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Galactic Adventures (SciFi/Char/Mechanics/Captains/IC)

PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2019 2:23 pm
by The National Dominion of Hungary
Link to OOC

Galactic Adventures

"Humans, Ellireans, Hemoh, not a single one of our species was ever invited up into the void. We were all built for our homeworlds, here, in the dark, we are intruders in a grand house. Tread carefully."


Welcome, Starfarer

The Milky Way is caught in a cycle of change, violent change steeped in blood. The Imperium Galaxis, greatest power in known space has fractured into a hundred little successor-states in near-constant conflict, fearing to be swallowed up by the most powerful among them. The Hemoh Unity battered and bloody after it's war with humanity recovers it's strength, ready to jockey with the Ellirean Accordance for the title of greatest power in the Galaxy, indeed, the greater powers are all jockeying for position and power now that the shadow of the Imperium no longer hangs over them. In the space of the former Imperium Galaxis, four major successors each try to reunify the territories of the old empire, reshaping it in their image while in the Outer Rim, warlords jostle for position by any means necessary. In times like these, those with the ambition and grit needed can rise to great heights, in times like these, legends are born, of brave captains laughing in the face of what the galaxy throws at them. Captains who can by one seemingly small action after another cause the very stars to shift. But for now, spread across many worlds and stations across the lightyears of the known galaxy, from the ruddy alleys of Noctis Station to the gleaming spires of Qharlaq they must take their first step...

Qharlaq: The second of only two ecumenopolises in the galaxy, Qharlaq is one of the most important financial, trading, cultural and industrial hubs in the galaxy, rivaled only by Illeon in the Ellirean Accordance. If you can make it here you can make it anywhere they say. Galactic City as it is often called is a glamorous, dazzling spectacle that draws the imagination of a whole galaxy, far removed the drudge and dreary nature of Centrum whose very streets seem intent to break the will of those who walk them. Home to three trillion beings who together make up a great and diverse menagerie of alien species. The largest melting pot of the galaxy, on this great city-world a thousand species and cultures mish and mash and an immense amount of wealth flows through it. The vast conurbation that spans the whole planet is one of great contrast, vast spires and skyscrapers reach above the clouds, the only thing keeping some of the more outlandish designs from collapsing are localized A-Grav generators. The further below one goes descending the many hundreds of levels into the planet's crust, the worse the conditions get and the lowermost deepslums are as dangerous and crime-ridden, if not even more so than a thousand Outer-Rim worlds.

Sathas: An Outer-Rim world where the banner of the Yaaric Union is, this has however allowed it to flourish, and colonies populated by increasing numbers of Emyaar settlers are springing up all over the savannas, canyons and jungles that cover the world, clustering around it's misty, winding rivers. The local Sathanni, a primate-like sentient species with a primitive, copper-age civilization are seeing ever greater numbers of "skymen" on their world, and now, strange skyman priests are coming to their villages preaching of a creed they call the Great Society. Not all Sathanni welcome these developments, and raids on outlying colonies and homesteads has led to a large Steel Caste presence. Still, the main colony town of Fiyarro is a bustling port where many explorers from the inner regions of the galaxy stop by before venturing further into the Outer Rim. Opportunities for enterprising explorers can often be found here visiting captains in Fiyarro are eager to sell star-charts and maps leading to supposedly great discoveries of verdant worlds, valuable minerals and strange, exotic place with equally exotic treasures.

Port Dusk: The edge of civilization, or at least what passes for it at the end of the Outer Rim. This old space station was constructed out of an old star-fort lefe behind by a now extinct species thousands and thousands of years ago. It has since been haphazardly expanded, with new blocks added, even an entire ship has been welded into the station. Port Dusk attracts the outcasts of a thousand clusters, here they all come, one last port of call before continuing into the unknown voids of Galactic Darkspace. Structurally, the station is a maze of passageways, halls and great chambers. Within the station there bustles a changing population of diverse, strange and exotic individuals, persons from every species in the civilized galaxy can be found here. Exploring captains often spend many weeks in port while their ships are refueled and repaired. Cultists burning with zeal to spread their faiths to the lost souls of the station pontificate in tiny shrines. Traders and smugglers whisper deals behind curtains in the station’s drinking dens. Port Dusk is ruled by an Outer Rim warlord named Kudrem Zodubam, an Innux man of dour disposition. His fleet of ramshackle warships dock here when not on patrol through his territories or out raiding the worlds and outposts of rival warlords.

Noctis Station: At the confluence of many of the Outer Rim's important trade lanes, built in the mined-out husk of a metallic asteroid, Noctis has been a haven for criminals, terrorists, and malcontents for thousands of years. At times, the station has lain idle and abandoned for centuries, only to be reactivated by a new group of outlaws seeking a fresh start. The space station's original elegant design has given way to haphazard expansion by scrabbling factions of every species. The station is home to the Renegade King, a heroic figure of the Rim chose to act as a ceremonial figurehead who should in theory unite the warlords if any of the major powers start pushing a bit too far into the Rim for their liking. The station's population of around 250 million are housed in everything from elaborate homes in the spires to doss spaces near the outer hull all are available and all cost an appropriate number of credits. Here also are many items for sale which would normally not be found anywhere else, and better still, no questions are asked. Strange artifacts brought from the depths of space, exotic narcotics from worlds yet unnamed, illegal gene-mods all this and more is traded throughout the dim, ruddy hallways of the station.

Rakodan: A strange place in the Outer-Rim, where a weirdly tinged sky casts above a red deserts, crags, mountains and antediluvian ruins left behind by an ancient species whose very name has been lost to time. Whoever the inhabitants were, they are long gone, only dark tombs and crumbled temples give silent testimony to their presence. On this world, the veil between realspace and paracasual space is thin, even as one approaches the planet, strange sensor readings and data-surges affect the ships of those who come. But they still come in number, mostly psionics hoping to glean knowledge of the Beyond in the ancient ruins or scavengers picking through them. Due to the planet's harsh terrain, and the strange warping powers of the beyond seeping into realspace, Rakodan's native fauna was both vicious and cunning, it has been the doom of many an unwary visitor who has come to the planet seeking wealth and knowledge coveted by many. Even if these dangers are avoided, spirits and demons from the beyond are all said to dwell in the dark ruins and haunted tombs.

PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2019 3:01 pm
by Elerian
Old Man, Rakodan

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open and stared into the darkness of some cave. There was the familiar thrumming, a silent chorus that only psionics such as he could hear. It wasn’t until that fateful day when war carved the galaxy and all he'd known was destroyed by fire and brimstone that he could truly hear the hum. He’d survived more by accident than skill, had the traitorous Remnant been more competent then he might be wasting away on a penal colony at this very moment. No longer was he the Scourge of the Outer Colonies, nor Admiral Leon Tchaikovsky, now he simply was.

A shudder ran through him, prompting him to pull the thin blanket tighter around himself, as if to ward off the painful memories of his past life. As the vortex within him brewed, so did the throbbing in his ears. Frustrated, he finally sat up, threw off the blanket and ran a hand through his long disheveled hair. It had once been pale as the rays of dawn, sending many women swooning, but now it was matted and turning to a whitish grey. Caught by a faint feeling of unease, he rose and began putting together his kit.

Finally, when his boots had been pulled on he followed the distant whistling of the mountain winds, treading the cold stone quietly. The fire he’d made the previous night still burned with a meek flame. The thrumming in his ears grew louder as he passed the fire by. Light played over the high cave walls, shadows grew and shrank, and with their movement the stone came to life. The shadows danced, and he saw men and xeno with rifle and grenade flickering back and forth, and the humming in his ears grew to a low roar. The heat of burning pitch warmed his skin, barrels sang and pierced armor, cries of victory and despair rose like a howl. He wasn’t sure how, but his feet moved of their own volition and he found himself standing before the cave wall. Men in the great tangle of battle, their bodies writhing in rage as they wrought death and destruction. They were doomed to endlessly relive their greatest triumphs and hardships.

The stone did not move, but the vision clouded his eyes and rooted him in place. His hands began to trace along the jagged stone, and his mouth moved but no words were uttered. Now the song was so loud it seemed to shake the very mountain he stood on. His palms began feverishly scraping the cold stone, trying desperately to carve words into the hard stone. Time seemed to slow, and the rock trembled one last time before everything went still.

The trance was broken.

He collapsed, feeling as if the whole mountain had collapsed on him. As his cheek hit the cold hard stone, he had a final moment of clarity before blacking out.

Action: Use Psionics to Locate Something Worthwhile

PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2019 5:19 pm
by Zjaum
Port Dusk

A man walked over from the warehouse. Behind him was a hodgepodge of ship equipment and valuables, all collected on a cart on wheels. Beside him was the same, but on a much, much larger scale. He wiped off his hands with a rag and walked up to the booth of his shop.
"All right, so what you've given me is glassware, alumina ceramics, and some heavy metals."
The tall, suited woman in front of him nodded.
"Half of this stuff is old. And we're talking Port Dusk levels of old here, so that's saying something. I probably could sell some of it, but the rest of it..."
"Wyiyi taur wokrauya." The voice over the comms translated. "Multiple money as all things."
"How much can I give for the lot?" A nod. The man sighed and looked behind him. "Like, again, I won't be able to sell half of this stuff. Half of the rest would be better off melted down and sold that way."
"Wo T'kroi tai, wyiyi taur rou krau ya." "What can you, and multiple money as some things."
"Well, I'll take the engine shell. There's always a market for those. I will also take the ceramic plating. You should melt the glassware, and you should melt the platinum baubles. I'll give you," the man sighed, "Thirty credits for those portions. I would wager fifteen for the rest of it. Maybe."
"Toh te." "I do."
"You know, lady. This is the fifth time you've stopped by. I don't know what you do for a living, but I'm guessing you didn't buy these at the store. The ship models that have these components usually have much, much more valuable stuff on them. Life support systems always sell. Navigation mainframes aren't that much different between early space travel and now. Those sell. I can rattle off a dozen right now, but you get the point. Just take those, and we can talk better business."
The tall woman put her hands on her helmet and popped it off. The spacious and already quite hot warehouse raised a few degrees. The face she revealed had three slits on her eyes and a circular, fixed, covered mouth. She glowed as she spoke. "Krau tar' tura. Wo tya taiyo, ro te ovtakaka ovka yai." "Thing is glory. Heavenly to you, but I live no war, no death."
"You're a thief. Nothing is a matter of honor."
"Te tar ovrah erya." "I am no small weed."
The man looked down at the alien's feet, then back at her face, then back to his shop. "Why, yes, I can see that. Please put the helmet back on, if you don't mind. Air conditioning on this hulk isn't cheap."
The alien hastily followed instructions. She bowed slightly, which put her at head at the same level's as the man's. She quietly and carefully unloaded the specifically mentioned wares onto the floor of the warehouse. The vendor shrugged and took out thirty credits from his dispensary. "You plan on stretching that haul as far as it can possibly go, eh?"
"Oowerai te wyiyi." "I move money."
"Yeah, I bet."
The Werai paused and turned to her side. "Oowerai te roiweraiyo wowelyi, t'ka te" "I move inside galaxy, I think."
"Oh, is that so? Well, I'd hate to see you go. And hey-" The man thumped the metal armor of the Werai, immediately regretting the near burn from merely touching it- "Ah, man... Hey, the ships floating around there probably have much better, much better-selling versions of the stuff you have here."
The armor-clad amazon bowed again. Her hands gripped the cart, and she began dragging it away.
"Huh. And I never even got her name. Or her number, for that matter."

A few hours later, T'kra entered her Pinnance, her empty cart in tow. "Why did we have to get this hunk of junk? I'm fine with getting crammed a little if it was a sleeker ship. Heck, I could get crammed more for that."
"You can slip out of reach, and you can slip out of sight," retorted Keyu. "If Roai was better at maneuvering, maybe we wouldn't have to get something like this."
"Hey, leave me out of this! Or would you like to try being hunched over these controls?" Roai was tallest among them, and unfortunately also the most adept at finger-work. "So, T'kra, how much did you get?"
T'kra closed the hatch and fastened the cart. "That one guy said I'd get 45. I got 50 out of the whole deal. I was itching all over. I'm glad I'm back."
Roai turned over the engines. "Well, that's six credits more than we have, right?"
Edit: "Well, no, not exactly," T'kra stated. She lifted a large sack-looking clothes piece off her cart. "I had to get this. We've been without it for a very long time, and I think this will give us considerably more flexibility."
"So, I guess I get it?" Keyu asked. "You get the light armor anyways. Roai gets the ship. I need something."
"I have no qualms with that," stated T'kra. She tossed the suit over to Keyu, who began changing. "For the record, we have 25 credits left. Let's make them count."
"Is everybody ready [mentally] for the next mission?" Roai asked patiently.

T'kra sighed. "I think we're going to be leaving this sector."
Keyu turned on the heat inside the vehicle and turned it to maximum setting. "Why do you suppose that? Our base is here."
T'kra buckled her seat belt. "We can always come back. There's just better loot, and more things to trade, and no warlord to breathe down our suits."
"Yes. Instead of a warlord who occasionally harasses us, we'll have a police force who wants us dead! Brilliant!"
"Wouldn't you be interested in sightseeing? I'm certain that there's some sort of Irewa-Airow in the inner worlds. Something too hostile to terraform."
"Look, just... let's focus on our next mission." Keyu pointed outside the ship window at the fleet of tyrannical frigates parked just outside. "See those? Those are very good things for us."

The ship approached a large blockade runner and slipped in behind its engines. The warmth from the light of the engines put small pressure on the Pinnance, but the Werai inside felt at ease. Keyu looked over at T'kra. "And you heard that these guys are hauling...?"
"Teflon products. A small portion of durable glass wear. I'm picking up a large deposit of metal, but that could just be the hull. They'll sell. They always sell."
"All right, fine then. Let's wind it up."
"Here we go!" Roai announced, turning off the main engines and turning the ship around.

Action 1: Attempt to neutralize weaponry. Keyu sets up an EMP device and ejects it outside the Pinnance's airlock. The EMP device is set to provide a pulse and explode around the main weaponry. T'kra will control small arms on the side of the ship to blast the weapons as necessary.
Action 2: Attempt to board ship. After the guns are neutralized, or are safe enough to avoid, T'kra will aim for the side of the hull near the guns, with the intention of blasting a large hole. Roai will plug the hole with the Fallen's Testament.

PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2019 7:10 pm
by The Empire of Tau
Merchant Man, Sam

The upper-levels of Qharlaq is, not surprisingly, both clean and safer then the deeper-levels. There is actual police and barely any poor. Well, likely because all the poor are stuffed in the hellhole that is the lower-levels. While not the very upper level, where you could see the actual sky, Sam was in the middle-layers, where the middle-class of Qharlaq lives. The streets are clean and people of decent affluence and wealth go about their lives with ease. Big boardboards hosted ads in bright colorful textures, attempting to convince potential customers. Light was provided by an artificial day and night cycle. Past a certain time, the “moon” would rise and everything turn dark. After 12 hours, the day would start with bright lights turning on. Small shops and businesses dot every street. Bakeries, clothing shops, electronics sales, and everything in-between could be found. For Sam, he was in an abnormal cafe.

The restaurant servers wore maid-outfits and cat ears. Pictures of drawn cat-girls plaster the walls and decor. The music came from a known animated TV show within the neighborhood. Menu items were recreations of popular foods seen on the show. It was an odd experience for Sam, who never seen such lavish. The only reason for Sam being here was that this Cafe allowed him to stay and sleep. Sam was and is still poor. Five hundred credits in the grand scheme of things was nothing compared to most other free-merchants. The cheapest hotel in the area was two hundred credits per month. Of course, Sam can not pay for that shit. Sleeping on the streets was not an option either due to the police either fining you or throwing you in jail.

Most establishments could or would not have a person stay at their spot for longer than a few hours without proper reason. If you were eating out or likewise then that’s fine, but a person trying to find shelter was not a no-go for the managers. In this Cafe, Sam had to pay nothing, but the crew of Sam had it a bit more different. The crew, made up of five men, had to do unpaid labor to get food and water from the Cafe. Illegal, but a nice deal for them as money was tight and everything in the middle-layers, their local area anyhow, costed a leg and an arm. Sam, meanwhile, was busy researching the markets in the sector.

Sam had little to no sleep in this time, researching and learning about the hundreds of different prices of goods on the planet and elsewhere. The complexities of the economy and its many subjects had to be learned quickly to avoid listening to cute anime music 24/7 for weeks on-end. Not only that, Sam also had to listen to the news to catch up with the market and to get an understanding of the political shithole that was the galaxy. Hygiene was basic. Hand sanitizer and moisturizer was the go-to, unless someone offered Sam a shower in their house-cubicle.

Sam would compile his knowledge into a notebook. Within those pages are text-walls of goods that can be traded at a good price margin, core-world goods to mid-rim worlds, mid-rim worlds to core-worlds, outer-rim to core-worlds, and outer-rim to mid-rim, etc. Next few pages over, another text-wall details known trade routes that range from safe, the ones in the core-worlds, to pirate-infested routes that a madlad would go to, and everything in between. After that, fuel costs, spare parts cost, rations, how many days would it take to get there, etc, etc, etc. Lastly, Sam would try to find a merc to protect his cargo. You can never be too safe. Maybe, a certain duck could take that job.

PostPosted: Mon Nov 11, 2019 8:55 pm
by Ralnis
Port Noctis,
The Battered Fly

Chieftess Kyr Mirhorn Van, a broken chieftess to a broken clan sat in the commons room of her cutter. It had been no more but three years since she and what's left of her clan had left the newly conquered Cardnial Sector from the Blessed Empire. Their search for a new way of life had been nothing but one job to another being hired goons for various small time traders and criminals in the Outer Rim. Out here though, there was no need for upholding the idea of the Eternal War as the humans here weren't going to try and stab them in a mob form or some type of a crusade. However animosity against aliens such as themselves were of commonplace as both sides did atrocities against one another for millennia.

Still, all things were equal when credits were passed between appendages. The small duck still earned her pay and stripes after helping a pirate gang attack a merchant convoy and then had to fire at some of the pirates who were trying to kill her and her members so they chased them off only for 150 credits and nothing else to get from it. Such a paltry sum but it was better than nothing as it could pay the ducks their dues for now.

Though the words "for now" always was the key word. There was always the hounds known as hunger, debt, and upkeep that needed to be fed or the last of the Clan will depart and then there goes Mirhorn Van. That she wouldn't even dare to imagine no matter how close her wadded feet were close to the drying fire. So close to the fire made Kyr keep spurring herself into action, for action was the only thing she knew.

She whipped up the clan members and sent them out to find jobs for them to work. Any clientle would be fine they just have to keep their wits about as the foolish can be swept into some damning deal or enslavement. As long as the money is good they are willing to be a goon squad with a ship.

Action: Have the Clan search for a job or anyone looking for some low-paying hired guns or a job where they just need bodies or duckies to look scary.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 7:51 am
by The National Dominion of Hungary
Leon Tchaikovsky

As his mind was drawn to the thrumming, it was drawn to walk the footsteps of an ancient psionic who once called this world home. He saw deals in the dark, lightning incanted from fingertips, smelled the odor of burnt flesh fill up the cavern. He could not tell what the alien's name was, or what language he spoke, the vision was to blurry for time, time had eroded the embers of psionic disturbance in the cave and it was too far beyond the veil to see those details. What he did see was a grand manor in it's glory days. Then, as it is now, half buried beneath the red sands of Rakodan. Most importantly though, he saw the strange alien make his way through the cellar and open a hidden door, emerging into a vault, something like a laboratory? Was he a scientist? Still an ancient Rakodan lab could hold valuable pieces of archeotech or some notes and information that some would find very valuable. First, he had to cross the valley and go to the manor though. Of course, he could take his ship and make the short trip in the air, but then he might miss something interesting along the way.

Skill check: 77 - Fine Success

T'kra Tyawerai

Curses and damnation! All it takes is some faulty wiring, some little thing done wrong by some slight of hand or mind. As a gust of decompression rips the EMP from the airlock and it impacts the blockade runner, it does fire but the enemy ship is not disabled. Not fully at least. As the Werai's instruments stop flickering they see that the rickety old frigate is not broadcasting any data, either in or out so they probably killed their comm-array. The enemy's fusion drives flicker for a second as well, but then burn with a hot blue light. Then, something bad happens. It only takes a second, bit for the Werai onlookers seeing it through their scropes, it looks like an eternity. A 70mm point defense gun twists on it's mounting and lets out a silent stream of hot depleted uranium from it's spinning barrels into the vacuum of space. The withering fusillade tears into the Pinnace's side, but luckily for the crew. The damage is minor, it seems that while their EMP did not disable the ship but it seems to have fried most guns, and this particular one's targeting system as soon, the fire went wildly off-target. The enemy crew was surely hurrying to the gun-station to take manual control, but until then, they have a chance to deal with them by firing their own prow-mounted autogun. Or, of course, they could try to run and find easier prey.

Skill check: 42 - Small Failure. Ship takes minor damage!

Sam Bridge Iron

Starting a trader's career with a scant few creds is never easy when trying to rise up from the muck and mire of Qharlaq's slums, where far too many souls lived their whole lives only seeing the sun a handful of times. If indeed any. Yet, Sam sits day in and out with his face buried in his hand-terminal, his determined research does bear fruit. With little funds to spare, he needs to find something with a great profit margin, that often entails danger however, a run into the Outer Rim or a warzone, possibly, even worse, an Outer Rim warzone. These colonies payed very well for shipments of medicine and medical equipment. Construction materials were also in great demand in the Rimworlds, as was cheap prefab housing and munitions expended fending off dangerous wildlife or raiders. Sam spots several opportunities one is a med-run to the Outer-Rim world of Ylem, for 400 credits he could buy a crate of medical supplies (5 cargo units), something he could get at least 750 creds for. Then, there was of course a notice posted by an Ulthar trader who wanted to transport a cargo of 10 aircars (10 cargo units each), to Port Noctis of all places! The pay was good though, only a small part of the profit, but 2000 credits was nothing to scoff at for Sam. Perhaps, he could even manage both, if he burns the engine hot the last stretch of space to Noctis.

Kyr Mirhorn Van

The ducks roved through the ruddy hallways of Noctis, in seedy bars and darkly lit cantinas. There was a certain way about these things and places, a way the prospective seeker moved and carried himself, small signals to the prospective employer. Some of them were approached by people willing to offer them work, many they turned down after finishing the drink they were offered. Some of those people were just a bit too fishy, after three years the ducks had learned, often painfully, how to recognize some telltale signs of crooked intent. Still, Mirhorn Van's hand-terminal buzzed with a few vidmails from her crewmen as some had found promising prospects. One was given by a strange alien who introduced himself as a representative of many bereaved homes. He offered a reward of 1000 credits for freeing the slaves kept aboard the Wicked Grin, a corvette captained by a particularly distasteful Zovashi pirate before they leave the station. Then there was a job offered by a small gang, looking for muscle to intercept a drug shipment from a rival band of street gangsters, probably less risky, but also less profitable at 400 creds.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 11:47 am
by Ralnis
Chieftess Kyr Mirhorn Van,
In the Battered Fly

There was a certain amount of pride or hubris to a warrior when their fighting another warrior. Dunkiddor and Zorvishi were such warrior races but for different reasons. One was built on a established hierarchy before the Humans came and the ducks were forced into what they are. People call it a napoleon complex but the Chieftess wanted to fight the Zorvishi pirate and liberate the slaves. The risk were a good challenge and to liberate the slaves from a pirate was honorable, albeit a small amount but it was a start to rebuild the Clan from its dire straits.

The crew were looking at each other when Kyr decided to take the task. Many believe that they should do the more easier one as they were small in number and the 400 credits was enough sustain the upkeep of the Battered Fly. While the easy task was there, a small ambush and interception for the use of good muscle was an easy pay, that wasn't honorable or a good challenge. That and the limited time window before the Wicked Grin goes off station and the slaves would be shipped to some far flung corner of the galaxy.

The Star Clan had no choice but to accept the task to try and assault the pirate corvette to liberate the slaves. When it was decided that they were going to fight the pirates they needed more than what the client gave them. They had a location and the time of departure, which was enough to gather intel and arm the crew with more than heir feathered fists. Not many of them have any combat training so this would be something that they will be baptized in.

Action: Gather as much intel as possible on the Wicked Grin and the crew, their captain, what they usually trade in and what weapons they carry. Need any and all info that can be gathered. Also try to gather info on the rival gang and the drug shipment in the same manner if possible.

Buying Equipment:
350 credits start:

-250 credits spent on two Loxatl U90s
-90 credits on one Zavras 222-AR

10 credits left
0 credits
two Loxatl U90s
1 Zarvas 222-AR
1 Foehammer
1 Accatran Mark 7 DMR

6 out of 6 clan members Armed
1 Armored
1 Medium armor

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 12:20 pm
by Gerdon Laughis

Siamatus Tadosia was clearly a sight for anyone who managed to glance his way. At 8 feet, 4 arms and ghostly pale skin, the Kasath looked like something mothers tell their children will whisk them away if they misbehave. The thought of an entire planet filled with this... thing made the more xenophobic members of the international community collectively shutter.

He walked slowly, feeling the warmth of the desert beam down on his face, reminding him of his days on Heisen, the small Ark-World that his people had relocated too after the ultimate collapse of their home-world. He slowly surveyed the sands around him, and closed his eyes. Honing in on the Psionic forces of the world, he could see if Rakodan once again would yield something interesting.

Action!: Use Psionics to try and find an artifact.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 12:33 pm
by Elerian
Old Man, Rakodan

He eventually came back to, but as his eyes opened, he soon realized he was no longer where he was before the vision. Near to the entrance of the cave, the sun was beating down on the rocky crags of the mountain. He lay next to his kit, but could see nothing farther in the inky blackness of the cave he’d been calling home for the last few days.


The thought of what he saw in his vision made him suddenly jolt upright, an action that caused his head to immediately begin to pound. He cursed out loud, causing some rocks to careen down the mountain towards the valley floor. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself. Double checking, and then slinging his rucksack over a shoulder, to ensure that none of his precious few belongings were lost, he stood up slowly. With one strong step, he planted his foot into the ground, and set out down the mountain and into the valley below.

Action: Cross the Valley to the Manor

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 12:42 pm
by The Black Sheep
Aboard the Jade Ronin, Yaaric Controled Space
Lyzzy sat in her quarters mulling over the decrepit data pad. It was old, possibly dating back to the height of the Imperium, which also meant it was a long way from home. Determining what it contained however would have to wait as the sharp two toned alert whistle echoed through the ship. “This is F.M. Clovis. We’ve been cleared for landing at the Fiyarro star port. Remember to keep your wits about you planetside...and have fun. Clovus out.” The speakers let off an electrical crackle as the transmission ended.
Lyzzy set down the data pad and belted herself in. The ship rocked and vibrated as it made its way through the sky. The ships worn landing gear let out a screech of complaint as they extended; locking magnetically to the platform. Lyzzy stood up and pulled a holonote out of the air.
“Note to Captain Lyzzy from Captain Lyzzy.
Remind Gawyn to run mat-scan on landing gear and atmos thrusters.”

As she walked out of the room she stuck the note to the door frame covered in other holonotes. Lyzzy stopped and examined the frame before posting another note..
Note to Captain Lyzzy from Captain Lyzzy
URGENT! Clean Holo-notes

She slaps the holo-note on the door frame and continues down the hall. Entering the bay and surveying her crew she breathes in. “Smell that friends? Smells like adventure! all ashore!” Lyzzy pulled a switch and the walkway descends. The crew and captain descended onto the dock dispersing to take care of various errands. Lyzzy called out to a short skinny young man in coveralls. “Gawyn, A word!” The man turned and walked over.”Yes, Captain? Whatduya at.” Lyzzy’s face scrunched in thought. “Ah yeah well...Can’t remember must not be important. Now I’m going to see if I can’t acquiesce someone into giving us a star chart or two.” A voice from behind corrected Lizzy. “Acquire, Captain. Acquiesce is to accept with reluctance.” Lyzzy turned and laughed. “Thank you Clovis the walking human e-thaurus. Shall we set off then.” Lyzzy extended the crook of her arm. Covis a towering man of dark hair and darker expression rolled his eyes and walked down off the dock.
Action: Search for treasure maps. Lyzzy and Covis will search the merchants and taverns around the space port for potential treasure leads.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 3:23 pm
by The National Dominion of Hungary
Kyr Mirhorn Van

As the days went by, Kyr's feathered crew chased down what leads they could, some of the more daring ones tried to disguise themselves as dockworkers and made their way down to the dockspires that extended out from the station's underside. They did find the berth where the Wicked Grin sat moored, held in place by the docking clamps. It was impossible for them to enter the berth itself, not for a lack of trying, but they identified the ship a Hensar-Class corvette. A total of sixteen stubby plasma carronades bristled along it's sleek broadsides, murderous at close range, not counting her point defense lasers. She could carry around 120 crew, but since captain Zevo Vrasam was known as a slave trader as well as a pirate, he had probably turned some of the crew quarters into slave-pens. Judging from the activity, the ducks guessed he had a crew of between sixty to eighty. Many seemed to be coming and going, it seemed Vrasam had given his pirates some shore-leave before they ship out again. Some of the ducks shadowed these noisy bands to bars, cantinas and clubs where they caroused into the small hours. Most of the pirate crew Zorvishi like their captain and probably well-armed with plasma weapons, a daunting prospect. But made less so knowing that around half would probably be away in the night, and the remaining ones would probably be nursing hangovers. They did not manage to get much information about Vrasam himself other than the common knowledge, a skilled fighter with a sharp sense of cunning, but prone to flying into fits of rage. Kyr poured over technical drawings of the Hensar-Class on the extranet, the crew quarters, and likely slave pens were amidships, on the second of the ship's three decks. A quick assault team could with a bit of luck and guile get in through the access ramp into the cargo hold and reach the area quickly going through the maintenance tunnel.

Skill check: 58 - Small Success

Siamatus Tadosia

Suddenly, Siamatus´head jerks back violently and his body straightens like a plasteel beam, visions fill his mind, with such vivid clarity that he can almost smell the garden he was transported to. A family of stange aliens gathered around an ornate urn. They spoke sorrowful words in a strange, ululating language he did not understand. They were long, spindly with leathery skin and grayish tentacles growing around their mouths. It was a somber burial as they carried their deceased loved one through the red deserts of this planet, down, down into the depths, into a tomb complex hewn into the red mountain rock, the walls covered in strange glyphs and letters. At they set the urn to rest somewhere inside, he could see them leaving finely made jewelry, and small statuettes as grave gifts and, there was something else, some kind of weapon? Was this ancient being a warrior? Then, he saw them leave closing the heavy door behind them, he saw it now half buried in sand and still closed. His mind returned, warm blood ran from a ringing ear, nothing to worry about. For a short while he felt a strong pull toward the south-east, up into the hills rising on the horizon.

Skill check: 100 - Great Success!

Leon Tchaikovsky

Leon marches with intent and ironclad purpose, harsh terrain, rocky outcroppings, shifting sands and strong gusts of desert wind do little to slow him down as he trods through a red valley under a green-tinted sky. Great crumbling statues of seated aliens stand around him in silent testimony to an extinguished civilization from ages past, regarding him with stony eyes. He starts turning toward a small path leading up out of the valley where he suddenly hears voices, strange slightly disembodied, for a moment, Leon stops. Perhaps the veil was particularly weak here but then he realized that no. These voices he could understand, they spoke Galactic Standard, carried along the wind from somewhere behind a small rocky hill. He couldn't quite make out how many, but there were at least three beings over there. Had they come while he lay passed out in the cave? It had been so long since he had seen someone. Who were they? Archaeologists? Scavengers? Artifact hunters? Were they friendly or hostile, he considered going up the hill and take a look from behind the rocks, but then again, maybe it was better to just keep moving. Better let them stay and to go investigate the ruined manor he had seen in his otherworldly vision, the wind was hard today, it would cover his tracks. But then again, maybe they were friendly, perhaps even helpful?

Lyzzy Lyndsay

The young explorer walked with a wide and enthusiastic smile, juxtaposed with the deep frown of her crewman. Fiyarro is a bustling, rapidly growing colony-town on the fringes of Yaaric space, planetary capital in one of the Great Society's latest acquisitions. Much of this growth came from people who were just like her, intrepid explorers preparing to jump from the more more civilized inner parts of the galaxy and into the half-explored, wild space of the Outer Rim, where wondrous discoveries awaited. This could clearly be seen on the streets, still largely surrounded by prefab buildings where many aliens walked among the emyaar. Humans, graceful ellireans and even a band of surly ulthars glaring at a passing police drone all while a group of flamboyantly dressed Farrasqui sat on chairs outside a cantina catering to the offworld arrivals. Seemed like a good place to start, the place was named Voidfarer's Rest after all. It was run by an elderly emyaar naval veteran, starship models large and small were hanging from the ceiling. As they conversed, the owner at the bar perked up. "Looking for charts are ya human?" He said, then told her of a small store run by a former explorer, settled here in her later years. "Still has charts, both her own and those she buys. A little odd though, sky must have gotten to her." Lyzzy types the store's name into her hand-terminal. Ah, just a ten-minute walk away. She follows the directions given on her terminal, her dour companion in tow. Soon, they arrive at a small shop with candle-light shining from it's windows. They enter and an elderly human woman with bright eyes greets them, her smile wide. "Ah... charts." She offers many, though Lyzzy is forced to turn down the steep prices. Two charts remain to choose from one to the Belerron System, one with four confirmed worlds costing 100 credits and one to the Beta Rasiil system, containing five worlds for 135 credits. Of course, one could try to haggle.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 3:27 pm
by The Empire of Tau
Mechrant Man, Sam
The Travel to Ylem and Noctis.

Presented to Sam was two options. The Ylem trade run and the Port Noctis trade run. One more dangerous than the other. The outer-rim, the frontier of space and civilization, was not exactly the safest or most friendly. Law enforcement were either sparse or non-existent. The closest you will get to law authorities were local militia men on some parts of the outer-rim. It is not hard to see that some of these law enforcers would also try to ask for some bribe money too. Afterall, the rule of law and morals are not concrete within these lawless space. Sam had no credits to spare for anything. Even if it depended on his life. The outer-rim was a shitole for most and the people policing them were likely very cash-strapped like Sam. The boys or girls in blue had a family to feed and expenses to pay. Using their authority to ask for some credits was a lesser evil from the greater evil of outright stealing and murdering. Sam is no stranger to this corruption. He lived in the slums of Qharlaq and the police is no different.

If corruption did not get to Sam then the pirates and criminals would. The trade routes to the outer-rim were infested with them. Conflict and raids on merchant ships is a daily concurrence in the outer-rim trade. Carcasses of both crewperson and cargo ships dot the outer-rim routes. The amount of cargo either damaged or lost in the outer-rim is immense. That is the reason, plus a whole host of other points, why it is very lucrative to trade in the rim. The cost of necessities like medicine, medical items, food, clothing, etc, etc, is high. A basic medical item in the core-world is not too pricey. It’ll be the cost of a decent meal. In the outer-rim, that would cost a large chunk of your income, plus all your other expenses to pay. Sam knows his stuff, but using that knowledge to exploit the gains is going to be the hard part.

Sam had a plan. He would do the Ylem trade run first, and Noctis trade run second. He had already paid for the medical cargo, 400 credits. For the aircars, that was free. Sam’s other cargo then was provisions like rations, extra fuel, and spare parts, 80 Credits. Everything Sam and the crew needed was set and loaded into the cargo-bay. All that Sam had to do was deliver the cargo to its place. Easier said than done.

Sam had some experience in operating his Suvura 3300. Thankfully, Sam’s crew was much more experienced then he was. Sam’s life has always been in the deep-levels of Qharlaq. Never, until now, had Sam work in a voidship before. Everything was new to him, the various parts of the Suvura 3300 and its workings. Sam was a quick learner. If he was not then he would have been dead or stuck in the slums of Qharlaq for a while now.

The first run was to Ylem. This route was much more safer then heading to Noctis itself. While there is still the threat of pirates that could come out of nowhere, especially those who camp at warp-gates, Noctis was and is the wasp’s nest. The den of outlaws and the scum of the sector. Sam rather gets his hands dirty first going to Ylem, a lower risk run then getting those aircars to Noctis.

By Sam’s measures, it did not take too long to get to Ylem and then to Noctis. The real risk was getting to Noctis. Given the dangers, Sam opted to burn off his extra fuel he bought to make his travel faster to the port, and to deliver the aircars in time. The Suvura 3300 is a fast ship. The same could be said for the pirates hunting for prey around the local area. Both parties likely have extra fuel to burn in order to either run, the case for Sam, or to catch up in the case for the pirates. In theory that is. Sam just had to now put everything he planned into practice. Let’s hope that it works.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 5:50 pm
by Gerdon Laughis
The National Dominion of Hungary wrote:

Siamatus Tadosia

Suddenly, Siamatus´head jerks back violently and his body straightens like a plasteel beam, visions fill his mind, with such vivid clarity that he can almost smell the garden he was transported to. A family of stange aliens gathered around an ornate urn. They spoke sorrowful words in a strange, ululating language he did not understand. They were long, spindly with leathery skin and grayish tentacles growing around their mouths. It was a somber burial as they carried their deceased loved one through the red deserts of this planet, down, down into the depths, into a tomb complex hewn into the red mountain rock, the walls covered in strange glyphs and letters. At they set the urn to rest somewhere inside, he could see them leaving finely made jewelry, and small statuettes as grave gifts and, there was something else, some kind of weapon? Was this ancient being a warrior? Then, he saw them leave closing the heavy door behind them, he saw it now half buried in sand and still closed. His mind returned, warm blood ran from a ringing ear, nothing to worry about. For a short while he felt a strong pull toward the south-east, up into the hills rising on the horizon.

Skill check: 100 - Great Success!

Siamatus slowly sits down, committing all that he saw to memory. Taking one of his many arms, he wipes the blood from the side of his head, as he regains himself. Upon gaining his composure, he stands dusts himself off, and takes off towards his ship. Leaping into the Pinnace, he locks himself in and begins preparing the ship for liftoff.

As t he low hum of the ships engines turn into the roar of liftoff, he contemplates what he had seen in the vision. " that weapon?" Of all the things the item that seemed to be a weapon is what had peaked his interest the most. Racking his brain, he tried to see if he could compare it to anything he may have seen or read about in the past as he made his way southeast, towards the half buried tomb.

Action! Head towards the tomb in the hills, and see if he knows anything about this potential weapon.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 6:46 pm
by Ralnis
Kyr Mirhorn Van

Going over the details that her crew manage to discover about the pirate captain. This Zorvishi, Zevo Vrasam, had made himself a name as a slave trader and a pirate. The ship itself held up to 120 members as the corvette of their class could up. The pirates had around sixty to eighty of their kind and most like their captain. Both ship and crew were well armed with plasma weaponry and the only thing that they had was a good opening was a maintenance tunnel that goes to into the cargo hold and up the second deck to liberate nearly twenty-thirty slaves.

Some of the clan believe that this was too much for them even if they were to attempt it at the night cycle of the station. Of coursed this seemed daunting, even Kyr had hesitated a bit. If she and her clan had managed to do this then they have to deal with a Zorvishi and his dozens of pirates would no doubt come after her. Still is something that they were getting paid to do and they only had one shot with this.

She sighed, the need to sneak around into the ship when half were at the clubs was the best shot that they had. So they loaded up and begin the heist, waited till they had the place for them to attempt it. If they succeed, then they would be known for striking against a known slaver and got away with it bloodied, if not then this was the end of a shattered clan.

One final prayer to the gods was all that they could do as they went to attempt the assault.

Action: Try to infiltrate the Wicked Grin at night when half the pirate crew is out drinking and the other is having a hangover. Go through the maintence tunnel and have one of their own be a scout and look out. Make sure that the ducks don't get blindsided and make sure the gods on their side when doing this.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 6:57 pm
by Zjaum
The National Dominion of Hungary wrote:T'kra Tyawerai

Curses and damnation! All it takes is some faulty wiring, some little thing done wrong by some slight of hand or mind. As a gust of decompression rips the EMP from the airlock and it impacts the blockade runner, it does fire but the enemy ship is not disabled. Not fully at least. As the Werai's instruments stop flickering they see that the rickety old frigate is not broadcasting any data, either in or out so they probably killed their comm-array. The enemy's fusion drives flicker for a second as well, but then burn with a hot blue light. Then, something bad happens. It only takes a second, bit for the Werai onlookers seeing it through their scropes, it looks like an eternity. A 70mm point defense gun twists on it's mounting and lets out a silent stream of hot depleted uranium from it's spinning barrels into the vacuum of space. The withering fusillade tears into the Pinnace's side, but luckily for the crew. The damage is minor, it seems that while their EMP did not disable the ship but it seems to have fried most guns, and this particular one's targeting system as soon, the fire went wildly off-target. The enemy crew was surely hurrying to the gun-station to take manual control, but until then, they have a chance to deal with them by firing their own prow-mounted autogun. Or, of course, they could try to run and find easier pray.

Skill check: 42 - Small Failure. Ship takes minor damage!

T'kra was not in panic mode. It was hard to get blood pumping without loud noises around. She was, however, quite perturbed. "Roai! I told you to be careful when wiring the EMP!"
"I was! It's so hard trying to fidget with those tiny wires and these big hands!"
"I don't even know if this mission is salvageable now. Align to Planet 5."
"Where even is Planet-"
"I keyed it in to your coordinates," the captain stated. She unbuckled her seatbelt. She got a very tight grip on the floor with her boots and on the turret controls with her hands. She stuttered for a moment. "Keyu, how many people do you suppose are on this runner?"
Keyu had switched to T'kra's seat, her arms holding her captain steady. "My guess is thirty to forty."
"Of those, who would have to rush to that turret to get it working again?"
"Five, is my guess."
"All right, here's the plan, then: [ACTION:}
I [T'kra] will try to fire a hole in the freighter with the autogun, away from the point gun so as not to hurt any civilians.
Keyu will keep a lookout for any movement, the slightest twitch from the enemy turret. If that happens, she'll shout "Tak" [A basic cue, like "Mark" or "Now"]. When she says "Tak," Roai, who will have aligned by now, will engage the FTL engine towards Planet 5."

The second-in-command crept closer to the window so as to get a better look. "This is bad improv. Roai, for the record, if we die, it's all your fault."

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 7:56 pm
by Mercatus
Port Noctis Station Orbit

Keith sat at the pilot's seat, slowly pushing the throttle to engage interplanetary sublight travel. His crew was also busy at work, with the Co-Pilot busy checking backup systems, and the navigator switching between radar displays and system maps. His two Ship System Supervisors were diverting power from maneuvering into raw thrust for the main engines. Keith had been looking for a job for some time now, and a man who needed reactor fuel for use on Kahir Commercial Station in the orbit of the planet Kahir had contacted him, offering 300 credits for the job. "Pushing into interplanetary space now." stated Keith. They were travelling at nearly 100,000 kilometers a minute now, and it would take a few hours to reach Kahir. "Scans show no obstruction or ship signatures." stated Mac, the navigator. Keith responded to him, "Good, but keep an eye out for Hemoh patrols, the employer said they would be out there." Mac nodded, and Suzan, the Co-Pilot, asked, "Should I activate point-defense just in case?" Keith called to Karla and Jak, who managed the ship's power flow, asking, "Does current power situation allow for point defense?" Karla replied after rapidly moving their hands across their stations, "No sir, I'm afraid not." Jak just nodded in agreement, being rendered mute in a past ship crash. "Sir!" Mac called out urgently. "Sir, we have three radar contacts, 537,000 kilometers and closing. They're Hemoh patrol vessels." Keith asked then, "What sizes are they?" Mac responded after zooming with the long-range radar scope, "Two combat frigates and a destroyer, all bigger than us." Keith didn't say anything back, instead ordering his Ship System Officers (SSOs) to ready the vessel for combat. "Divert power from thrust into weapons and point-defense, bring us to combat speed when we reach 50,000 kilometers." They didn't respond, knowing talking would waste time. "ECM and Point-Defense are online, sir!" Suzan said. Keith sat in his seat confidently, having fought Hemoh vessels of this class before. He flicked on a red switch, activating the plasma cannons and missile launchers.

"50,000 kilometers and closing." Mac said. Keith flicked open a hatch on the control stick, revealing a red button. "Guided missiles launched." he said as two streaks of blue-white made their path to the Hemoh frigates, with the destroyer farther away and out of firing range. The ships responded with a barrage of turret fire, plasma and rail gun rounds streaking past.

Even with his skill, Keith knew that these were dangerous to even the most experienced pilots.

ACTION: Keith will attempt to hit the ships soft spots (where the shield isn't as strong) like the engines and turrets. Goal is to weaken the vessels so they cannot pursue. Reactor fuel delivery will be made afterward.

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 9:45 pm
by Elerian
Old Man, Rakodan

One of the things that he’d come to notice was the birds had odd beaks on Rakodan. The outer coloring was a sort of muddled brown with lighter smudged streaks here and there, while the inside with the little nub-teeth was dark red, like the flesh of a blood orange. He could catch sight of their thin tongues every now and then as they snatched up things that interested them on the ground of the abandoned terrain.

He watched them intently from a distance, a thin wisp of greyish smoke trailing from the glowing end of the cigarette clutched between his fingers, the heat from the midday sun glinting off the shiny bits and bobs of his kit. His rucksack was well within arm’s reach atop a large boulder situated nearby. He had made a mistake going on this escapade in the middle of the day. But perhaps that was just another part of his test, he mused.

All his life he’d been tested in one way or another. He would have been eaten alive by the Great Game if he’d been without Psionics or luck, great men came and went as frequently as the sunrise there. It was a vicious cycle, and unless you managed to earn a little notoriety or infamy, you were less than a footnote in the Imperial machine. He had gained only infamy and notoriety during his stint with the Navy, and yet it had done little for him. He’d merely carried on for those first few years clinging to hope, that one day it would get better. That his circumstances would somehow change.

That was until he finally realized that the hope he held so dearly was a lie. No one would save him. No one cared whether he lived or died. And most of all, in the end he didn’t matter. That discovery nearly killed him, but still he rose above. He worked harder and harder until he could make them care. And in the end, make them care he did, for all the good that did him.

Savoring one last drag from his cig, he let the smoke stew in his lungs for a moment before gently exhaling a coil of smoke through his nostrils. Flicking the butt aside, he hopped down from his seat.

Stepping through the desert heat, he was careful to climb down slowly. His soft leather boots allowed for him to do so quietly, and to easily feel the ground around him and navigate it properly. Stepping down carefully using well placed rocks to stop his gentle sliding from becoming a tumultuous fall, he managed to navigate to the bottom at last. Stepping into the new land, he searched around the valley floor for a road of any kind. He had not a map to reference, not that he'd be able to track his precise location if he did, though it did not matter. Any amount of wandering would be sufficient to find it, and following the crags that rose out of the other end of the valley were enough of a guide. Furthermore, he was certain the thrumming would show him the way when all else failed. Wanting to escape the heat for a time, he slipped under a rocky outcropping for some shade and another break.

Not long after, he started hearing voices. At first he thought maybe the veil was speaking to him, but no, they were certainly living. He could have kept going to the Manor and forgotten all about them, but his curiosity got the better of him.

Action: Carefully Investigate the Voices

PostPosted: Tue Nov 12, 2019 9:51 pm
by Rodez
Lucjan Vrana
Fiyarro, Sathas

Dust was everywhere here: it settled in the streets, was blown into the markets, where travelers of every conceivable species and creed picked it up with their boots and clothes and carried it into dim-lit shops and dingy taverns. Lucjan Vrana was one such vehicle, a pale, sturdy man who shook it violently out of his prized flight jacket in the mudroom of a middle-tier Ellirean bar. Truly, Fiyarro was your classic frontier town: fresh-faced and grimy; violent and bursting with optimism. Frontier in every way except the ventilation systems, he thought derisively, sweeping more than a few particles out the long, sable locks of hair that reached down almost to shoulder-length.

A few of the Ellireans gave him odd looks, then ignored him. It was an Ellirean bar, known for serving that species' famous blue mead, but the clientele was hardly limited to them. A quartet of Emyaar, attired like soldiers, occupied one table. A pair of Farassaqui, in their customary flamboyant robes, held down a corner booth.

Lucjan strode over to the end of the bar and occupied a stool. The Ellirean barkeep shuffled over after a little while, cocking a red eyebrow so high that Lucjan imagined it might slide off the top of his head. "You," he said, appraising Lucjan, "I think I've seen you here before. Can I get you something?"

Lucjan shrugged. "I've been through Fiyarro several times. This place, once or twice before. Can I get a blue mead?"

"Sure." The barkeep went about mixing the beverage and slid it over to Lucjan when it was done. He took a big gulp and savored the striking, tangy flavor. It wasn't actually mead and as far as he knew, wasn't even alcoholic. But humans called it 'mead' and whatever was in it definitely got you nice and drunk after six or seven, so who was complaining?

He sipped his drink for a few minutes and tapped his foot impatiently, waiting. Then the doors slid open.

"Fucking dust," a deep voice groaned. They crossed the distance between the mudroom and Lucjan in three prodigious steps and claimed the stool next to him. It was a big man, much bigger than Lucjan, who stood closer to seven feet tall than six. His black chest was open beneath a too-small vest, separated from the air only by a thin coating of dust. He turned to regard Lucjan with eyes like shards of ice, made all the sharper by the contrast against his ebony skin. "Afternoon, Captain. Has your day been as shitty as mine?"

Lucjan chuckled. "You know, probably not, Vester. I heard about Valter's escapade with the whores on Pulsar Alley. Tadeusz told me."

Vester rolled his eyes heavenward. "And to think, that fool is my twin! If I ever have to lift a half-conscious prostitute out of a pool of her own vomit again, I'm gonna shoot somebody!" Having uttered the last bit a little loudly, some of the clientele turned to stare at Vester. He stared back, prompting them to return to their drinks. Leaning over the bar and crossing one iron-hard arm behind the other, he turned back to Lucjan. "So, any luck? I met a Salunri merchant who wanted an escort over to Nyrdis-VII, but the credits weren't really worth our while. Besides, I told him we don't really do the mercenary stuff."

Lucjan shook his head. "I've seen a lot of the same today. Folks want hired guns. I want to map a system or something, dammit." He gave Vester a sly look. "Maybe our friend can be of some assistance," he quipped, with a glance at the Ellirean bartender.

Action: Lucjan inquires after work opportunities from the bartender, especially those pertaining to star-mapping and mineral prospecting.

PostPosted: Wed Nov 13, 2019 12:47 am
by Ness Alquam
Sakol Linyako
Fiyarro, Sathas

The thrumming sound of the transport stopping, woke Sakol from his sleep as blurry shapes were moving around in the transport and one of them put their hand on his shoulder who Sakol came to recognized as Margon Tojoru.

"Wake up. We're here." Margon Tojoru said to sleepy Sakol still resting from his 12-hour trip to Fiyarro who spend the majority of the trip refreshing his memory about the Builders as well as what to say to his new crew that he was meeting.

"Uhhhhh.... Give me another minute," Sakol groaned.

"In another minute we will be answering to the council on why we were late to the crew meeting," Margon says while looking at his wrist as if he has a watch and shakes Sakol's right shoulder harder.

"I'm up." Sakol quickly says while jumping up and gathering his items off from the transportation. He quickly exits the transportation into the vibrant streets of Fiyarro where the bright flashing lights of the city disorientated Sakol who had to adjust to the lights. Despite Fiyarro being a frontier settlement, it was a vibrant city where the residents attempt to recreate the spectacles of the cities which to some effect work well as the design of Fiyarro makes one forgets that they are an undeveloped world. Shops lined the streets and bustling crowd of people went into the shops where the streets were occupied by street stalls managed by settlers of Sathas. If it was one thing you can tell from first glances, it is who actually venture out of Fiyarro and those who chose to keep their Sathas life to Fiyarro as the street stalls are managed by settlers coming all over Sathas to sell what they find while the shops that had buildings were usually owned foreigners interest only in the development of Fiyarro. However, this difference created a market balance in Fiyarro as the foreigners sold common galactic goods to the settlers who would sell the exotic goods and resources to foreigners and other wanderers of Fiyarro.

"Are we going to spend all day looking at people? Or head to the meet-up" a voice asks causing Sakol to turn toward the voice to see his other friend Akuske Qugiri who chose to wear her blue combat fatigues as her outfit to meet the rest of the crew who matched with Margon.

"Our friend was just taking in the sights. As well as the potential sight of answering the council of his reason being late that he was too busy being a tourist." Margon says while laughing and patting Sakol on his shoulder.

"You guys are just bullies at this point" Sakol replies while laughing and turn his attention to the streets watching the flow of people traveling into and out of shops.

"But that's why you love us," Akuske said while grabbing one of Sakol's bags containing his research equipment as she traveled lighter than Sakol which Sakol to scrunch his eyebrows while looking at her.

"Anyways, our destination is the Djinn Pub. Which should be directly down the street." Sakol tells the rest of the group while pointing down the street into the crowd of people. There is a momentary pause before Margon and Akuske start to burst out laughing in which Sakol looks towards the sky in response.

"You sounded so confident. But you don't even know where it is" Akuske replies while wheezing "Don't worry, just stick to me and we will safely get to our location." She starts to walk down the steps from the taxi platform into the crowd of people while Margon gestures to Sakol to travel in the middle and he takes the rear guard. Sakol lets out a light chuckle as he realizes the two acting as they were his protection detail as they projected a bubble of space that carve through the crowd in which Sakol soaks up the view of the city while keeping up with the rest of them. In fact, he is so absorbed in his surroundings that he doesn't notice that Akuske stopped and bumps straight into her where the next thing he feels is the ground while looking up at Akuske. Margon smiles when he goes to pick up Sakol from the ground.

"Looks like you forget that our girl here can and will throw you up and over her if you cross here," he says in a semi-joking tone and offering his hand pulling Sakol from the ground in which Akuske chuckles slightly at the scene before brushing off the dust from Sakol's outfit.

"Okay, it is game time," Sakol tells the group before dusting off the rest of his outfit as he realizes the reason for the stop was that they were here at the location. He took one deep breath knowing this probably one of the last times he will have a moment to rest. He heads into the tavern where he is immediately welcomed by sounds and lights of a nightclub where he glances around for a group of 7 dressed in official wear before a staff member of the bar dressed in a formal vest with a white shirt and black dress pants come to him.

"Are you Sakol Linyako?" the worker inquires which Sakol gives a short response where the worker offers a quick bow. "Follow me to your table." As the worker takes off with Sakol and his crew in tow, he feels the presence of someone watching him to which he looks around to no avail as Margon tugs on him to continue to follow the worker. The worker leads them through the tables of incoherent drunks and people searching for work as they created an atmosphere of disarray as Sakol tries to fit between them without any of them messing up his outfit. Eventually, they come to a door that reads "VIP Section" which the worker opens and holds for Sakol to travel through which had a much calmer tone to the area than the commons where he quickly spotted the 7 individuals dressed in official wear around a table in the back. The worker gestures to Sakol to the group of 7 already seated to which Sakol walks over the smile desiring to make a good first impression on his crew while making a quick glance over his crew to see varying kinds of Emyaar and recognizing one person from his childhood, Krel Nekrimat who was dressed in a pilot outfit which consists of a blue jumpsuit and black combat boots. He pulls out a tablet pulling up the roster that the Union gave to him and placed it down on the table while Margon and Akuske found their seats.

"Hello, everyone. I will be your captain for this journey that we are undertaking." Sakol says with a polite smile "I believe everyone has been briefed by the Union on the task that we must accomplish, to find technology beneficial to the Union and bring it back for them in particular," Sakol press a button on his tablet showing an image of a Builder tech "Builder technology which is known to everyone to be more advanced than our technology which is our second job of understanding the how the tech works. Is there any questions so far?" A hand is raised to which Sakol points to the Emyaar female who had subtle features of Emyaar with smaller ears than the average and dressed as an engineer consisting of work goggles with a black jumpsuit and black combat boots.

"The name is Nisuri Velark and I was wondering if the Union provided the locations of where these builder techs are supposed to be" Nisuri asks.

"No, I have to make independent research into the star maps containing Builder technology" Sakol replies to which Nisuri scoffs to.

"Typical Union to not to share their intellectual property, how do they expect the Union to work if they keep information from the people who have to complete" Nisuri says in which Sakol glance around the table seeing his former squadmates showing signs of distressed, Krel was showing an interest in what Nisuri was saying, and rest of the crew were nonchalant.

"While we may not agree on the methods of the Union, we are all here to in order to create a better Union" Sakol quickly interjects in order to prevent a brawl from breaking out on their first meeting which all the members gave a response of supporting the Union in general. "This isn't a problem, we can quickly solve this. In fact, why don't you guys" He points to his former Margon and Akuske "Introduce yourself to the rest of the group and get to know each other while I ask the worker where we can find star maps containing Builder technology." Sakol walks away from the group hearing the initial conservation of Margon introducing himself to the rest of the group and head to the bar in the VIP area where he quickly calls down a worker.

"Can I have a drink of something light as well as can I talk to the bartender for a moment?" Sakol asks which the worker bows and telling to another worker. Sakol waits for a few minutes before the bartender arrives with his drink while he was thinking of how to balance the political beliefs of his party to prevent it from falling to pieces. The bartender slides an ID card identifier which Sakol slides his card which tells him he is only allowed to have one more drink before he reached his daily limit. Sakol knocks back the drink that the bartender slides over to him.

"Do you know any sellers that are selling star maps containing builder technology for a price under 150 credits?" Sakol asks the well-dressed bartender.

Action: Sakol asks the bartender for any knowledge of any sellers selling star maps containing Builder technology for a price under 150 credits.

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2019 9:54 am
by The National Dominion of Hungary
Samuel Bridge Iron

Leaving the spacedocks of Qharlaq, Samuel stared into the void for the first time. It's deep inky blackness was overwhelming for some time, the sheer size and scope of it all was a bit more understandable. But it was still hard to imagine the vast distances involved. They made their way at sublight speed toward one of the many Warp-Gates that were in the system, making it the hub of so many important trade routes. As they approached Gate-316 and punched in their coordinates, the large structure loomed before them, ships coming and going. Finally, the traffic control station cleared Sam's ship for departure, assigning them their entry-coordinates. The ship entered a strange corridor in space where it only took minutes to traverse distances that would have taken centuries even with the most advanced modern FTL-drives. Space is big after all. Their journey was for the most part calm and went off without a hitch. Days passed in FTL and passing through warp-gate from cluster to cluster. The further out they got from the space controlled by the great powers, the more desolate the voids became, less ships, and of increasingly poor repair and quality greeted them. Finally, the jumped to the Omega Doradus system, where the independent colony world of Ylem waited. After being cleared they set down on the landing platform on the main town on the planet surrounded by rainy forests, time to make a profit.

Siamatus Tadosia

Zipping across the red dunes, Siamatus quickly sailed above collapsing ruins and featureless dunes to find himself setting the small pinnace down in front of an elaborate gateway carved from the very face of the mountain before him. Cracked and half-buried under the merciless sands that slowly consumed the world and with no sense of remorse, robbing future generations of this relic of galactic history. As Siamatus left his small starship a crackling sound drew his attention and in the skies far to the east he could see a storm was coming, green and yellow lightning dancing upon void-torn skies where the veil was weak and the laws of the material universe held less than full sway. He dug through the sands, exposing a panel still powered by some ancient fail-safe generator. The combination he had seen thanks to the great clarity of his vision and he punched it in. Heavy, ancient machinery sputtered to life behind the solid stone doors and slowly, they slid open with a grinding noise. Exposing a way in for the psionic, and, perhaps, a way out for something inside.

Kyr Mirhorn Van

The chief rose from prayer, as did her feathered compatriots, brave dunkidor clansmen and women all. Steeped in the traditions of bravery and the warlike spirit of their people. Aye, while experienced in some things, they were at a loss in other, but a certain determination graced their faces, for now at least. They had worked for several days gathering intel on Vrasam, his ship and his crew. Their work had been far from fruitless and on that basis they had formulated as good a plan as one could given the situation. As they slowly make their way through the dock in the small hours of the night only the occasional drunken locals or spacers stumbling down the hallways of the station met them. As they neared their target, the ducks stopped and looked around the hallways to make sure they were alone, then, up out from bags came their newly acquired arsenal of guns, in case they had to shoot their way out. Or in for that matter. The berth was quiet, could see a single pirate patrolling inside through a large window, quickly sneaking forward the most tech-savvy among the ducks attempted to hack the door through his hand-terminal. After a few frantic moments, the holopanel beside the heavy door lit up with an inviting green color. They hadn't triggered any alarms, but the duck took longer time to hack the door than ideal. Kyr took a step forward from where she stood behind the hacker-duck and opened the door, as it slid open, the ducks slid into the docking berth. Cargo crates and containers provided cover as they silently crept up behind the guard who barred their way, a tall, tattooed Zorvishi in a mismatched combat harness carrying a plasma carbine. Kyr moved swift and silent with intent and focus, her eyes fixed on the target. It all happened so fast, he barely heard as the duck captain closed the gap and a sharp pain shot up his leg as the stock of her rifle struck his joint. He fell to his knees with a cry of pain and a second strike with the gun knocked him out. Nothing happened, he was alone here. There was no time to properly search him, but as they ducks helped each other drag him behind a container, a credit chit fell from his pocket, and Kyr took the plasma carbine from the ground.

Skill check: 50 - Small Success. + 1 Delay.
Skill check: 84 - Fine Success. + 71 Credits / + 1 Plasma Carbine.

T'kra Tyawerai

A salvo erupted from from the pinnace's autocannon, a flurry of explosive rounds raked the freighters side, force of the blasts sending debris silently tumbling into the void in tangles of torn metal. T'kra's aim held true, and no return fire came as the enemy escort ship remained crippled. Her crew scrambling to make repairs, a time consuming process so they were most likely focusing on the targeting suite so they could return fire and drive these robbers and their little ship away with a few well-aimed volleys from their point-defense guns, a pinnace, after all is not a durable ship. PDG's would do the trick. As the Werai captain let her autocannon spew it's lethal munitions raking the side of the freighter, she could see a large piece of hull-plating split off and tumble violently into the void. Explosive decompression, they had a breach! No doubt sealed off behind heavy bulkheads now. There was a way inside, but the freighter captain did not remain idle under the Werai assault, his ship fired it's maneuvering thrusters and burned the engine hot in an attempt to buy time for the escorting ship to get at least a few of it's guns in somewhat working order. The freighter was exposed and without protection, but the escort was burning hot to stay close, attempting to fix the damages.

Skill check: 52 - Small Success

Keith Maxwell

Keith had fought ships like that before, many times. He had seen them hit by mighty Imperial laser-lances and crack apart from the force of the broadside macroguns on the Emperor's ships. Then, he had weaved between them in a nimble fighter backed up by his wingmates. Now he was in a lone attack-boat. Quick and nippy, no doubt about that, but not as quick and maneuverable as a fighter. Even a single of those Hemoh vessels far outclassed his cutter in armament, armor, shielding, crew complement. Kieth had speed on his side, a timeless ally for fighter-pilots since the human species first took to the skies on the lost homeworld of yore. Keith was lucky, supremely lucky. The Hemoh captain of the closest vessel, overconfident and dismissing the small speck on his sensor as nothing but a fly to be swatted hadn't even powered his shields or defenses, transferring all power to the railguns in order to blast Kieth out of the void at maximum range. The missiles had struck near to the engines, disabling one of the drives leading the ship to start turning to port. The overconfident captain was forced to lower the thrust in order for the speed to be manageable for his maneuvering thrusters so they could hold the ship on-course. His two compatriots however were now on interception trajectories and turned to show the rightly feared broadsides of Hemoh warships, shields raised, they were hoping to blast the wasp that had stung them into oblivion. Keith could probably outrun them if he sped ahead, his cutter's thrust-to-mass ratio far better than that of the Hemoh pursuers. Then again, he could try to make another attack. But, overconfidence is a killer that could strike from nowhere.

Skill check: 82 - Large Success

Leon Tchaikovsky

Slowly, methodically, silently, Leon crept up the red, rocky slope of the hill that separated him from the strange voices, strange but very much uttered by material beings. Once, he had led ships in their dozen into battle, he had been the nightmare of sectors, the mention of his very name made rebels lay down their arms and beg for mercy. Now, he was dragging himself up a dusty hill on a world many said had been cursed by some strange, malicious being from the paracasual space. That the aliens that lived here had angered something primordial and beyond comprehension. Slowly steadily he reached the top of the hill where large, rust-colored boulders and rocks provided Leon with cover as he crept up to them and crouched, observing the scene before him. There, a camp had been erected in the shelter of a colossal statue, how buried by the sands to such a degree that only it's head could still be seen watching over the crags and dunes. Three tents were there, next to a parked rover and what looked like scientific measurement equipment. All of it was of fine manufacture and quality, whoever these people were, they had resources. There was no ship in sight, either they were dropped off or the rest of them were somewhere else. Archaeologists maybe? Empyreologists? Then, he saw them, leaving one of the tents, seven Ellireans, two of whom were visibly armed and probably armored, Leon couldn't quite see from here. He took a few steps, heading behind a boulder nearby to get a better look, a careless slight of hand sent a tumble of stones down the hill. They all turned in his direction and as wind dispersed the dust, two rifles were leveled in his direction. "Not a twitch! Hands in the air and tell us exactly what you're doing there!" At least they didn't shoot on sight, a good sign... maybe.

Skill check: 33 - Failure

Lucjan Vrana

On the furthest outpost of Emyaar civilization, a human explorer could find much work. The Union's rapid expansion had led it's survey-galleons to become thinly spread across the void. He, she, they? The Ellireans are a mono-gendered race, such words held little meaning to them. Due to their appearance, most referred to themselves as "female" when interacting with aliens, but some, like this very bartender preferred aliens to name him as a him. Then, he spoke of the Union's Institute for Astrographic and Xenogeologic Studies contracting with enterprising Emyaar captains, paying them provisions for what they discovered depending on the number of worlds in the system, what valuable resources were found there and so on. Now, to keep up their momentum, alien explorers have been able to take out UIAX-comissions as well over the last twenty years. Lucjan could take this opportunity and checked the local UIAX office's extranet site. Indeed, they were offering work to enterprising captains, tasking them to map the Hourglass Cluster whose warp-gate connection had recently been reestablished. The Celestial caste of the Union was eager to see if these virgin worlds were worth the expense to colonize and stretch the Union's borders even further, claiming more of the void for the Union and the Emyaar. Only automated probes had until now been sent into the cluster and have identified three star-systems in the cluster within close FTL-travel distance. This was unknown space, only the telemetry from the probes on their fly-by's provided some bare-bones, simple information. Rates were good, finding a garden world payed the best, finding rich mineral deposits did as well. Gas giants, common in the universe payed well too, as they were sources of hydrogen and helium that powered much of the galaxy. It was quite an interesting prospect for an enterprising explorer who didn't mind signing some papers and NDA's before shipping out.

Sakol Linyako

For such a sum, most map dealing traders and captain scoffed and waved the excited young Emyaar captain off. He tried for days, waiting for ships to dock so he could extend his proposal to newly-arrived explorers returning from their voyages. Finally one does offer him a map leading to a system near the border of Accordance space, but Sakol was skeptical, none of the other captains had been willing to sell such a star-chart for that price. Perhaps this grizzled old space-wolf saw a spark of himself at one point in his youth as he gazed upon the Emyaar captain before him. It was not much, but Builder artifacts were valuable, people rarely parted with knowledge of where those could be found unless for a very good price, or a particularly scary knife to their throats. The old captain told Sakol he would stay here for a few days and that he could contact him, leaving his terminal-address before leaving. Sakol's first report back to the council from the Xenoarcheological Department was, as could be expected, not stellar. But in a seeming twist of fortune, the report he relayed back to the council, one must have convinced them to share some information. He was given the coordinates to a system where what seemed to be an old Builder cloud-city had supposedly been picked up by the scanners of an automated probe passing by one of the system's gas giants several months ago. Cloud-cities, especially ancient ruined ones that had been without maintenance for two billion years tended to not be the most structurally safe things out there, but the Builders built to last, right? I mean they must have gotten that nickname from somewhere, and that information was free.

Skill check: 62 - Small Success.

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2019 2:01 pm
by Zjaum
"Keyu, I've made a penetration. Has there been any response?"
"You're blocking one of my eyes, but, as far as I can tell, no."
T'kra shook her head. "You couldn't have just used- you know what, never mind. Do you have the universal Werai translator?"
"Yes, I have it... here. I have it."
At that moment T'kra noticed the ship gaining speed. The ship was accelerating forward, but her ship was pointing outward towards the planet. Alignment to the ship would cost them precious seconds at least. "Damn it, we're not in the right vector to pursue! Roai, can you turn us around?"
"Wait, give me a minute! I have to..." Roai's large fingers, when mixed with her over-excitement, might as well have been paws for all the good it did her.
T'kra didn't waste a moment. "Keyu, do you have something that can get through those blast doors?"
"I mean, I have your gun at best-"
"Am I going to have to shoot the bulkheads?"
T'kra was doing mental calculations, which was very hard for her to do. Roai couldn't navigate. Keyu couldn't fight. Her ship was wounded, and they were probable seconds away from going blown from the skies. "We are aborting this mission."
"But I can-"
"We are moving to Plan B. Roai, hit the reset button on the navigation controls."
"Wait, T'kra, are we really-"
"Attention, blockade runner. This is your assailant. We are withdrawing our attack. We apologize for any damages we may have caused your ship. We did not attempt to injure any of your crew, and we hope you pay the same favor to us. Please hold fire as we disengage."
"...Okay, then."
"T'kra, calm down. Warm yourself. Scroll through the list of coordinates for Plan B."
"...All right, I found it. We're going there? That's Planet 5?"
"Punch it now, Roai."

Escape is presumed guaranteed, given that the ship has well prepared for escape. However, if not, Action: Fire the FTL engines in the prepared direction. If escape is guaranteed, the following post is enacted:

Roai punched it in, and the Werai Pinnance shot across the solar system to a small, atmosphere-less planet. "They've set up a new observation array just a few days ago. It's not an important observation post, so they likely won't notice us. We go in, we grab the ceramic plates that act as the mirror for the telescope, and we get out."

(Potentially second) Action postponed for second post

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2019 3:59 pm
by Ralnis
Chieftain Kyr Mirhorn Van

The clanmates were surprised at the swift takedown of the Zorvishi pirate. They knew from training with the Chieftain that such a thing was possible but to see it in action. The pirate was twice as tall as a Duck and a head taller than a human but this one was taller than the normal ones walking around. It took the entire clan to move him to a secluded area of the cargo hold.

Zax, the tech-savvy duck, was passed along the Foehammer as it's former holder got the plasma carbine. Kyr made a note of those types of carbines, usually uncommon but were in circulation to those who had the money to field them. Short-range, high rate of fire and large damage to boot.

No wonder why the credits for the job were so high.

The ducks huddled together and Kyr went to Zax as he had the public plans for the Corvette. He was still new to the Clan as he was clanless and a native to the station. He was there tech expert and was still afraid of fighting. Such a thing doesn't go away from training but comes from field jobs like this one.

He was silently squawking with apologies and asking for forgiveness as he was too slow during the hacking but Kyr didn't have time for it. Accessing the hand terminal for the public data of the corvettes there in they needed to find the maintenance tunnel and then travel up to the second deck.

The door to the tunnel was easy to find and was able to open without the trigger of any alarms. They saw the quiet echoes of the corvette and climbed down for they only had so long before someone finds out that they're being robbed.

Action: Get into the maintenance tunnel and continue to sneak up to the second deck and try to scout out the area and see if they can find the slave pens. Try to make sure that they aren't spotted, take out those who are blocked their path without the need of firing a shot if possible. Have the ducks provide overwatch for each other and have the hacker-duck with the laser in the back.

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2019 7:08 pm
by The Empire of Tau
Merchant Man, Sam
Selling a Medical Crate at Ylem

Ylem, a desolate outer-rim world, recently raided by a sizeable pirate armada. It was a prime location for trade. The people there were desperate for all sorts of stuff. Ammo, medical, power tools, machine parts, etc, could be sold for a high price here due to shortages and the crumbling planet infrastructure. Discovery, Ylem’s capital city, was the place where Samuel needed to head to for selling off his medical cargo. Before that though, Sam wanted to see the wildness of Ylem himself. Sam spent his whole life underneath millions of layers of steel and concrete in the deep-levels of Qharlaq. Never had he seen a sun or moon or even the flora and fauna on a planet’s surface. While Sam did know of and seen plants and animals before in buildings, respectively hydroponics and cages, he was still taken back by the beauty of the mundane biome of Ylem. What’s more surprising was that the air quality was great. Unlike Qharlaq’s slums, where the air was filtered by shitty conditioners, Ylem’s atmosphere provided quality oxygen. Besides from Ylem’s natural features, Sam visited a ruined and ran down town out in the middle of no-where.

The town, in which Sam called it Shacktown, was utterly destroyed. Houses, shops, and the general infrastructure were damaged in every way possible. Bullet holes, blown out walls, samshed roofs, etc, etc, could be found. Sam took a walk down its streets and found many corpses that lay about. Sam had no way to recognize any of the people, either innocent, pirate or else-wise. By this point, their bodies were in heavy decay, eaten by scavenger specimens. The smell of rotting bodies was not pleasant, but it was not different from Qharlaq. It was just this town was a smaller scale then the piles of bodies that mounted up in the slums of Qharlaq. Sam was used to these horrendous acts and displays. Afterall, Qharlaq’s slums is no different from a warzone, but Sam was still disheartened and felt genuinely sad for the people here. Even if he did not know them. Once the mourning was done, Sam looted various knick-knacks here and there from the destroyed buildings or bodies. The only real loot that Sam got was several Irinur Combines. Sam kept one for himself and then handed the rest to his crew.

After Sam’s short exploration, he headed to Discovery. Once Sam’s Suvura 3300 was cleared for the land-pad, the local law enforcement searched him and the ship for any illegal goods. All they found was the Irinur Combines and the ship’s cargo, the aircars and medical cargo. After the search, Sam left the crew to guard the Suvura while Sam unloaded the medical crate. Discovery was less desolate then Shacktown but Discovery was still eerily quiet. Wounds left by the pirate raid were never properly fixed and the various damages were open for all to see. The central market was not too hard to find. People were marching back and forth from a single point and Sam could just ask for directions, and he did.

Bustling with activities, Sam just had to sell of a single crate of medical supply. How hard can that be? Potential customers should not be hard to find. Ylem was not exactly a place of wealth, but people needed medical in order to stay alive, unless the people here wanted go resort to more basic and less reliable methods of healing. Sam would ask person by person, if they needed or wanted his crate. Simple as that. No beating around the bush. "Hey, you want to buy a medical crate?"

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2019 7:48 pm
by Gerdon Laughis
The National Dominion of Hungary wrote:

Siamatus Tadosia

Zipping across the red dunes, Siamatus quickly sailed above collapsing ruins and featureless dunes to find himself setting the small pinnace down in front of an elaborate gateway carved from the very face of the mountain before him. Cracked and half-buried under the merciless sands that slowly consumed the world and with no sense of remorse, robbing future generations of this relic of galactic history. As Siamatus left his small starship a crackling sound drew his attention and in the skies far to the east he could see a storm was coming, green and yellow lightning dancing upon void-torn skies where the veil was weak and the laws of the material universe held less than full sway. He dug through the sands, exposing a panel still powered by some ancient fail-safe generator. The combination he had seen thanks to the great clarity of his vision and he punched it in. Heavy, ancient machinery sputtered to life behind the solid stone doors and slowly, they slid open with a grinding noise. Exposing a way in for the psionic, and, perhaps, a way out for something inside.

The Pinnace, named "خنفساء" (Khanfsa') or "Beetle" in Kasath, touched down almost gracefully in the sand. Siamatus almost lept from cockpit, boots sinking into the desert while he surveyed his surroundings. He compared the view in front of him to the vision he had seen, and was almost saddened at what he saw before him. Forever would so many of the secrets of this world be lost too the unforgiving sands. However, this artifact would not be lost.

Hearing the crackling of the Voidstorm behind him, part of him begged to move as quickly as possible, to get in his craft and take for cover, but a Psionic was no normal man, and steeling his nerves he slowly and carefully dug through the sands until the Tomb's panel was revealed. Without the clarity of the vision, he would be at a loss trying to decipher and alien symbols and crack the combination. But upon entering the code, the ancient work began groaning, slowly opening as sand poured in, the light exposing the path forward. No stranger to danger, Siamatus readies his railgun, and begins his descent into the tomb. He is cautious, using his psionics to try and sense any possible danger, but also somewhat in awe of the ruin, trying to take in as much detail as possible.

Action! Try to detect possible danger in the tomb, and analyze the contents and craftsmanship of the structure.

PostPosted: Thu Nov 14, 2019 10:13 pm
by Ormata
Me'lek Tsualn, CO of Cortez
Fiyarro, Sathas

It wasn’t a good bar.

Tsualn and her crew, the five members that had decided that they might as well come along to get drunk before the vessel made her voyage out into the black, entered in unceremoniously. For all their wear, it seemed like they were simple dockworkers who’d come in after dealing with an especially long day or an annoying customer. They entered, taking up a smaller corner table. One of hers waved the waitress over, nodding to some unseen beat through his wireless set, smiling just a little to himself as she tottered over. Tsualn for her part surveyed the room, mouth wry as she looked over each and every patron. The Ellireans were odd and suspicious, as usual, but that wasn’t surprising or out of place. It simply was their way of looking over a stranger. They treated them like strangers. The Emyaar at another table gave her a bad vibe. She didn’t trust her own kind, not usually, and their attire rekindled memories she’d sooner let die. The Farassaqui in a corner booth were Farassaqui, nothing much to be said there that wasn’t always said about em.

At the bar, though, there was a human talking to the tender. His skin looked like moondust, gleaming in the light like wax, though despite that he lacked the usual characteristics of those dwellers. He wasn’t tall, spindly, with large eyes like dinner plates. No, he was a bit more squat. An old Terran flight jacket was his choice of attire along with the rather standard flight suit, and the guy looked like he’d been through a bit. Older, maybe. He was talking to the bartender and looked pretty pleased about it all.

“One Tzlak, foam,” ordered a crewman as the waitress finally made way over. He spoke in that business talk, that sort that allowed for no questions, little hesitations, and turned back to his talk from before as she jotted that information down. He was a human, hair forming a black fringe halo about his head and jawline, with most of it chopped down into a plain field, though the scorch marks on the jumpsuit made his profession a little more obvious. “I swear, though, I don’t know why we’re doing this. We could make just as much by just working merc jobs. They pay good money to wipe pirates out and it’s just a few jumps away.”

The figure next to him was annoyed; you could tell it on the face. The Gharryn as a whole weren’t exactly easily identified, but the rapid clacking of his beak was a gook enough sign that something was off in one way or another.“Look, you might think that, but fact is there’s too many goddamn mercs these days and that life isn’t for our ship. We don’t have the guns or the manpower for it, or the engines. Most of em would cut and outrun us and any outposts they have would have either the guns to break us or the shields to outlive us. The reactor’s your goddamn job, Fix. Oh, one Tziani Red please.”

“Alright, so maybe I’m not kicking down doors but I still gotta head on my shoulders. We need guns and bodies? Fuck it, we could just join one of the private sec companies. They provide guns. They provide bodies. Sure, they might be debt-slaves or servitors but what they fuck do we care? They’re bodies.”

“If I wanted to be a corporate sleeze I would’ve stayed home. So would you.”

“Oh, come off your high horse. If I wanted to be a corporate sleeze I would’ve become a banker, not a tech.”

The Gharryn snorted, shaking his head at the exchange and chuckling in that strange, off-sounding trilling noise they were prone to. Fix wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of going off to see and find new worlds, but that wasn’t out of place with a lot of people. Gravitational anomalies were dangerous enough without throwing in everything else that can go wrong during a survey. Just a few screw-ups and suddenly you have no drive and no way to fix it. Tough luck on em.

Tsualn spoke-up, though, snorting at it. “Private security isn’t the answer. They’d probably try to hire us out into some warzone in who-knows-where and at that point, we’re just a warship in a navy everyone distrusts and hates. Besides that, the moment I get servitors and debt-slaves with us is when we start to go downhill. I don’t need to worry about my own crew jumping-up and killing everyone in their sleep because they want out. Besides, we already have a damn job that we’ve signed for. Start breaking contracts now and people stop signing them with you.”

They had already signed a contract, one to chart a system in the Hourglass Cluster. It was relatively close for FTL travel and the information on those systems was pretty much nothing. What was known, however, was the fact that none of the automated probes had gone dark during their journeys, meaning that none of the systems was host to a black hole, pulsar, or quasar. Those three generally either murdered a probe or killed it’s comms long enough for people to notice that something was up. Since neither of those things happened, it was safe to assume that the systems were generally safe, barring your standard issues such as gas clouds, radiation storms, asteroid fields, and possible alien life. Tsualn doubted that last one but you never could say what one would find. Only issue was the fact that the Union wanted a group of explorers, small or no, to make the whole process a bit faster. Orders were to keep on Sathas until told otherwise, maximum wait to be a few days with a stipend payment for it. Sure, it was annoying, but it was simple facts. In preparation, she’d bought a good enough small arsenal on the advice of her TacOps, a few carbines and pistols. If they ever had to go planetside, she didn’t want everyone to die.

Drinks were set down, finally, Fix almost downing his in a massive swig. “Fucking hell. I didn’t go navy for a reason. I hate this shit sometimes.”

Action: Cortez makes preparations for underway into Hourglass Cluster. Awaiting go-ahead from the Union in order to get underway.