced with it. +++Crewmember template located. F-021,937,379,251. One moment. Verifying clearance...Done. Expect delivery of secured data within one standard hour.+++ Bricellus turned without another word and smiled to himself. Yes, soon.
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Aug 13, 2016 00:47
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Rules 1 through 3 are "Do not give a Commissar reason to kill you", "especially don't give Commissar-General Fabiyan Konichev reason to kill you", and "seriously, have you seen him lately, don't piss him off". I expect all these rules will be broken in quick order while we're on Terra :v
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Aug 13, 2016 19:31
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A rule is only broken if you get caught.
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Aug 13, 2016 21:29
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Arc 6 It was a quiet journey - Fabiyan didn’t seem inclined to talk, and the Nephilim rarely spoke at the best of times. And the random dregs that had attempted their ambush seemed rather in awe of the whole thing. Not surprisingly, really. How often did someone meet a Saint? You took it as your due, and focused on your surroundings. The tunnels had been carved from massive slabs of granite, and you could see the markings of millennia of digging. Chips of iron were brushed up against steel drill heads, and a few meters from them the remnants of sonic coring devices. It gave you a feeling of age far more than anything you had ever experienced on the Beast, and even the reservoirs on Golgotha had nothing on it. From time to time you passed large machines, air purifiers and ventilation systems. A cursory whisper to them showed that these tunnels were hundreds of degrees warmer when left to their own devices. You were fairly sure you were somewhere between ten-fifteen kilometers below what could nominally be called the surface of Terra, and you briefly wondered why Athena (Loki?) had sent you here of all places. As the tunnels opened up, you began to see other people - workers, for the most part. Delling rounded up a couple vehicles for your retinue (with the Nephilim on large flatbed trucks), and you were soon driving at speed. The headlights of the vehicles couldn’t see the edges of some of the caverns that you drove through. Ancient quarries, perhaps, or long-gone waters. It could almost be said to be a road system, going ever on and ever deeper into the crust of the planet. You began to get a headache, your thoughts feeling fuzzy, and tried to shake it off. None of your systems were reporting any corruptions - it appeared to be purely psychosomatic. It didn’t seem to be affecting anyone else, anyway. After about 45 minutes, Delling took one particular turn, began hugging a roadway that looked over a ravine with a bottom you couldn’t even see. The trucks slowed down, then, ensuring a certain amount of caution. You were … pretty sure? You would survive a fall like that. You had survived worse. But Delling had no such expectations, and had cut his speed accordingly. The drive continued for hours, and the only sound was the engines echoing off the distant walls.
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Aug 14, 2016 23:01
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