The Light After the Dusk

All conflicts between Client's must be registered with the Nexus Conflict Board, and should follow the rules of conflicts as stated.

Moderator: Roleplay Master

Forum rules
RRP Forum: RRP Rules
User avatar
Pie
Level 6.1
Level 6.1
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Feb 04, 2019 1:56 am
NS Nation (Prefix): Dominion
Nexus Client: Piethrixia
Client Tech Level: A3
Client Leader: Admiral Jacob Daniels
Client Councillor: Admiral Jacob Daniels
Client Species: Piethrixian
Location: Canada
Been thanked: 2 times
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Pie » Tue Jun 11, 2019 11:10 pm

Gleam | Sierra Seven | Hangar

The Leftenant walks back into the hangar after quickly running back to the Barracks, He is now wearing a pair of grey Khakis with a light blue dress shirt with Slip-ons indicating his rank. above the right breast pocket, a small blue nametag with the name DANIELS in white lettering sits, the left breast pocket has six Small Ribbons with various colours for various awards. When he reaches the Dropship that he and his section are using, he slips on a Plate carrier and has one of the Exoskeletons put onto him, he grabs his Special Forces P7 and the suits PE47 hooks into it automatically, storing it on his back until he needs to use it to fire later on. He then puts his P47 into its holster on the front of his plate carrier, and his PB11 on his side holster. He hooked his 15 grenades to the hooks on the plate carrier. After doing that all he steps into the Dropship.

User avatar
Phorcys
Level 6.1
Level 6.1
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Jan 07, 2019 6:53 pm
Nexus Client: The Confederation of Swarms
Client Tech Level: A1
Client Leader: Confederal Consensus
Client Councillor: 0992904-Interlocutor
Client Species: Oizys
Location: United Kingdom
Been thanked: 1 time
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Phorcys » Wed Jun 12, 2019 9:03 am

Sierra Seven,
The Hanger, Floor -1


"Well the symbols on this..." the slow-metabolising softworlder begins to drawl in response in its slow-moving speech "...indicates that I am subservient to a very specific Clan among my people..." The resultant clicks synthesised by its translator device are difficult to understand. Each must be parsed one by one in isolation and connected to the next - rather than simply understood, in the natural split-second rattle of oizys limbs.

0119859-Taskgroup-Commander reflects on the efficiency of oizys stridulation next to the crude undulations of the respiratory tract with which all alien bilaterals seem to communicate. It parallels the efficiency-differential between the information-dense geometric-mathematical patterns of Confederal script - and the arbitrary complexity of these alien symbols. Oizys are more parsimonious in all things.

The Qorsikan gestures to a piece of fabric next. A vague blur of colour to 0119859's eyespots, but presumably something of greater clarity to the alien's elaborate ocular structures. "This tells other people..." Again 0119859 is being treated to the same information as many a time before. Aliens endlessly explicate what symbols mean - but not how. He is no translator, it is not that he hopes to decode their precise meanings - but why, even when told their content, can he not intuit the pattern-logic of their structures?

"...that I have no clan and am adopted by the ruling clan..." This elicits a different kind of discomfort when 0119859-Taskgroup-Commander realises what it means - and he recoils with indignation to realise he is speaking to a kinless dreg. The Qorsikan has no kin-group, the translation tells him, and is bound to the service of another instead. He is a slave, then? No different from the brood-separated stock 0119859 brought with him from Phorcys. It is reminder enough of his fallen fortunes that he must work for aliens to survive - but even worse that he must now consort with their slaves!

"This one from Confederation of Swarms" in a rapid movement he stabs a pereiopod at the closest thing he has to a symbol on his armour - the full name of the Confederation etched in Glyphic-



-which, come to think of it, he gouges out with the bladed point of his armoured pereiopod-gauntlet. He points instead to the name of his Kin-League, rendered in Western script-



"This one spawn-scion of Kin-League Phonotaxis. Eminent-greatest of Western Kin-Leagues" he boasts, trying to impress his status upon this alien, who it seems will not have intuited the significance of 0119859's rank from his unadorned armour. "Before war" he adds in bitter concession. "On Phorcys this one command-controlled hundreds of resource-lives. Tribute-trafficked thousands of slaves. Mated always-whenever desired. Will not engage in dialogue with kinless slave!"

0119859 does not wait for the Qorsikans' translator to convert his outburst into alien undulations. He stalks off, setae still bristling with the indignity of the encounter, and clicks for 0117771-Kinguard to follow him out. 0119859 will be sure not to approach these Qorsikans again - it was both an unprofitable exchange and a humiliating one. He desires to learn of alien secrets and alien ways - but at what cost? And not only to his pride. What effect might it have on his authority if the Meridians learn he has treated with a slave? He can only trust in their incuriousness to prevent them from finding out...

7133707-Combatant is unsettled enough listening to the Westerner converse with aliens in his inscrutable Western language - betraying all their secrets and weaknesses to them, for all he knows.

But what makes his spiracles flare uncomfortably in his suit is when he realises the 'Xahian' bipeds are scrutinising him. It takes him a moment to parse their unfamiliar body language, but 6206614-Barracks-Master has impressed upon them many times before the importance of understanding the enemy's sensory capabilities - and he knows bilaterals posses a limited cone of sensory perception, extending from the upper mass that tops their central endostructure. And if that is the case, it is unmistakable that the aliens are looking directly at them.

"Asset-ally" 6206614-Barracks-Master clicks brusquely, sensing his agitation. "Follow. To dropships".

"Armoured-aliens make threat display" 7133707's limbs writhe with mounting aggression. "Cannot trust. Cannot fight with".

"This one concurs" 6206614's contractiles ripple and cloacae clench at their evident probing too. "But cannot fight-face now - automated defences kill. Consider-plan more carefully. Possible can kill if alien isolated on battlefield. But not now"

6206614 clicks through them again. Though their armour is thicker and denser than any oizys manufacture - inside their forms are as feeble and inefficient as the rest of these softworlders. So many large, vulnerable-looking organs so close to the surface of their delicate dermis, their brittle sounding endotissues. The massive organ sitting in the upper mass is enclosed behind barely a fraction of the thickness of an oizys cuticle. Their central organ mass is barely enclosed at all by that tenuous cage-structure.

6206614-Barracks-Master does not believe they are threatened. But 7133707-Combatant does not have the experience of 6206614's fourteen years - the impetuous ten year old has already bounded towards the Xahians, stridulating a chittering warning cry.

An almost three metre wide hulk of rippling hydrostatic muscle and clenched exoskeleton thick as tank armour crashes in front of them. "Do not threaten this one alien-softworlder-weaklings' 7133707 trills as he rears up on four pereiopods, towering the full weight of his central mass above the Xahians in a show of dominance.
Last edited by Phorcys on Thu Aug 29, 2019 5:14 pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Oizys of the Confederation of Swarms
A dysfunctional kratocracy of aggressive, hyper-sexual hermaphrodites

Post-Humanity and the Church of Autology
A transhumanist cult of precursor worshipping evangelists

The Great Ones of the Cryojovian Volume
An advanced post-civilisational race of solitary space nomads

The Ecdysite of the Heterarchy
A post-apocalyptic bronze-age tribe plagued by the resurrected monsters that haunt their DNA

User avatar
Xah
Councillor
Councillor
Posts: 642
Joined: Mon Jan 25, 2016 11:04 pm
NS Nation (Prefix): The Morthanveld Polity of
Client Tech Level: A2
Client Leader: Ancient One
Client Councillor: Speaker
Client Species: Morthanveld
Location: --
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Xah » Thu Jun 13, 2019 7:18 am

Sierra Seven, The Diamond Mountains
The Hanger, Floor -1


The Xahians had just turned away and were heading for their dropship, making light comments and jokes in the manner of soldiers all over the multiverse before a mission, when the young oizys came charging towards them, bellowing its loud and piercing cry. Gene-selected warriors were trained from birth with two main characteristics; calmness under pressure, and the ability to switch on aggression at a moment's notice. With little else to do in a day other than drill and practice, it was something they prided themselves on. However, not only were the oizys very alien, they were also very large, and when one came bounding across the hangar, issuing a loud sound, only the most seasoned of the Xahian Warriors did not instantly react in a manner appropriate to their training.

Two dozen flechette rifles fired as the oizys reared up, its spoken warning understood by none of the soldiers. The 10 cm long depleted uranium shards struck the armoured bulk and, for the most part, did very little damage. Many merely shattered on impact, their energy expended against the thick exoskeleton, whilst more than a few stuck into the chitin like nails. The Paladins, with their greater levels of experience, were not as trigger-happy, but they still raised their heavier weapons. Cp Tomas was one of the best; he'd served in combat zones up and down the Nexus, on worlds of all types, against foes of varying types, but the oizys were totally unique. In the split-second that his Warriors opened fire, he noticed the lack of penetration from their standard weapons, weapons designed to be effective against soft targets in infrastructure critical areas, but also noticed the lack of response from the other aliens, the careful manner in which the oizys had stopped and not engaged, and the expression of pure panic on the face of the Leader. It didn't take long to realise this was a dominance display, the call some kind of threat or warning. It also didn't take long to realise that dominance displays were important. That one needed to respond in kind, lest one be perceived as weak.

In almost slow-motion, Tomas watched as Sp Jai began to wave his arms, a call to 'cease fire' coming from his lips and the Warrior made a decision. The Umka power-amour had some highly advanced targeting systems, capable of identifying weak points in a structure, or translating visible rank symbols for precision shots, or even tracking moving targets independently of the operator. The oizys was too alien however, too much of an unknown, so Tomas aimed his gauss rifle at what he hoped was a non-critical part of the large alien, and fired.

The Tesla Gauss Rifle was mainly an anti-armour weapon. It used magnetic fields to accelerate a projectile to high speed, in this case a 4 cm diameter armour-piercing fin-stabilized discarding sabot, made of the same depleted uranium as the Xahian small-arms. It left the barrel at close to 4000 meters a second, the crack of the shot echoing around the hangar, and crossed the short distance to the oizys almost instantly. Even the thick exoskeleton of the oizys couldn't resist the impact of a shell designed to penetrate fortified bunkers.

Time returned to normal speed for Tomas and the increasingly frantic shouts of the Leader had managed to get the Warriors to stop shooting. Jai looked at the Paladin leader with a mix of both shock and anger.

"What?" said the soldier.

User avatar
Pie
Level 6.1
Level 6.1
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Feb 04, 2019 1:56 am
NS Nation (Prefix): Dominion
Nexus Client: Piethrixia
Client Tech Level: A3
Client Leader: Admiral Jacob Daniels
Client Councillor: Admiral Jacob Daniels
Client Species: Piethrixian
Location: Canada
Been thanked: 2 times
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Pie » Thu Jun 13, 2019 3:20 pm

Gleam | Sierra Seven | Hangar

The Piethrixian Soldiers watch as a Xahian soldier fires a heavy anti-armour weapon at an oizys. Private Smith removes his anti-tank beam from his back and aims it towards the remaining Oizys, the weapon giving off a slight hum as it charges. The remaining Soldiers either remove their P7s or their PB11s and aim them at the remaining Oizys also. Corporal Johnson magnetizes his PE47 to the Top of the dropship's door and uses it to hold his P9 steady and aimed at the Oizys.

User avatar
Oiniane
Level 5.2
Level 5.2
Posts: 33
Joined: Thu May 02, 2019 10:38 am
Nexus Client: Sinikivi
Client Tech Level: I3
Client Leader: The Empress
Client Species: Human
Location: Finland
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Oiniane » Fri Jun 14, 2019 9:54 am

Sierra Seven, The Diamond Mountains
The Hanger, Floor -1, Inside of designated dropship


All of the Sinians either flinch or rise their gaze towards the ramp they came out of, as the gunshots are heard from the hangar, the tank commander even opening the hatch to look behind him. Slight gazes are exchanged between the group, before Boris would open his mouth. "Seems like someone's nerve broke. Hilarious! Thought we'd be first ones to shoot eachother internally." Sgt. Martinez would swiftly add: "I guess... Nexus ain't that united yet. Being as fractured as any other cooperative state then. Also commendation to all for staying cool enough to not cause major issues." Boris would grin in return. "Well it's time to go out there to cause some issues! Hopefully for those ghouls though. They better not keep up from the fun due to others' trigger fingers!"

User avatar
Phorcys
Level 6.1
Level 6.1
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Jan 07, 2019 6:53 pm
Nexus Client: The Confederation of Swarms
Client Tech Level: A1
Client Leader: Confederal Consensus
Client Councillor: 0992904-Interlocutor
Client Species: Oizys
Location: United Kingdom
Been thanked: 1 time
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Phorcys » Fri Jun 14, 2019 11:41 am

Sierra Seven,
The Hanger, Floor -1


The softworlders' weapons prove as feeble as their bodies, clearly designed to destroy other softworlders - against an oizys cuticle the projectiles shatter uselessly. 7133707-Combatant trills in satisfied dominance. Clotting autosealant gel plugs the hissing perforations in his suit, and within seconds the entire volley of Xahian fire might not have happened.

"Observe-understand" 7133707 clicks multiple limbs together, all raised above his central mass to tower even further above the Xahians. "Oizys genome selective-superior to alien. Meridian genome selective-superior to oizys. This one selective-superior to all Meridians! Aliens dysgenic-inferior. Will not threaten this one!"

In the half-second it takes him to stridulate his triumph he notices another Xahian is about to raise a different kind of weapon. Having seen the hollowness of the alien threat display 7133707 scarcely reacts to it at first, besides writhing a few limbs more frenetically in instinctive defence.

It occurs too late to the impetuous ten year old to note the difference in munitions. There are too many analogues between the internals of the weapon and a Confederal coilgun - which can penetrate the weak-points of an oizys cuticle, and that projectile in its barrel is significantly larger than oizys magshot. Suddenly alert to the danger 7133707-Combatant propels himself from his pereiopods in an evasive manoeuvre, trusting the slow metabolising creature to fire before it has time to redirect its aim. In the low gravity the oizys moves with incredible speed for his size. But he has been too complacent, waited a second too long. 7133707 cannot break the laws of physics-

-and travelling at 4000 meters a second from near point blank range the sabot impacts - utterly perforating the suit, pulverising the exoskeleton and shredding the muscle underneath. Hydrostatic shock sends the oizys sprawling from its pereiopods, spasming violently. Viscous black lymph and congealing sealant spill from the rupture in the oizys' suit, chlorine gas spewing out at high pressure as it vents.

"Fool!" 0119859-Taskgroup-Commander rattles at 6206614-Barracks-Master - though he taps sub-audibly to himself in satisfaction, secretly pleased at the spectacle of the oizys who tried to kill him torn apart. He is less pleased when the Piethrixians level their entire arsenal at them. "Control your soldiers - casualties unacceptable!" 0119859 must persist in mock outrage. "Have lost four oizys and oizysform before even initial-opening operation-engagement!"

6206614's cuticle swells beneath his padded suit in anger. "If combatants had powered armour - if non-combatant 0119859 did not hoard-keep it uselessly for Kinguard and himself" he chirrups in condemning response, "7133707 would not be casualty! Now do not watch-wait! Act-rectify!" 6206614 puts down his slugger and curls his limbs back on themselves in the oizys gesture of disarmament. "Lower-desist!" he clicks at the Piexthrixians, assuming they possess translators - though the situation is too urgent to ascertain it. "Must bring 7133707 to 0219911-Bioengineer!" he chitters, scuttling to recover the downed oizys.

"Assist-transport wounded" 0119859 grudgingly commands in turn, and dutifully 0117771-Kinguard goes to aid the wounded Meridian. Were he not encased in sealed armour the scent of spilt lymph would be intoxicating, and 0117771 would fail to resist mating the vulnerable oizys in seconds - but instead his ovipositor can only squirm frustratedly in its sheath, trapped behind the cold carboplatinum of its armoured gauntlet. Even the sound of 7133707's grievous injury is titillating enough.

Though Cp Tomas tried to aim away from the centre mass, a shell designed to penetrate fortified bunkers has impacted 7133707's body, scoured his cuticle clean off and ruptured his internal tissues. The damage will rapidly compound itself with depressurisation. Sooner than that kills him he will simply asphyxiate-

-but the oizys body is preternaturally resilient, and none more so than a Meridians'. Still spasming in shock, seeping lymph from his visibly exposed insides, 7133707-Combatant staggers back to his pereiopods before the other oizys even reach him. An uncephalised nervous structure and the redundant organs of a radially symmetrical bodyplan make an oizys almost impossible to kill in a single shot - not unless it destroys the entire central mass. Lurching heavily to his wounded side, 7133707 still lifts his kinetic slugger and pulls off a burst before 6206614-Barracks-Master seizes the weapon off him. The massive calibre armour-penetrating polycarbide rounds do nothing but spark against umka armour - and 7133707's would-be dominance display is truly spent.

6206614 and 0117771-Kinguard attempt to drag the wounded oizys from the hangar, but he shakes them off in a humiliated, pain-fuelled rage, stumbling out himself with a trail of black fluids and a cloudy haze of chlorine billowing behind him.

"Remain" 0119859-Taskgroup-Commander clicks at his Kinguard in Western, and then to the aliens in Standard, "Taskgroup ready-reporting for operations. Forgive 7133707, the-" it occurs to him they will have no idea what a Meridian is, "-larger conspecifics are excitable" he settles on, hoping to defuse the tension even an oizys can intuit on alien bodyplans.


Oizys Warrens
Underneath Sierra Seven


0219911-Bioengineer is monitoring audio-echo readings from a probe delicately inserted into one of the oizysform's narrow bio-maintenance access chutes. He inspects the implanted pilot's neural jacks for heat damage and shrapnel fragments, debrides burned flesh to analyse the sockets. The mech's vocoders have been switched off, so 0219911 will not be distracted by the pilot's screeching - muffled helpfully within his armoured sacrophagus. Gently he pries dead flesh away to get at the damaged cabling of the cortical link, when-

-An entire oizys is dumped onto the medspace, lymph still spilling from a gaping wound.

"What is this?" 0219911 chitters tremulously as 6206614 strips the dying Meridian from his ruptured pressure suit.

"7133707-Combatant injure-exposed" 6206614-Barracks-Master explains. "Collapsed on ice trying to reach warren. Estimate exposure for twenty units"

"This one is scientist, not surgeon-medic"

"Valued-asset-ally is all we have. Now operate-repair"

0219911-Bioengineer clicks at the Meridian reluctantly, and even an echo-glance is enough to make his prognosis.

"7133707 already dead"

"Wound not so great?" 6206614 queries. "Oizys can endure-survive far worse".

"Does not matter. Wound survivable. Environment exposure not".

0219911 may be no medic, but he was once the Confederation's pre-eminent bio-theoretician, serving under Confederal Air-Void Control's biological research taskgroup. Oizys bodies evolved to thrive in temperatures ranging from fifty to a hundred degrees, and he has performed countless experiments analysing what happens to the body in increments less. The surface of Gleam is well below freezing. Oizys hydrostatic musculature evolved to function in the high density, high pressure environment of Phorcys. He has seen many times in the vivisectory what happens to it when exposed to anything else.

"Still breathing" 6206614-Barracks-Master insists. "Taskgroup running low on live-resources. Must attempt repair"

"Low pressure fatal" 0219911 must patiently explain. "Muscular system torn-distended from internal pressure. Every tubule haemorrhaging hydrostatic fluids. Even if muscular recovery possible - cold exposure fatal. Fluid crystallisation present-apparent in all hydrostats. Must amputate-cauterise five limbs. Even in tissue which survives, damage-deficiency permanent".

6206614-Barracks-Master fights the urge to accept 0219911's assessment. If 7133707 is as good as dead, there is no reason not to mate the wounded oizys. He fights the urge to strip from his suit. Expose his ovipositor, expose himself to the scent of spilt lymph and the taste of opened flesh and the temptation would be too great. And 7133707-Combatant must survive. He made a dominance display against the aliens - and failed. They have shown weakness enough, for the oizys to die would concede far too much. The Xahians must see 7133707 strong again, or they will think oizys easy prey.

So "this one does not trust you, dysgenic-Western-traitor" 6206614 rattles, cowing the pitifully smaller oizys. 0219911 lowers his central mass in frightened submission at the Meridian's outburst. He has no doubt the Barracks-Master might kill him.

"This one only provide-explicates biological prognosis" he pleads.

"This one senses your ovipositor twitching" 6206614 looms towards the Westerner. "This why you say 7133707 cannot be repaired? Dysgenic-weakling-dreg thinks he will kill-mate great-powerful Meridian soldier? Will not-"

"No, no!" 0219911 clicks, but he cannot hide the glistening sheen of acidic lubricant dripping from his sheath, the barb beginning to poke from it. Unlike 6206614-Barracks-Master, 0219911-Bioengineer has not left the pressurised warrens since they dug them out - and like all oizys in their own environment he is naked. With over a year since his last mating, the stench of so much lymph in every olfactory pore is more overpowering than almost anything he has ever felt. Only raw fear prevents him from plunging into the wounded Meridian's body right now.

"Then reconsider prognosis" 6206614 clicks menacingly, raising a pereiopod to the seal of his ninth limb's glove-segment - as though about to take it off-

"Possible extensive-fundamental mechanical augments can replace damaged organic systems. But possess no such resources, unless oizysform cannibalised"

"7133707 not worth oizysform" 6206614 clicks at once, without any doubt. "Unless oizysform damage irreparable?"

"Oizysform..." 0219911-Bioengineer acquires an excellent idea "...requires new occupant. Nervous integration disrupted by tissue damage around implants. Repair possible, but current pilot will operate at reduced efficiency."

A dull hammering sound comes from within the oizysform. Unable to stridulate, hardly able to move, the oizys occupant can still hear exactly what is being discussed.

"Solution optimal-apparent. Splice 7133707 in" 6206614-Barracks-Master clicks with satisfaction. He can look forward to mating the pilot now once they tear him out of that mechanical carcass. And if the Xahians feared a lone oizys charging their combined forces - they will know to truly fear when 7133707-Combatant returns in a six metre spanned body of solid carboplatinum. And with a grudge.
The Oizys of the Confederation of Swarms
A dysfunctional kratocracy of aggressive, hyper-sexual hermaphrodites

Post-Humanity and the Church of Autology
A transhumanist cult of precursor worshipping evangelists

The Great Ones of the Cryojovian Volume
An advanced post-civilisational race of solitary space nomads

The Ecdysite of the Heterarchy
A post-apocalyptic bronze-age tribe plagued by the resurrected monsters that haunt their DNA

User avatar
Ella2 6
Level 6.2
Level 6.2
Posts: 43
Joined: Mon Dec 03, 2018 1:43 pm
NS Nation (Prefix): The Spring Kawaii of
Nexus Client: The Constellation of Richia
Client Tech Level: A3
Client Species: Ellian
Location: Australia
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Ella2 6 » Mon Jun 24, 2019 8:36 am

Sierra Seven, The Diamond Mountains
The Hanger, Floor -1


Lax halted in her tracks as she heard 7133707-Combatant's stridulation. She was not sure exactly what it was in that sound that caused her to pause, but she sensed - almost on a subconscious level - a menacing undertone in the noise. One that aroused a mixture of dread and excitement from deep within her. Turning around, she watched in horror as the immense octopedal lifeform reared up on its hind legs and the Xahians before it opened fire.

"Rano! Chini!" She cried quickly, before realising that she had reverted to her native tongue in her haste, "H- Hey! S- Stop that!" But it was too late: Tomas had already raised his kinetic projector and lined up his shot with the Oizys soldier. The octopod was sent reeling back before collapsing onto the ground, writhing fiercely and spewing forth inky black blood from his wounds. The other - possibly equally alarmed - foreigners reacted by raising their own weapons at either of the offending parties.

"Blast," she cursed under her breath, before continuing in a shout, "Hold your fire! Everyone! Lower your weapons!" The other Ellians were quick to obey, though the aliens were noticeably more hesitant and took a bit more convincing. "The wounded needs medical assistance," she said. Oizys were fairly quick to react, starting towards their downed brethren at a steady lope.

But miraculously, 7133707 staggered back onto his feet before they can reach him and, in a move that brought everyone back on edge, levelled his repeater at the Xahian commander who fired the devastating shot. Thankfully, his unsteady shots only scored a glancing hit and bounced off the Umka armour harmlessly. The Barracks Master seized the weapon off of him at once and the humiliated Oizys Combatant stumbled out, an air of chlorine and injured pride trailing behind him.

0119859-Taskgroup-Commander approached her slightly. "Taskgroup ready-reporting for operations," he manages to say, "Forgive 7133707, the... larger conspecifics are excitable." Lax opened her mouth to reply, but no words came out. Instead, she allowed her jaws to close again with an audible clop.


Sierra Six, Cindering Peaks

A small fleet of some two and a half scores of warships dipped through the snow-laden clouds. The ruins of Sierra Six lay beneath them, pockmarked with craters and blackened by flames. It had only been a few short months since Castle launched their attack on the facility but, the arctic conditions had already coated the entire base in a layer of permafrost and ice, preserving the frozen devastation forevermore. On Lax's signal, the dropships broke off from the command section to being landing troops. The first operation was underway.

Rosie's troopship was the first to touch down on the outskirts of the base. The vessel hit a large patch of ice at an odd angle. For a second, it rested atop the frost but then broke through and sank deep into the snow, giving her passengers a nasty jolt as they unbuckled themselves from their chairs. The hatch slowly swung down into a ramp, crushing the powder beneath it until it could not be compacted any more. This ended up being a thirty-degree angle with the ground and the stairs that were supposed to be going down now presented themselves up like teeth.

A somewhat unsettled Rosie clambered out of the dropship with her administration section. Mace had already assembled his platoon (mainly composed of veterans who had survived the Chanveer Incident and the Rastho Prime Incident) together and was awaiting his superior. "Commander," he saluted. The pink-haired girl returned the gesture. The dropships fired their verticle thrusters and lifted off, allowing the second wave to land behind them.

Sierra Six, Cindering Peaks

G37-2 watched on calmly as the fleet of dropships swooped in to land. His control chip kicked into survival mode, but he held no real emotion to express his fear - or rather dread in this instance. This was the ninth time the white shells came in their flying machines to purge ghoul presence in the area. Strangely, the white shells never took to clearing the entire base of ghouls. Instead, they merely cleared a couple of buildings before leaving, as if to control the local ghoul population.

The truth was they were using his pack for target practice, something they had managed to figure out after the third attack. It was one reason that he still smugly considered himself to be superior to their hunters. Ghouls did not need any training after they were made. He paused slightly after that thought. No, we did need some training, he realised.

The pack's former leader, G37-1 had perished in the fifth attack, his body destroyed so completely by the white shells' weaponry that they were forced to cannibalise the corpse. G37-1 was made back in the days when the locals still retained control of the world and the fighting was at its thickest. His experience was invaluable to the pack. And now that he's gone, G37-2 was the next in seniority.

- White shells. A hundred of them. -

G37-31 was bounding back towards them at a steady lope, his lop-sided spine the result of a skirmish with the aforementioned foe. An Ellian trooper had managed to break his vertebrae with a lucky shot. The nanites in his bloodstream repaired most of the damage, reinforced the new joint and rejoined the nerves, but without any more food, they could not restore the skeleton to its former structure.

G37-2 hesitated for a split second. Previous attacks numbered no more than twenty at most. This time there was a hundred of them! This was more than a simple raid. The old tactic of scattering and reducing casualties will no longer work. Beside him, G37-49 sensed his uneasiness and shuffled to the still intact window to peer outside.

- They're coming. -

G37-2 made up his mind.

- All pack. Prepare to withdraw to the largest building in the area. We will make a stand. -
The Fifth Quadrant,
a science fiction
group/setting/region
founded by yours truly.
All players are welcome!
The Crossroads Discord,
an OOC chat/chill channel
to facilitate communication
between NS role players.
All tech tiers are welcome!
A writer of magic, fantasy & science fiction.

User avatar
Ella2 6
Level 6.2
Level 6.2
Posts: 43
Joined: Mon Dec 03, 2018 1:43 pm
NS Nation (Prefix): The Spring Kawaii of
Nexus Client: The Constellation of Richia
Client Tech Level: A3
Client Species: Ellian
Location: Australia
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Ella2 6 » Mon Jun 24, 2019 9:00 am

Sierra Seven, The Diamond Mountains
The Research Facility, Floor -4


William turned to the taller woman and gave a small nodded. "Of course," he agreed, "but do tell me what you already know. I'd hate to waste time by going over old ground." The Qorsikan quickly outlined the main points regarding the ghouls in Lax's briefing. "Well, it seems like you know all the basics," he concluded, "in terms of more advanced stuff, there is some information we can share with you." He turned to one of his colleagues, a tall, green-haired man a few years his junior. "Doctor Allen Debra can tell you more - If you don't mind, Allen?"

"Of course not," the other man replied. He ran his dark red eyes over the Qorsikans briefly and his eyebrows shot up at what he saw, but he quickly recovered. "We've been experimenting with a device that can tap into the ghoul's communication network and translate their 'speech,' as it were," He told them, before pausing slightly, "I say network, but it's really not that impressive. The ghouls use short-range communications to talk amongst themselves."

"We've known about it for quite some time, but they don't exactly speak in a language we understand. The main problem was decoding their messages, but we think we have a working understanding of it now. If you're so inclined, we can give you our prototype to take into the field and test for us."

Sierra Seven, The Diamond Mountains
The Gunsmith, Floor -3


Charles nodded slowly before replying. "Ellian guns aren't modular, but they are versatile." He leant back in his chair and grabbed an assault rifle from the weapons racks behind him. "This is the Ellian assault rifle number two mark five 'Shine' pattern, standard issue firearm of the Technocratic Union," he quickly introduced, "It has the standard Ellian selective fire modes single, dual burst and full-auto. At full auto, it is equivalent to the Ellian automatic rifle's lowest rate of fire at ten rounds per second. Is this sufficient for your purposes?"

"As for armour penetration, that'll depend on the armour in question. Plasma acts like an explosive and it'll try to blast its way through the first thing it hits that's denser than air. Our U-Cs are designed to withstand plasma bolts fired by small arms as any good U-C should. If your rifle can penetrate your military's standard armoured personnel carrier, then it isn't really armoured, now is it? But that's the failings of your engineers, which is another conversation that I'm not going to get into."

"As for bullet drop." He paused. "Unless you failed physics in school, you should know that bullet drop is a function of range, velocity and gravitational acceleration. Unless you're telling me that your planet has negligible gravity and your people float around in a vacuum or that your rounds fly significantly faster than Mach 10, then you're going to get a significant bullet drop at a single kilometre."

"Flat trajectories are nice, and anything that increases a marksman's base accuracy is a benefit provided by the weapon, not a failure of the marksman. Unless you're claiming that you can hit a bullseye at one kilometre without the aid of a telescopic sight? I know I can't, and I know none of the lads in our army can either. If you're really going to make the argument that it's a marksman's innate ability to hit a moving target at one kilometre without the help of any fancy equipment, I do have a black powder musket I can lend to you."
The Fifth Quadrant,
a science fiction
group/setting/region
founded by yours truly.
All players are welcome!
The Crossroads Discord,
an OOC chat/chill channel
to facilitate communication
between NS role players.
All tech tiers are welcome!
A writer of magic, fantasy & science fiction.

User avatar
Oiniane
Level 5.2
Level 5.2
Posts: 33
Joined: Thu May 02, 2019 10:38 am
Nexus Client: Sinikivi
Client Tech Level: I3
Client Leader: The Empress
Client Species: Human
Location: Finland
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Oiniane » Wed Jul 03, 2019 2:29 pm

Sinian (rocket) air traffic is, clumsy (if not catastrophic) at best, so the anxiety of being flown in a box without constant humm of piston engines is, proving to be rather nervebreaking. The men keep shifting their weight about, their forms tensioning in alarmed manner to any small bang or click from the Ellian ship. The paranoia of the ship outright exploding from fuel intake failure, seems to persist with the squad for the lenght of the whole flight, all the way untill the dropship ramp would lower. The bewhildered eyes of the group turning towards the snow glad terrain.

Martinez would be first out of the straps holding them to the chairs, rising up and looking outside, to the speeding swirling snow that is being blasted further away. "Get that tank on and moving! Everyone else down the ramp now! The ship might rock the moment the balance of weight changes and we might not be able to get off it after it." The sound of the trusty, fuel guzzing engine starting can be heard and black streams of smoke would flow out of the pipe at the back, while men of the squad would haste down the ramp, on to the ice field beneath. The tank would slowly crawl onward, (once the cargo chains had been recovered) and down the ramp, carefully to not slid down on it, the whole 44 ton vehicle getting off the poor dropship that needed to hold relatively still for the procedure (if it hadn't landed for safety).

Once on the ground, vary glances to surroundings are made, Martinez turning towards her squad. "Right, we had three buildings to clear. Let's try to be swift and let the big-toy-soldiers handle the rest if they wish. Remember to tap the corpses before closing like the Ellians requested." 'Lazy day then?' Boris would ask while leaning against "his" tank, and knocking on driver's escape hatch. Once it's opened he'd yell in. 'Keep the blasted thing on for now! I don't want it to freeze solid, if the temperature drop less than 30 again.' Martinez would frown but after brief moment she'd make a hand gesture for people to move. "Get eh tank moving again. Everyone else! Follow behind it and keep your eyes peeled, we don't know how many there are out there and I don't want them to get a jump on us." Lastly she'd lift a speaker from stap of her backpack to her lips pressing the button to tell her superiors over the radio: "-SEUF advancing, no contacts. Over.-"

User avatar
Pie
Level 6.1
Level 6.1
Posts: 41
Joined: Mon Feb 04, 2019 1:56 am
NS Nation (Prefix): Dominion
Nexus Client: Piethrixia
Client Tech Level: A3
Client Leader: Admiral Jacob Daniels
Client Councillor: Admiral Jacob Daniels
Client Species: Piethrixian
Location: Canada
Been thanked: 2 times
Contact:

Re: The Light After the Dusk

Post by Pie » Wed Jul 03, 2019 3:36 pm

Sierra Six | Cindering Peaks | Piethrixian Dropship

The Leftenant had Instructed the Pilot to Circle around the Base with the left hatch open, A P9 SAW had been hooked onto the inside of the door and was being fired at anything that moved. After the Dropship had done a full circle of the base they landed with the other ships, the piethrixian troops quickly ran through the deep snow with the assistance of their Exoskeletal Suits. Private Ethan Smith and Sergeant David Brown stayed behind the rest of the section, Vaporising any of the Bodies left behind.

Post Reply

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest