Cymopolia: New Beginnings [IC] [Apply First]

A staging-point for declarations of war and other major diplomatic events. [In character]
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Pax Cybertronian
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Founded: Jun 20, 2017
Corporate Police State

Cymopolia: New Beginnings [IC] [Apply First]

Postby Pax Cybertronian » Sat May 04, 2019 4:21 pm


OOC: viewtopic.php?ns=1&f=5&t=463546&p=35631751#p35631751

Cymopolia: a galaxy destroyed by war. In strife, the nuclear weapons had turned a once prosperous galaxy, filled to the brim with countless interesting lifeforms convening with other races for one purpose or another, into an apocalyptic empire where the tremors of a horrific war once fought still rang throughout the cosmos even after what felt like entire decades. Ever since most of Cymopolia died, a single year felt like an entire aeon. However, in the apex of their idyllic golden age, Cymopolia was still divided between two major alliances – the Grand Circle and the Reverent, both of whom ultimately vied for total economic, political, and military control over the entire cosmos. Like every good modern war, the Final Conflict did not simply emerge out of nowhere – it was the result of decades of proxy wars, economic squabbles, territorial disputes, and political duels.

At first, the threat of Mutually Assured Destruction, the complete annihilation of both sides, forced both sides to at least consider the consequences of each action. Any action taken could lead to countless consequences and new events emerging from the woodwork, both positive and negative. It was hoped that the continued development of nuclear-level arms would eventually force positive political, military, and financial cohesion between the two alliances. Historically, MAD had, to that point, at least mandated mutual grudging respect of another’s survival. However, when the Final Conflict broke out, their efforts were all for naught as the galaxy many had vowed to protect from obliteration from nuclear weapons had been, ironically, destroyed thanks to the weapons meant to ensure MAD.

Five years on, the vestigial forces of the New Circle and the Reclaimers, the remnants of two grand ancient alliances, have been focusing on recuperating their losses and rebuilding their galaxy in their own way, regardless of how or when that is achieved.

In the outskirts of the Bombed Wastes, a fleet filled with countless star-ships exited FTL travel. For seemingly ages, the Reclaimers were the last remnants of the Reverent – they escaped nuclear annihilation by virtue of travelling in FTL space by the time the Final Conflict broke out. Unlike the New Circle, the mostly-nomadic nature of the Reclaimers meant that it was, at least in theory, far easier for their forces to evade annihilation than the forces of the New Circle, who were stuck on a single planet with a scant million survivors. Some members of the Reclaimers still clung to the fleeting hope that, somewhere in Cymopolia, or even in the cosmos, other Reverent forces have discarded their support for the long-dead Reverent government and managed to survive the Final Conflict. Whether they barely survived by the skin of their teeth, they were slew by some errant mutated creature on a planet in the Bombed Wates, or they even thrived somehow, that remained to be seen.

The capital ship of the Reclaimers was a mammoth of a star-ship – the Levia – a testament to the technological ingenuity of the Reverent and their successors. Before the Final Conflict, it had been constructed by the Reverent to provide a powerful capital ship capable of creating new jobs, acting as a powerful weapon when needed, housing many workers and soldiers and to decrease the morale of the Grand Circle. Of course, the unofficial capital of the Reverent was a planet on the border of now-former Reverent space. Its unassuming location meant that it had fared better than most planets in the war, although nuclear weapons had still struck the planet. As a result, the Reclaimers had somewhere to retreat to in case their fleet had been decimated. At the very least they were not entirely nomadic; they still controlled planets, which were generally considered to be much more difficult to destroy than your average spaceship.

Stak, a very tall, roughly 195cm, yet muscular Istramite man, sat down into his chair. He felt his two antennas, putting his steel helmet back down onto his forehead. He considered the Istramite to be a valiant, proud warrior race; to his luck, quite a good number of his race had survived both the Final Conflict and the successive Reverent Civil War. It was a shame a powerful capital ship had to be destroyed in the process of , but the means justified the ends and he was hoping that he could salvage the rusted wreckage wherever it ended up and rebuild it… if it was out there somewhere and it was not obliterated in the course of the conflict.

Inside the Levia itself, many Reclaimer technicians and engineers scurried around the main bridge of the capital ship. If the Levia fell to what Stak called “technological impurities”, then that would inevitably mean that the esteem and efficacy of the Reclaimers would indubitably be called into question, and the fleet itself would be in danger of succumbing to yet another civil war. That would give the New Circle an advantage, which Stak, High Admiral of the Grand Reclaimer Fleet, didn’t want. As a result, Stak mandated that the survival of the Reclaimers hinged on maintaining a powerful fleet and ensured that the state-of-the-art weaponry and other technology the warship maintained was always kept up to date and refurbished to the absolute best of the crew’s abilities. Stak believed that he had to be ruthless if he wanted to defeat the New Circle and ensure that Cymopolia was fully recolonized.

Soon, he hoped, the fleet would be able to embark on a grand maiden voyage across the cosmos and rebuild Cymopolian civilization. Then, he received a message from an active lieutenant, advising him on their next course of action.

“Send out a message to any nearby extragalactic powers,” Stak ordered. “Cymopolia has an abundance of resources, even after the Final Conflict. It’s not like we’ll be running of them any time soon. That will be a good incentive for most superpowers to come over here.” He waited for a few seconds, pondering his next move. “Know what? I’ll send them a video; it saves more time that way.”

“Yes, sir,” the nearby Reclaimers responded, and they began to work on starting up the recording equipment.

Stak sat down in his rotating chair and looked towards the camera. He breathed for a second and then put on the typical political smile, playing around with his medals to make sure they were in the correct position. Everything was ready to go. “To whoever sees his video, I’d like to welcome you. I am Stak, the High Admiral of the Reclaimers. We are the last known remnants of the Reverent alliance – Cymopolia, our home galaxy, was ravaged by nuclear war some time ago. Since then, countless planets have suffered the consequences from the onslaught. Countless civilians and soldiers died and, as a result, we need your help.”

“We understand that it’s costly to travel to an uncharted galaxy far from home. That’s why we have a once-in-a-lifetime offer for you: Cymopolia’s resources.” Stak pulled out a silver bar meant to deploy holographic projections. He placed it on the table and the camera fixated on the bar itself. Then, a projection emerged, showing countless statistics, data, and figures relating to the resources present in Cymopolia for economists to indulge themselves in. “As you can see here, despite the atomic war we fought, this galaxy nonetheless still possesses an almost unlimited amount of resources. We’ll be ready to acquisition the more… hesitant nations who aren’t so willing to donate if need be – their needs are subordinate to the greater good.”

Veilara III. The capital planet of the New Circle, progenies of the now-defunct Grand Circle, and home to the few Grand Circellian survivors of the Final Conflict. One of the last planets colonized by the Grand Circle before the advent of the Final Conflict, Veilara III fared better than most planets. It was seen by both sides as strategically unnecessary, though when the nuclear bombs struck the earth, Reverent forces nonetheless recognized that there were some military officers there, albeit a small amount of them. Just as well – unbeknownst to the Reverent, the military government of the Grand Circle, officially deemed to have been wiped out by the Reverent forces in the midst of the Final Conflict, managed to elude total annihilation by way of cloak and shadow, and now, they seek to rebuild their expansive alliance under their new nom de guerre: the New Circle.

While their old alliance was dead, the New Circle had rose forth from their ashes.

In the five or so years after the Final Conflict, Krusskena and the rest of the Circellian Senate had conducted a massive initiative to rebuild the planet Veilara III. It had suffered less than the rest of the cosmos, and it was the only planet the New Circle had, in fact, officially taken full control of. The initiative was initially slow, focusing on Veilara III’s largest cities and then expanding outwards. However, five years on, vast swathes of Veilara III had been successfully terraformed so as to eliminate any radiation on the planet and repair the destroyed settlements residing on the relatively desolate planet; barren lands still remained on the planet, and there were concerns that mutated creatures, the barely-sentient forms of surviving casualties forcibly metamorphized either by deranged scientists or by the atomic weaponry deployed onto the planet.

Nonetheless, Veilara III was projected to ideally be completely rebuilt by the end of the year.

Veilara III was no longer the irradiated wasteland it might have been at the end of the Final Conflict, but it was not an idyllic utopia either. Within the walls of Veilara III’s capital city, chief among the last bastions of the Grand Circle, laid the headquarters of their progeny – the New Circle. Under the rule of President Krusskena, the Circellian alliance had taken a more authoritarian and ruthless move with regards to the political and military theatres. Krusskena considered himself to rule an “autocratic democracy” – aspects of autocracies and democracies were both implemented in order to strengthen the powers of the President and the Senate. He, of course, enacted this autocratic democracy, as oxymoronic as it was, because he believed that life in Cymopolia was on the hinges of extinction and that any means were necessary if the New Circle were to successfully resurrect the Grand Circle and bring order to the cosmos.

Now, he had to attend a meeting with Seor, an esteemed Grand General who managed to survive the Final Conflict, regarding the Unclaimed Sectors.

“Hopefully, we’ll be able to send an expedition or two into the Unclaimed Sectors,” Seor said, a glint of hope in his eyes. “We’ve not got too many soldiers right now, so maybe constructing robotic lifeforms or clones of our own will suffice. We can spare more men once we have more than a few million New Circellians throughout Cymopolia.”

“Excellent,” Krusskena responded, a bottle of wine in his hand. “If we can find any Grand Circle survivors, that means they can become useful to the survival of the New Circle.”

Just as Krusskena finished, an informat ran into the room, slightly winded from running. “Sir, we’ve intercepted a message from the Reclaimers,” the informant said. “They’ve basically offered the resources of Cymopolia to whoever comes to their aid.”

Krusskena let out a small grumble. “Dammit. We’ll send it out earlier than anticipated, then.” He turned to several of his aides, placing the bottle onto the table in front of him. “Fetch me the good recording equipment and a drink and meet me in the recording room as soon as possible!” He sat back down on his chair, thinking of any other offers to coincide with Cymopolia’s abundant resources. He knew some surviving paramilitary groups and private military companies had retreated into uncharted space since the Final Conflict. Maybe if he could gain their support, he could use them to his advantage and gain some allies.

A few minutes later, the aides signalled Krusskena, rolling boom mics, synthesizers, mixers, monitors, compressors, and anything else they felt was necessary into the recording room. A makeup crew entered seconds later to “beautify”, as they rather flamboyantly called it, Krusskena and make him look presentable. First impressions always mattered, after all. Unlike High Admiral Stak, Krusskena was no longer an active combatant and had eschewed warfare in favour of the political theatre, though even he would admit politics was more entertaining when the races in Cymopolia were not on the verge of total extinction. Several Praetorian Guards were stationed around the recording room. Even after the wars had ended, the fear of assassination, either by Reclaimer double agents or Veilaran rebels, was still prominent enough that the creation of countless contingencies was still warranted.

“Greetings, everyone,” Krusskena began. “I am Krusskena, the President of the New Circle. We are the remnants of the once-prestigious Grand Circle; we survived the Armageddon that plagued our galaxy ages ago. We want to bring Cymopolia back to its golden days, back when we Cymopolians basked in our endless supply of resources and our ever-expanding alliances that brought prosperity to the citizens of Cymopolia. We’re essentially the children of the Grand Circle – the alliance that sought the evolution of Cymopolia by any means necessary. The alliance that actually wanted to preserve the future of Cymopolia instead of basking in barbarism; the alliance, more importantly, that wanted to ensure the betterment of the lives of its citizens instead of fighting endless wars.“

He pulled out a stainless-steel hologram projector and placed it in so that anyone watching the video could clearly see it. He then activated it, showing detailed statistics and data regarding the resources of Cymopolia. “The “Reclaimers” offered you the resources of Cymopolia, didn’t they? Well, not only will I offer that, I will also offer the aid of some private military companies and megacorporations that work quite closely with us. They will help to preserve the peace in your nation as well as aid the economies of your nations, as they do when they work closely with us. With this in mind, we strongly urge you to choose wisely when deciding whether to side with us or the Reclaimers – the wrong choice could be quite catastrophic for everyone involved.” And with that, Krusskena ended the recording and sent it out to any extragalactic powers.

With some luck, they’d respond sooner rather than later…
Last edited by Pax Cybertronian on Mon May 06, 2019 10:20 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Arkeyana » Sat May 04, 2019 5:29 pm

Terminus System
On the very, very edge of Cymopolia's gravitational sphere of influence, so far away that it might not even be considered part of the galaxy, was a single, solitary red dwarf, casting it's feeble crimson rays into the cold void.

Yet, this remote system is far, far from dead.

Most notably, are the presence of five megastructures within the system, one being an immense ring ten thousand kilometers in diameter, seemingly some form of gateway into a blue-green region of space, the second one, is an immense spherical object with tendrils extending into said ring, the purpose of such functions unknown. Thirdly, the remaining three structures are each immense rings three million kilometers in diameter and thousands wide, each one with a habitable interior surface, albeit each one has a wildly different climate suited to wildly different species. The system also swarmed with activity, ships of all shapes and sizes flying between smaller stations and habitats and the megastructures.

This was the Terminus System, the primary Operating Base for the Laniakean Alliance's first extrauniversal exploration effort.

New Beginning, Capital of the Laniakean Alliance
The air in the meeting room was somewhat tense, as four people studied the two messages originating in Cymopolia.
"We already have to worry about the Supercluster and the Revenant, plus, we'll undoubtedly attract the attention of any extragalactic nations that have decided to lay claim to Cymopolia, which might Jeopardize the Terminus System." said one, a small sword shaped robot that levitated above the ground.
"However, we do have the ability to aid them. It would be a crime not to." said another, also a robot, but humanoid and more formally dressed.
"I agree that we should aid them, but who we should aid is the question." said a third person, a monstrous creature with blazing amber eyes and bony armor plating.
"We should aid them both, try to mediate peace, which would keep both sides and their allies happy, hopefully." Stated the final attendant, a blue humanoid with a skeletally thin body.
Conversation carried on for hours as all four leaders of the Laniakean Alliance drew up plans for aid, and contingency plans to prevent the discovery of the Terminus System for as long as possible.

Uncharted System
There was a vortex of exotic particles and energy, before a flash of bright blue light heralded a ship literally "dropping" into space. It was immense, the size of an entire planet. This was a Laniakean Traveler-Class Mobile Habitat, sent out on a mission of peaceful exploration, which was made apparent as it started launching dozens of science vessels to explore the system it had landed in.
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The Rapture Republic
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Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby The Rapture Republic » Sat May 04, 2019 6:01 pm

Last edited by The Rapture Republic on Tue May 07, 2019 8:42 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Pax Cybertronian
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Corporate Police State

Postby Pax Cybertronian » Sat May 04, 2019 6:45 pm

In the outskirts of the Unclaimed Sectors, life seemed to resemble pre-Final Conflict Cymopolia, at least to an extent. It was bustling with life, yet it was, for the most part, not as technologically advanced as Cymopolia in its golden age. Perhaps that was because the Grand Circle and Reverent alliances were unable to uplift their technologies through trade and other, perhaps less moral, means. Though expeditions had been deployed into the Unclaimed Sectors for the majority of Cymopolian history, this sector was still mostly unexplored. It escaped the atomic fires of war that ravaged the planets of the other regions. It escaped the unending bombardments that nearly obliterated countless worlds.

And, most importantly, everyone was still alive. No one had died yet.

Some civilizations were primitive, in the nascence of evolution. They were sapient, yet they were still building the very first sparks of civilization. Small villages dotted their planets, destined to gradually evolve into bustling cities and, hopefully, a borderline ecumenopolis: a city planet. Other civilizations were, perhaps to the surprise of many Circellians and Reclaimers, far more technologically advanced than one perhaps would have initially anticipated. Some nations even managed to colonize and annex, if that was part of their modus operandi, entire star systems, a feat that would have shocked the Grand Circle and the Reverent back in their heyday. A nation manging such a feat without their aid would have been almost unthinkable, until now.

Suddenly, a large fleet of purplish warships warped in. Chief among them was a massive capital ship, a sleek and powerful silver and purple warship that almost towered amongst its brethren.

Indeed, it was a capital-ship suitable for a mighty and a very powerful empire. Inside the Semper Tyrannis, the capital-ship’s name, many robotic lifeforms scurried around the controls. Perhaps very surprisingly, these mechanical lifeforms, sentient in nature, were gigantic in size, often reaching up to at least ten metres in height. Additionally, this race of mechanoids had been gifted with the innate ability to transform into vehicles, into animals and, at least in theory, into anything they could feasible turn into. Their race was notorious for its millions of years of war between the Autobot and Decepticon factions. The Decepticons believed that Cybertron was destined to rule over the cosmos and deserved to be the seat of a universal empire, whereas the Autobots sought cooperation with other races, even if some of their ranks held grudges about trading with other races. Tragically, they were unable to permanently reconcile their differences or win the war, even if one faction held official control over Cybertron.

As the fleet warped out of FTL, they arrived near a planet. Lush, it was rich with trees, plants and animals, yet little sapient life lived on the planet. The planet would soon be dubbed “Tyrannia”, named after Scorponok’s esteemed flagship. The ship’s next destination would be inside Tyrannia itself; it would not land on the planet itself but would instead remain in its skies, watching over it like a predatory bird. Inside the flagship’s long bridge, many Decepticons scurried around, either to laze about and talk amongst one another or to fulfil an important task.

“Thank Primus we’re here,” an orange and grey Decepticon chuckled: Quake. “I’ve been itchin’ for a good kill for a while now. I swear, if I was in the ship for much longer, I woulda blown up or somethin’.”

“If you want to kill someone, then there’s not much here, Quake,” Mindwipe, a Decepticon obsessed with necromancy, responded. “If we don’t destroy much of this, I could probably conduct a few black sabbaths or a séance or two. After all, the powers of the dark are a far more potent source of power than mere technology.”

“That’s if Grand Admiral Scorponok lets you do that,” a relatively small Transformer responded: Krunix. “I don’t know if he’d want to jeopardize the plan for a few mere bases scattered around a relatively large planet.”

“If I can successfully summon the powers of the Pit and use them to our will, then the High Command will listen to me and, perhaps, partake in my studies about necromancy for sure!” Mindwipe responded. “Besides, it wouldn’t jeopardize the plan at all; a few small bases are nothing!”

“I mean… if you actually do actually end up summoning the undead, that could backfire on us,” Krunix responded. “Scorponok’s very intelligent and I think he’s thought out almost every contingency plan there is, but I doubt he’s thought out something for a potential zombie apocalypse.”

“Now, now: a zombie apocalypse isn’t ]that bad… if~ they eat the Autobots and not us.”

“Yeah, whatever, you Primus-damn weirdo…” Quake dismissed. “Unicronist freak… don’t even know when to have a good fight.”

“Hey, at least Unicron can actually give me access to the undead!” Mindwipe growled. “Last I checked, it’s in the divine edicts of Primus and the Guiding Hand, or the other mythologies surrounding him, that necromancy is generally a bad thing.”

Quake growled back, clearly annoyed. “The Chaos-Bringer ain’t even been around in nearly a millennia so he can’t give me a good fight, you fu-“

“If you’re going to stop arguing for a few seconds,” a voice from the bridge above shouted, covered in a silhouette, “I’d advise you to take a few seconds to realize that we’re here. We’re finally on a planet after we spent Primus knows how long away from the proud planet of Cybertron.” He stepped out from the shadows, revealing himself to be a tall Decepticon with slightly damaged plating. Warhammer, a high-ranking Decepticon in Scorponok’s fleet. “Besides, arguing amongst yourselves lets the Autobots gain an unnecessary advantage; it’s a gateway for unnecessary losses, and you know how much I hate that.” Warhammer’s crimson optics turned to face the small cabal menacingly. Krunix was unnerved, Mindwipe was unperturbed and Quake was slightly agitated. “Quake, you should stop being so aggressive in general; go train if it bothers you so much.”

“There’s not many Autobots, though,” Quake griped. “Can’t fight Decepticons ‘cause High Command would whine about “losing good men” or whatever excuse they’d come up with to restrain me. Hell, I’m not even convinced they all give that much of a damn about that… Besides, since when did you ever give one about unnecessary losses?”

“You’ll do as I say, Quake,” Warhammer snapped back. “I gave you an order and I expect you to follow that. Any decent soldier would understand that. Hell, even someone with a damaged processor would understand that.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I’m gonna listen to Scorponok’s yes-man,” Quake responded. “Hah! Tell me another joke; that was a good one!”

Warhammer walked up to Quake threateningly, starting to raise his voice. “Every good Decepticon commander has to learn to put the brats into place. I think it’s time I taught you some manners which you’ve clearly never learned!”

“Try it, little ‘bot,” Quake threatened, grabbing Warhammer’s neck. “Ya know I can behead you with a little squeeze, right? It’ll be real fun too; I don’t care what Scorponok says.”

“If you had even a little common sense, Quake,” Warhammer hissed, “you’d realize that I, as a veteran of the war with the Threefold Spark, have suffered far worse than that.”

Quake tutted. “I’m also a veteran of that same war. What’s that gotta do wi-”

Warhammer kneed Quake, forcing the Decepticon to the ground. At this point, Quake was enraged. “Why you dirty mother-”

A calm yet authoritative voice echoed throughout the ship and every Decepticon nearby turned to him.


A large Decepticon walked down the bridge to face Warhammer and the rest. He seemed to resemble a green and purple scorpion to an extent. He was a humanoid, but he still possessed the attributes one would expect from them

“Quake: show a modicum of respect for those higher in the chain of command, even if slightly. You can fake it, but it’d be welcome, nonetheless. Warhammer: arrogance leads to blindness, and blindness leads to one’s destruction. A commander musn’t be blind or else that would lead to the fleet’s ruination. Lord Megatron would be most… displeased if that occurred, wouldn’t he?” Quake growled slightly and muttered a sentence containing a small string of profanities under his breath, but everyone else was otherwise quiet. A few seconds passed. “Now, then. Scan this planet and scour any lifeforms on it. After that, we’ll begin to colonize Tyrannia and we’ll search through every aspect of their art we can find. Their culture. Their weapons. It shall all be useful to me. Let’s not waste time any further.”

Meanwhile, back at Veilara III’s capital city, Krusskena sat back in his chair. A few minutes had passed since the message was sent, yet countless thoughts still flowed through his mind. This simple act of recording a message and sending it to what he presumed was every last empire, federation, alliance and other nation-state in the cosmos could, positively or negatively, affect the New Circle. It had potentially changed their destiny forever. On one hand, the New Circle were now destined for further greatness, their empire spanning entire galaxies under their original pseudonym: The Grand Circle would have finally returned. On the other hand, the New Circle could have suffered ruination as a result of this. What was left of their already vestigial territory – a single planet and some interplanetary colonies – would be levelled and, at worst, completely destroy their efforts.

His train of thought was interrupted by a request by someone called “VictorNet” requesting tea.

Krusskena would then send a message in response. “Tea?” Krusskena queried. “Very well. I’ll have my chefs brew it now, but keep in mind that I’m a busy guy; I can't just immediately drop everything for someone.” With the message sent, he sat back and his chair and ordered one of his secretaries to quickly organize an impromptu meeting with him.
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The Intergalactic Commerce Authority
Political Columnist
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Founded: Mar 09, 2019

Postby The Intergalactic Commerce Authority » Sun May 05, 2019 6:27 am

Alpha Helion Station, ICA Capital
The ICA Board Room

Horsk Kandax fumbled with his hands nervously in the ICA Board Room. He wasn't normally this scared, but the rumors of the person he was about to meet terrified him. Even though he was the Deputy Director of the ICA, Horsk had never actually met 'The Chief', as so many had called his boss. Supposedly, he had been been one of Megatron's right hand men, when the war on Cybertron was at it's most brutal. 'The Scourge of Neirax' they called him, who tore an Autobot Fleet to shreds with a single D-Class Worldsweeper. Of course, the days of fire were long over, the Autobots had been cast out of Cybertron to forever roam the stars, and 'The Scourge of Neirax ' had set up shop a few hundred years ago as the Director of The Intergalactic Commerce Authority, for all intensive purposes the largest (and certainly most influential) financial empire in the galaxy. Casting these thoughts aside, the Equidaean moved to knock on the door to the adjoining room, but the door opened before he could do so. He entered slowly into what could only be described as a throne room, several hundred metres high and shrouded in darkness. He couldn't even make out the ceiling of the chamber. In the centre of the room, a great throne fit for a being of titanic proportions, encrusted with jewels, gems and other rarities that could literally buy a solar system. More impressive than the throne though, was the being sitting in it. So tall was he, that Horsk couldn't make out his face. All Horsk knew was that his was his boss, Cybertronian from what he could tell, and clutching a massive staff made out of the purest Phirodium.

Bowing hesitantly, Horsk spoke, "Director, we've...intercepted two transmissions. They come from a nearby galaxy." Instantly, Horsk could feel the eyes of the Director upon him from hundreds of metres above, six faint yellow discs casting a faint glow that pierced gently through the gloom. "The galaxy in question is named Cymopolia by it's inhabitants, it has been devastated by a war that on a scale that has not been seen since the Cybertronian Civil War." No response from the colossus; "With your permission Director, the Commercial Explorer Corps would like to dispatch a small expeditionary force to this galaxy, the transmissions spoke of immense wealth in terms of resources and technology that, if acquired, could give us the edge against any of our competitors." The colossus still didn't speak, perhaps his interest had waned. His eyes turned away from their focus on Horsk, perhaps a sign of approval and dismissal at the same time. "Thank you Director," responded Horsk. Bowing again, he left the gargantuan room.

Iota Acubeni System, Edge of ICA Space
The Bridge of the CSS Del Kor

The CSS Del Kor was a newer model, from the Persuader-class line of light cruisers in service with the Commercial Explorer Corps. It was lightly armed, with only 24 laser canons total, the model being more designed for exploration and patrolling duties. Captain Armandus Tibbet, the human in control of the vessel, was worried. ICA vessels did not jump often into new galaxies, much preferring to stay within the confines of the Hyperion Pradaxus Galaxy. However, this was the CEC, the trailblazers of the ICA that had ensured it's continuing prosperity by opening up new trade routes and exploring far beyond the reach of the Commercial Navy. "Captain, we're ready to jump, the Frameshift Drive is activated and operating within normal parameters." Captain Tibbet let out a sigh of relief, though he didn't know why. He slumped in the chair and pointed out at the black expanse in front of him. "Right, let's do this and get out as soon as possible. Remember, no powered up weapons. This is a peaceful expedition, for now anyway." Captain Tibbet nodded at his chief helmsman, who engaged the Del Kor's Frameshift Drive and plunged the ship forwards into the unknown expanses of the abyss.
Also known as Upper Secundus and Anaxus.

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Chargé d'Affaires
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Postby Ordocravia » Sun May 05, 2019 8:20 am

Imperial Capital; Grenesvara, Earth

In one of the many grand chambers of the Imperial Palace in the Empire's Capital, there was a gathering of Dukes, Senators, Supreme Generals, and the Emperor himself.

A few days prior the Empire's receivers caught up a message of Extragalactical Origin ,albeit at the time this fact was unknown. There were two theories circulating amongst the Elite and the Officials regarding the Origin of the transmission

One had it so that the transmission was broadcasted by one of the enslaved peoples of the Outer Imperial systems, in case this was true an extensive search took place in the two Imperial Stellar Exclaves

Results were negative; No Slave planned a rebellion (yet). It was then concluded that the signal must've come from an outside Galaxy. And with what this "New Circle" stated the resources available from this galaxy would be capable of Lurching the Empire 50 years forward technologically, at minimum.

At the Grand Chamber itself, a conversation about this Galaxy took place;

Emperor Rethovus:" So, it appears that our initial theories were right, it WAS extragalactical after all".

Duke Salßev of Orlicon: "It is most pleasant, your excellency, if this said 'Cymopolia' just suffered total war and major annihilation, it will be ripe for the taking!"

Supreme General Pegorpax: " On the contrary, Salßev, I believe that if those people had the strength and will to survive what was, according to them, a Galaxy wide war and subsequent extinction event, those people may be some real tough Bastards"

Duke Karon of Malsvarne: "While I'd agree with you on other cases, Salßev. The general here is right, additionally we have no idea what that actual Galaxy is like, if we want to expand as an Empire we'll need some local guidance, at least until we ourselves get a hold of our surroundings"

Duke Salßev: "I still honestly believe that they'll be shellshocked from that war, thus an easy target. But if the Emperor decides to take a diplomatic approach who am I to say no?"

Emperor Rethovus: "While it may be true that this Galaxy is most probably in ruins from the war that happened and that a singular conquest expendition MAY work. We have no idea what these surviving groups are capable of. We'd also have to take into consideration the severe battle experience these beings may have, so I think it would be wise to ally ourselves with this 'New Circle'"

Senator Kalovenvaron of Grenesvara: "Well, there isn't much debate now that the Emperor expressed his will, now is there? I'd say that we should prepare a colonial expendition to be sent there alongside one or two Māerochs of the Land Army"

Emperor Rethovus: "I like that idea, but first, as per usual the Stellar Duke of that system must be chosen, let's prepare the raffle shall we?"

The Emperor signalled a soldier and the soldier then took out some papers, writing the name of every non-duke present in the room, accounting to some six senators and four military officers

In the end the person the raffle chose was Akroterian Senator Vuldax

Approximately 30 hours after the Meeting
Center of Cymopolia, Supermassive Black Hole

Using the frequency received earlier, the Imperial Warp Gates were updated to send the Expendition force to the center of the unknown Galaxy and exit using it's Black hole, a feat which only ten years prior seemed ridiculous.

Out of the penultimate Blackness of Cymopolia's center, the Supermassive Black Hole, named Galaktesodexodes Pan, Ordocravian for "First Galactic Entry and Exit", came the Ordocravian Colonization Expendition, led by the newly crowned Duke of Cymopolia 1, Vuldax Petrites. Aged 26. An array of Dark Imperial Blues and Whites stood out from the Blankness they exited from, In total accounting to twenty Dreadnaughts; the Duke's, The Emperor's, The Senatorial, and the Escorting ones. Alongside those dreadnaughts came a thousand Cruisers, Five hundred Destroyers, five thousand Carriers, two thousand Bombers, a thousand Interceptors, two terraformers, five Megacarriers , and tens of thousands of Fighters. It could be characterized unnecessarily ceremonial, but the Empire always had a knack for ceremonial things. It had the feeling of a Roman triumph, and all things considered, it was one.

While the Emperor himself didn't always attend the initiation of colonization of new Star systems. He came along on this one due to it's status as the Empire's First Intergalactical Colony ever.

Upon immediate exit of the Black Hole's accretion disk the Imperial Cartographers and Astronomers who tagged along immediately went to work, the cartographers charted some visible stars to create a crude map of the surroundings while the Astronomers looked beyond the Galaxy for signs of the Milky Way, to determine Cymopolia's exact distance to the Imperial Heartland. The Emperor himself was ready to contact this "New Circle" to formally establish an Alliance, and a colony.

Emperor Rethovus: " ...You there, bot, I need you to relay a message for me"

Spiderling Broodmother A-1:"Yes, your highness, who is to be the receiver?"

Emperor Rethovus:" If I am not mistaken information regarding the transmission we received was made known to you, wasn't it?"

Spiderling Broodmother A-1:"You certainly are not mistaken, your highness. We have been informed"

Emperor Rethovus:"Splendid, what I want you to do is match the Frequency of the message and sent a reply to them"

Spiderling Broodmother A-1:"Holographic or written Message?"

Emperor Rethovus:"Holographic, it's more personal this way"

The Emperor then sat behind his desk and adjusted himself on the chair, putting on his Officer's cap and quickly fixing his Suit

Spiderling Broodmother A-1:"Broadcasting in 3... 2... 1..."

Code: Select all
[i] Greetings to the Leaders of the New Circle. I am Rethovus Samnimus Ermecorroge of the Ordocravian Empire. We have received your message and we are happy to announce to you that the Ordocravian Empire is willing to Support you and your cause in this conflict of yours. Be assured that we are not just doing it for the gracious rewards you have offered us, but also because you have earned our Sympathy and we see your cause as Just. All we ask for is that you provide us information on regarding the following: Which part of your Galaxy is the most scarcely Populated, and where are your Headquarters in relation to that aforementioned part of the Galaxy. We currently are located within two lightyears of your Galaxy's supermassive black hole. Forgive us, but it is a new place for us, and we'd appreciate it if someone was sent to lead us to those scarcely populated places so that we can set up our power base in this Galaxy and thus truly help you with your Ordeal. Along with this message a Holographic Display of our ship's appearances will be sent to you as well so that you can recognize us."[/i]

Spiderling Broodmother A-1:"Transmission; End"

Emperor Rethovus: "Now we wait"
Last edited by Ordocravia on Sun May 05, 2019 3:32 pm, edited 4 times in total.
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News:The Empire is currently preparing to send out it's first ever intergalactic Colonization Expendition

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Postby Ruskland-Preuben » Sun May 05, 2019 9:31 am

R’lyeh, Triangulum

Welcome to the planet R’lyeh, a formerly regular looking planet, now a massive planetary sized city. It has long since been turned into an onion of sorts, with 5km thick layers enveloping the planet’s core, carved out from crust and mantle. Each one of these was dedicated to a different function, from residential to agricultural and industrial. Nearest to its core, massive nuclear fusion reactors power up the entire metropolis, and heat up the core in the process, keeping the magnetosphere intact. Just a few layers above the reactors, lies the imperial palace, or layer, to be exact. And it was less of a palace than a massive supercomputer that held within it the combined uploaded intelligences of the millions upon millions of wise men and the rulers of Rusklandia. It was also where the current emperor was held and connected to, veins of varying composition transporting nutrients and billions of yottabytes of information into his mind. This allowed him to be nearly omnipresent in everything that was related to the Imperium. And now, for something unrelated to the Imperium, and yet was of great import nonetheless.

From a local galaxy, a message. A call for aid. The galaxy of Cymopolia was one ravaged by war, which was of such intensity that the galactic edge stations were able to pick up faint signatures of massive warheads going off. Him, no, they had intended to intervene in that conflict, but they had stayed their hand, wanting to see where it would lead rather. Now though, what was now a bronze, was now a golden opportunity, and intervention would be most beneficial to the Imperium. Indeed, the resources here, as provided kindly by the senders of the message, would be able to kickstart another wave of conquest unseen since the Pacification of Andromeda. Their mind tingled, as sections of it holding the most warlike of the bunch grew restless. Then, silence. They would be pleased, yes, but at his timeframe. Indeed, the various spirits residing in the supercomputer were only advisory, to be transferred into the current if threatened with destruction. The current emperor held executive power, and it was all up to him if they were to intervene or not. It was either a yes or a no from this point.

The conclusion of the word yes would start the tens of millions of forge worlds in Triangulum and Andromeda into working. Naval bases were mobilised at the drop of that word, and armies were beginning to be drawn from various planets at the drop of that single word. And on the more mystical side of things, the Migonids prepared their tools to do what they do best, forge weapons of war from flesh. From their workshops, shoggoths were selected for upgrading, these would take up the heavy duty work in the conflicts to come, and they had their work cut out for them. And for those on the deeper end, calls were being sent, and it would take time to see if those who lay beyond would answer.

Aid would come, in the form of a fleet, and religion.
“Open borders to missionaries now” was the first message sent to them, they wondered how they would react to such a missive.

The first wave of ships, and their necessary ground force attachments, would be ready in a few months, and their orders were simple. Establish a foothold and scout the nearby area, glean as much information as possible from anything that could be to acquire information. Those months had passed, and a respectable first wave of about a 99 ships led by 3 flagships and one great carrier, had been gathered. With all that done, they left Triangulum all together into the galaxy of Cymopolia.
1st Wave Fleet ORBAT
Grand Battle Barge Fury of Ioannes
- 4 heavy battle barges
- 11 battle barges
- 18 light battle barges
- 5k Elite Demon Troopers, II and V Legion
Grand Battle Barge The Golden
- 4 heavy battle barges
- 11 battle barges
- 18 light battle barges
- 5k Elite Demon Troopers, I Legion
Grand Battle Barge Dagon
- 4 heavy battle barges
- 11 battle barges
- 18 light battle barges
- 5k Elite Demon Troopers, VII Legion
Grand Carrier 87
- 5,000 fighters
- 1k Shoggoth
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Postby Oxyrhynchus » Sun May 05, 2019 1:45 pm

The Comitium, Tielbicran

Located high above the frozen tundra below, and situated at the peak of a rocky mountain, stood the Oxyrhynchusian Comitium, where the Grand Council, the legislature of Oxyrhynchus, convened bi-weekly. Despite the frigid temperature outside, the interior of the building was hot and humid, as machines pumped mist and warm air inside. The Avesaurian species was mostly reptilian after all, and they detested the cold. The place looked like a fortress, it had thick walls and four tall and spikey spires that jutted out from it. At the heart of the building was a large open room, which housed a circular theatre. The theatre was divided into five blocks, where council members of different castes would sit. One block was elevated, and there sat the Draconem subspecies, the ruling caste. In the middle of the room was a large hologram projector. Said projector had just shut off after playing a video, and the once silent room burst into conversation, with growls, roars, and screeches immediately filling the humid air. The Consul of the Council, a Draconem by the name of Cizret the Bright, nodded to another council member, and then raised his winged arms up, and roared for silence. The room quieted down, and all the council members laid eyes upon the Consul. He cleared his throat.

"Now that both messages have been played, this Council shall now discuss what our reaction shall be. Which of these factions shall we aid? Should we support one of them, or simply stay neutral? And should we even enter into this foreign galaxy? These are the questions that this Council shall now answer."

The Draconems got to speak first, as usual, then the rest of the Avesaurian subspecies, and lastly the non-Avesaurians. The debate was long and fierce. Politicians roared at each other, usually showing off their teeth, beaks, or mandibles at their opponents. Personal insults were frequently thrown around. Cizret made sure the arguments didn't get too out of hand, though. After a couple of hours, the Council had reached a consensus. Most voted on supporting the Reclaimer faction of Cymopolia, as they seemed less threatening, and their promise of sharing their galaxies resources seemed promising. But Cizret knew that a decision this impactful had to first be approved by the Magnate, Dumazkul the Illustrious, before it could be acted out. The Consul called to an end the Council session, and then along with other high ranking council members, went into a separate and much smaller room. They all kneeled before another hologram projector. After a nearby servant tapped a button, it sprung to life and projected an image of a large head of a dragon-like creature. Its eyes were shut, but after noticing the hologram activate, they opened. Dumazkul's head rose off of a pile of gems and precious metals and turned to face the hologram. He seemed annoyed, and was anxious to return to sleep. Cizret spoke first.

"My lord, Knight of Ox, God of wealth and fortune, and great Magnate of Oxyrhynchus, Dumazkul the Illustrious. Great Magnate, recently we were contacted by two rival factions within the foreign galaxy of Cymopolia. Both pleaded for assistance against one another, and both promised things in return for aid. After much debate, the Council agreed upon assisting the Reclaimer faction as opposed to the New Circle. The Reclaimers seem more, disorganized, and more nomadic in nature, therefore easier to work with. They have promised any nation that assists them shall be awarded with the many resources of their native galaxy. Does his heavenly Majesty approve of the Councils' decision? Or does he wish another course of action be taken?"

"I do not object. Proceed into this 'Cymopolia,' and reach out our hand to these Reclaimers. If they accept our most gracious offer of assistance, they shall prosper alongside Oxyrhynchus. We shall colonize, convert, and trade within this galaxy, thereby expanding the Republic. But we must act quickly, no doubt other nations have already answered the call and are mobilizing. Ready a fleet of Harbingers, and have them embark for Cymopolia. Upon arrival, have them seek out the Reclaimers, and establish diplomatic ties. Refrain from attacking the New Circle or their allies for now, we must get to know this galaxy first. After contacting the Reclaimers, send forth a larger fleet and begin colonization.

"Your wish is my command, great Magnate."

The hologram shut off abruptly, and Cizret along with the other top council members left the room and got to work. Orders were dispatched to the Navy to travel to Cymopolia immediately. A fleet of Harbinger class Starships were assembled, then set off. As the Harbingers departed, a message was sent to the Reclaimer flaspship, the Levia.

Code: Select all
Reclaimers of Cymopolia,

The Grand Council of Oxyrhynchus, with the blessing of his heavenly Majesty, Dumazkul the Illustrious, has decided upon aiding your faction in the galactic conflict of Cymopolia. We have sympathy for your noble cause, and wish to aid you in whatever ways that we are able to. A fleet of vessels have departed and shall arrive in your galaxy momentarily, and they shall seek you out to establish our alliance. Upon making contact, a larger fleet shall arrive to bolster our presence. We look forward to working with your faction, as well as collecting the stated compensation in return for assistance. We shall send our fleets' coordinates to you, and if you would prepare for our fleet and guide them to a safe sector where we can speak unmolested, it would be much appreciated.

The Migration, Harbinger class exploration starship

The creature opened its eye, and its cat-like pupil surveyed its surroundings. It sat up in the dirt mound it was laying on, and licked its lips with its long tongue. After taking a couple sniffs, it leaned in on something next to it. In the near pitch black environment, it had to rely on its senses to guide itself. It ignored the buzzes and chatter of insects, as well as howls and roars off in the distance, and focused in on something rustling around in a bush. The animal's jaws opened wide, and then its neck shot out and its jaws snapped up something. A small rodent had gotten too close. After swallowing the animal whole, the creature readjusted itself and shut its eyes once again, ready to return to sleep. Not even five seconds had passed when dozens of massive lights had lit up the entire environment, and a loud alarm sound rang out repeatedly. Shrieks and cries of annoyed creatures filled the air, and creatures began arising out of bushes, trees, caves, and dirt mounds. The creature, named Kruven, arose and stretched out. He shook off the dirt that covered his lower half, then joined with other Saurischians in leaving the massive room in a small herd. This eviroment was artificial, and it served as the barracks for Saurischian crew members aboard the starship. It was meticulously designed to be as close as natural Saurischian habitats as possible. Kruven exited the forrest and passed through a giant door. The Saurischians slowly moved through narrow and cramped hallways, first going to the mess hall for another meal, and then heading to the large auditorium where the crew was briefed daily. Being the commanding officer of all Saurischians aboard the ship, Kruven got to sit much closer to the room's massive hologram projector. After the chatter died down, the Reclaimers' message was shown to the crew. Most were confused, but awaited to be instructed. The ship's captain, a veteran Ornithomimian named Rek 'Chak, arose from his chair elevated high up on a platform and addressed the crew in a calm but commanding tone.

"Men, recently our government received two different messages from two different alien factions from a galaxy called Cymopolia. The message we just showed you is from the group we're gonna support, they're called the Reclaimers. This vessel has been given a great privilege: it has been chosen to be one of the first Oxyrhynchusian vessels to enter into this galaxy. Once we're there, we will make contact with the Reclaimers, and probably send some delegates to speak with them. After this, a larger and better-equipped fleet will follow in behind and give us support. Now, I need you all to be prepared. The Reclaimers' enemies, called the New Circle, have called for help as well, and there is probably other nations racing off to help them as we speak. Its unlikely but possible that we'll get fired upon, so be prepared for anything. Every crewmen must be alert at all times, we are entering a foreign galaxy after all. Now, to your stations, we are about to leave."

Kruven directed fellow Saurischians out of the room, and to their respective posts. He felt groggy after just being woken up recently, as well as uneasy. Usually when the Migration took off somewhere it was to a planet on the outskirts of Oxyrhynchusian space for colonization or research purposes. But this 'Cymopolia,' from what he understood, was a completely foreign galaxy where two superpowers were duking it out. He navigated through the narrow and filthy hallways of the ship and reported to the bridge. Captain 'Chack was already there, making preparations for the jump. Kruven planted himself in front of a computer terminal and sat down. He began checking some data when the Migration, along with another 20 or so Harbingers entered into FTL. The trek didn't take long, and soon the small flotilla of ships entered into Cymopolia. It looked normal enough, Kruven thought to himself after peering out one of the observation windows and looking into the black void of space. The ships started drifting, and waited for some Reclaimer ships to make contact with them. Their coordinates were sent to the Navy command, who would in turn broadcast them to the Reclaimers on the same frequency that the Councils' message was sent. Every crewmen on every ship in the flotilla was on edge, and didn't know what to expect. Only the thought of soon being reinforced by a much larger fleet consoled their fears and worries.
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Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Cruciland » Sun May 05, 2019 4:42 pm

Unknown Universe
All across the silent universe, galaxies slowly turned, teeming with stars and nebulae. An observer looking at it would say that it was at a pristine point in time, prior to rise of sentient species, if ever it would birth any species... until a hypothetical observer saw a particularly serpentine void cutting through one supercluster. At its head, one spiral galaxy- turning far too slow for its gravity to ever adjust for its irregular shape- appeared to be missing half of its contents. Three arms made their way out from the galactic center, each one near to the other, but on the other side of the center there were no such arms to be seen. And, if ever there was anyone else there to observe it, one could see the galactic center slowly fading away in real time. From one side to the other, something was devouring the next in a long line of cosmic prey...

The Nomadic Legion hungered.

A sea of golden starships and mobile stations lurked at the edge of the half-devoured galaxy, flocking around stars and celestial bodies as they worked tirelessly to harvest their mass either for transmutation into usable elements, or for annihilation into pure energy- which often was converted into kugelblitz capacitors or fuel for preexisting ones. The most massive vessels had their eyes on a larger prize, however- the coveted singularity at the center of most every galaxy. These supermassive black holes were contained inside the hallowed power cores of the largest vessels, even conglomerated together to form hypermassive cores for the greatest of all. At the heart of the impressive starfleet stood the largest of these vessels- Gilem M'tzudah, or the "Embodying Citadel" in the language of the Crucilandians. The great golden cylinder spun lazily in the void, drinking in the matter of passing nebulae using its remote energy distortion systems to funnel it into the waiting microscopic jaws of an octillion nanites. Deep within its confines, however, laid a confoundingly vast intelligence that belied the Legion's nature as a horde of cosmic locusts.

Although the signal was far too distant for it to be intercepted, even if it was FTL communications, the prescience of Gilem M'tzudah's inhabitants picked up a cry for aid nearer to where their current allies mingled. For their own allies' safety, they had pulled away from them, hoping that the creeping doom that hunted them would not erase their allies in the wake if its path... and indeed, several universes away, the multiverse had become an oppressively dark place. It would be time for them to leave soon, even if the psionic mask encompassing that accursed region refuses to give them any forewarning whenever it is on their heels again. But for now, they could afford to extend a contingent over towards this galaxy- to ensure cooperation and prosperity with their old friends, and to catalyze their population growth with the souls of a quadrillion new lifeforms. For them, all the galaxies in a universe could not compare to the value of a single galaxy teeming with life- especially those resembling the first Crucilandians' former kind.

The Cybertronians and the Ordocravians had already reached the galaxy. To secure their share, the Nomadic Legion would have to act decisively to not only suppress resistance, but to process those they managed to capture...

Cymopolia, Unclaimed Sectors
Activity was abuzz in this region of space. At first, science vessels from the Laniakean Alliance had investigated the messages sent by the two warring factions in Cymopolia. Then the Decepticons descended upon their first system. And of course, other nations would surely approach the unclaimed area to stake their own claims- footholds which would surely take prime real estate away from Cruciland's closest analogue to "allies." Surely, fights would break out there. And so it was, then, that a large wormhole suddenly opened up not even a few systems away from where the Decepticon Cybertronians had first made their debut in the galaxy. From its mouth emerged a sparse swarm of small, gold-tinged spheres, followed by starfighter-sized craft, then larger vessels, and then even larger vessels still. Vessels measuring thousands of meters long passed through the gaping wormhole, each one belching more of the tiny golden orbs and smaller spacecraft from before. They were all prepared to digest entire sectors of the galaxy, even as their munitions digested the shields and hulls of a thousand-thousand potential rivals. They were as vultures- great golden carrion feeders diving to feed on the most choice pieces of flesh before the others could waste them on their own appetites- be it as converts for their own nations or casualties of their own battles. And yet, the size of the fleet was still erroneously small compared to other invading factions- but those who knew about the Nomadic Legion understood exactly why they only brought a fraction of what numbers they predicted to face...

Then at last, the procession thinned, and the wormhole shrank until it evaporated.

Without any announcement, Sub-Fleet 2C of the Lig'yoniy Tziy had just appeared at the edge of the Unclaimed Sectors.

Last edited by Cruciland on Fri Jul 12, 2019 1:49 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Crucilandians - Old Capital - New Capital | A 4.8 civilization, according to this index.
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The Inevitable Syndicate wrote:My advice to you, dear Gordano-Lysandus, is to run. Or hide. Maybe not hiding, because the Crucilandians will find you, and by their god, you will be assimilated.

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Postby Arkeyana » Mon May 06, 2019 8:58 am

Sigma Minor, Surveyed System, Unclaimed Sectors
The survey of the system had been completed, with everything from the system's star to the outer reaches of it's Oort Cloud having been covered. Flashes of light lit up around the Traveler as the Science Vessels jumped back to it, neatly filing into the gaping maws of hangars where they were locked into place by a hybrid Graviton Beam/Restrainer Goo system, one able to take over for the other just in case.

When all the ships were safely aboard, the Traveler initiated it's Root Drive. Slowly, the vessel began to spin as windows across it shut, a silvery slime passing over them before solidifying into solid hull. As the Drive powered up, lightning crackled across it's spires, the ship itself throwing off exotic particles and radiation as the power levels reached full. Suddenly, the ship whirled around, so fast that it appeared only as a glowing blue blur as it was surrounded by a vortex of energy, finally shooting upwards and vanishing.

Unsurveyed system, Unclaimed Sectors
The Traveler dropped back into space, shooting downward from seemingly nowhere before stopping perfectly on the orbital plane of the unsurveyed system. Relaunching it's Science Vessels, surveys restarted as the ship began scanning the system.

Veilara III
A Laniakean Alliance Diplomatic Vessel jumped into orbit of Veilara III, the ship elegant in design, resembling a luxury starliner replete with two shimmering "Fins", that looked like the Auroras that most planets with magnetospheres would experience. While of Voidwalker Design, the ship was controlled by the Laniakean Alliance Diplomatic Corps. A message was sent to wherever the spaceport of Veilara III was.
Code: Select all
This is the LADV [i]Porpoise[/i] we are on a mission of peace as ordered by the Laniakean Alliance, and request to land/Beam Down Diplomat Ar'thox Verde and Xeir escorts so that we may discuss the opening of diplomatic relations with the New Circle

Ar'thox Verde finished up throwing on Xeir outfit, a formal suit that could be likened to a tuxedo, yet had noticeable differences to make up for the Centaur-esque alien's anatomy. Namely, clothing across the lower half of the body was draped unlike normal clothing due to the quadrupedal design. Xey left Xeir luxurious quarters and traveled through the spotless corridors of the Voidwalker vessel, stopping at the Transport room, the AI controlling the system manifested a hologram of a person working an equally holographic control panel that saluted them before continuing their work.

Reclaimer Fleet
Another Diplomatic Vessel jumped, this time to the Reclaimer's fleet. This one was far less elegant than it's Voidwalker counterpart, easily betraying it's Gladian Origins. All things considered, this was probably a retired warship, possibly a cruiser judging by size. A hail was sent to the Levia
Code: Select all
This is the LADV [i]Olive Branch Sword[/i], We are on a mission of peace as ordered by the Laniakean Alliance, and request permission to beam over Diplomat Tarnok son-of-Armuk so that we may discuss opening of diplomatic relations with the Reclaimers.

Aboard the Olive Branch Sword, Tarnok son-of-Armuk finished equipping his ceremonial armor, sheathing his Tak'nat, a melee weapon of such size and design that Earthen battleaxes looked like toothpicks. The Gladian stepped out of his spartan quarters and made is way through the dull armor and machinery-lined hallways to the transport room, where the officer operating the controls saluted him before returning to her work on priming the mechanisms for transport.
Last edited by Arkeyana on Tue May 14, 2019 8:33 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Irenton » Mon May 06, 2019 12:50 pm

Ventreas Station
Caivaron System

Far on the edge of Imperial space, at the furthest extent of the Imperial Navy's network of command stations, lies the Ventreas Station. Designed originally to service the Imperial WarFleet Tempestuous Shadows' advance towards the centre of the Spiraxs Galaxy, it now lies relatively dormant. However, even with the WarFleet long gone to fight in other wars, the station still plays host to a large force of vessels and soldiers alike. Even with its impressive heritage, the station was still only to play host to an Imperial expeditionary force due to its proximity to Cymopolia. A force of 250,000 men had been assembled, along with a reasonably sized fleet of warships, for what would be another of many Imperial Military Colonial expeditions.

The message from Cympolia had been recieved just days earlier, and Imperial High Command had, to the amazement of the more cynical commanders, scrambled a viable expeditionary force in what amounted to a very short period of time. They had been given simple orders: establish an Imperial zone of control and await reinforcements. Following said orders was a writ from the Imperator himself, praising the soldiers for their "bravery" and "stoicism" in the face of "the unknown."

For the newest of troops, a "personal" writ from the Imperator was something that should be sealed and hung as pride of place on the mantlepiece; to the veterans amongst their number, it was another of many that could be best put to use cleaning their rifles. The 250,000 men loaded themselves onto the waiting warships - amongst them a host of vehicles and supplies necessary for securing and creating a control area for the expansion of an Imperial protectorate.

The head of the fleet, the IESS Wrath of Irenton, commanded by Grand Admiral Alexander Nikolach, was the first to release from the station and begin to traverse the void. The Sovereign Class Carrier was quickly joined by a force of other vessels, each corresponding their Rift generators to the quasi-assumed coordinates of a suitable system. In total silence, the vessels opened a series of vast black voids, barely visible against the background of space. With a psionic chorus of protection and glory, the vessels slammed forth their engines and embarked into the new world.
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Postby The Intergalactic Commerce Authority » Mon May 06, 2019 2:50 pm

Unknown System, Cymopolia Galaxy

A flicker in the void, and suddenly an elegantly designed ship slipped out of warp, the crimson markings on the hull symbolising it's belonging to the Commercial Explorer Corps. The CSS Del Kor parked itself in space, a planet directly in view of it's captain Armandus Tibbet. Tibbet's first officer, an Agawan, spoke in what could be described as a wet voice, distorted by the tentacular appendages on it's face; "Captain, warp successful. All systems nominal...we've arrived in the Cymopolia galaxy. Shall I dispatch a probe to the surface of this planet?" Tibbet rose from his comfortable seat on the bridge, brushing his uniform of any dust and dirt that may have attached to it. "Excellent idea. Send the results of the probe to my room when they're available, perhaps we can establish a forward base of operations on this planet." After that, Tibbet walked away hastily from the bridge to his private quarters, intending to report his arrival to the the Deputy Director.

A shimmer of blue, and the projector managed to construct a holo-image of Deputy Director Horsk Kandax. "Captain Tibbet, I trust that you have arrived in this new galaxy of 'Cymopolia'?" The captain took a seat in his favourite armchair, made from the leather of a Diamondback Varcroosik. "Indeed, Deputy Director. We are currently assessing our location and sending a probe to a nearby world. With some luck, we should be able to establish a foothold for the expedition on it." Kandax smiled a predatory grin, unsuited to his more...equine facial features; "Excellent news captain. If this venture into a new galaxy is profitable and successful, then, and I know I don't speak for them, perhaps the Board would see fit to appoint you as a Governor of a newly formed Cymopolian Sector. Though that is completely a hypothetical scenario." Captain Tibbet stood up from his chair and saluted the holo-image; "Well Deputy Director, I shall ensure that this expedition contributes to the continuing prosperity of the ICA." Kandax gave a dismissive nod, and the hologram faded. Tibbet sat again, this time with a gleeful smile. As long as this mission went according to plan, he would be set up for the rest of his life. The office of Sector Governor was highly prestigious; money, power, influence and perhaps even women awaited him. In the meantime however, he had to focus on what lay in front of him. He activated his holo-tablet, and began to read the results of the probe sent to the planet below.

Tonight was going to be a long night.
Also known as Upper Secundus and Anaxus.

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Corporate Police State

Postby Pax Cybertronian » Mon May 06, 2019 5:12 pm

Inside Veilara III’s capital city, Krusskena was busy tending to the onslaught of messages coming his way. With the advent of their message, they had received numerous messages from extragalactic powers. Luckily for them, this meant that they had gained some allies, though some threatening messages from Reclaimer allies was still sent to him either via vocal message or via hologram. He stopped caring about the more aggressive messages sent his way; he wouldn’t want to encourage such barbaric behaviour in the future. Then again, it would indubitably benefit the New Circle and, by extension, the government, and its agenda. Ideally, he would receive more messages from potential future allies; this hope of his was achieved when he received a message from an “Emperor Rethovus Ermecorroge”. The Ordocravians had pledged their allegiance to the New Circellian war effort and had additionally requested aid regarding transportation to Veilara III. They were currently within two light-years away from the supermassive black hole at the centre of the Cymopolian Galaxy. It would be extremely unwise of Krusskena to deny their aid, especially in those perilous times. As such, he opted to promptly respond to Rethovus’ request.

“Mr. Ermecorroge,” he began, “we’ve accepted your request. Several New Circellian ships will be sent to your coordinates immediately. I trust we’ll see each other very soon,” and as soon as Krusskena finished his message, he ordered Grand General Seor to deploy five warships to guide Emperor Rethovus to Veilara III promptly.

Just then, a Laniakean Alliance vessel entered Veilara III’s orbit. On instinct, Krusskena nearly ordered nearby starships to fire on the vessel – it could prove a threat to the New Circle, just like anything theoretically could – but just before he was going to deliver the order, a spaceport in Veilara III’s northern hemisphere sent him a message from the Laniakean Alliance which, to paraphrase, requested permission to either land or beam down a diplomat of theirs.

“Accept their request,” Krusskena ordered, “and escort them to one of our embassies on the outskirts of our capital. Don’t accept them into the capital until we’ve established pro-Circellian diplomatic ties with them. Fire on them if they try to access the capital if necessary, but only as a last resort.”

The request was accepted, and so the spaceport would respond further, which read:

Code: Select all
“Your request has been accepted, LADV [i]Porpoise[/i]. Dock at the spaceport and we will escort you to the embvassy.”

Meanwhile, in the Levia, High Admiral Stak’s crewmembers were still working around-the-clock and to the best of their abilities as per usual. This task was rather tiresome, as one would expect, and so regular breaks and replacements were mandated. Indubitably, even the High Admiral himself was subject to these stresses. Any technical failures would result in exploitations by foreign powers and, if not rectified promptly, the potential destruction of the entire fleet. Such technical failures were, thanks to the constant manpower tending to the ship, quite sporadic, though still devastating, nonetheless. In Stak’s mind, he was thinking about a barely averted power surge that occurred only a fortnight ago. That was certainly a stressful venture. As Stak rubbed his antennae as he remembered the incident, he received a message from the Grand Council of Oxyrhynchus. They had pledged their allegiance to the Reclaimers, expressing sympathy with their “noble clause”.

Stak immediately ordered a response to be sent. A few minutes later, a message was sent out to the Oxrynchyus fleet.

Code: Select all
”We thank you for your aid and thus we extend an invitation to you to join us in a diplomatic summit with either High Admiral Stak or a high-ranking Admiral. If you accept this invitation, will you require any escorts to be sent to the [i]Levia[/i]?

May your fleet never lose its lustre.”

After that, he sighed and stood up, rubbing his forehead. Truly, attending to diplomacy was a tiring endeavour.

Then, he received an impromptu message from the Olive Branch Sword, a Laniakean Alliance diplomatic vessel. He sat back down into his chair. “What do they want?” Stak asked.

“Uh… they’re hailin’ us, sir,” one of the pilots said. “They wanna beam over some diplomat called, uh… Tarnok son-of-Armuk, I think.”

“Accept the request,” Stak said. “We need any allies we can get.”

“Yes, sir,” the pilot responded, and he sent a message in response to Tarnok accepting the request. As soon as the pilot finished the message, someone to the right of the bridge spoke up. He was a very tall, lanky, purplish alien; his height was roughly 220cm, a height which meant he towered over many of his Reclaijmer compatriots.

“Yo, Admiral. Do we hafta call ‘im that or…?” Stak responded with, “I expect him to announce what he wants to be called when he meets us. Until them, we call him Tarnok.”

With that, the pilots responded positively to the LA’s message and an invitation to have Tarnok beam onto the Levia was sent.

Back on Tyrannia, life there was progressing at a relatively fast rate. The colonization of the planet by Decepticon forces was still ongoing. As per protocol, any sentient lifeforms would be either imprisoned and enslaved, executed or just sold off to someone they knew on the intergalactic black market, depending on their usefulness, their strength and how much they annoyed the Decepticons. There were ongoing debates within high command about whether Tyrannia should be cyberformed or not. Many sought to preserve the agricultural integrity of the planet, whereas others, such as Scorponok, saw the hypothetical cyberformation of Tyrannia as a symbol: a symbol that proved Decepticon dominance over the cosmos. It would resemble Cybertron, they believe, the home-world of the Transformers, and as a result, Cybertron would be eternally reflected throughout the cosmos.

The ideology the Decepticons followed, Technoism, hinged on the supremacy of the Decepticon Empire. The Decpticons saw themselves as the harbingers of a grand Cybertronian Empire that would span the entire cosmos, slaying and absorbing entire empires in its wake, Cybertron its golden chariot; its Trojan horse; its all-powerful cosmic dreadnaught. They saw themselves as deserving of limitless power and had limitless ambition as a result. Cybertron would be the golden cosmic chariot leading the advance for the rest of eternity as the Decepticons claimed what was rightfully theirs. That was not to say that all Decepticons followed the Technoist ideology, but a very significant portion of them did. The likes of Swindle, for example, saw the Decepticons as a very lucrative business venture; some planets the Decepticons owned were regarded as “tax havens” by several legal bodies owned by the United Galaxies, so less morally scrupulous and outright criminal organisations remained there under the optics of the Decepticons.

Outside the Semper Tyrannis, a crew of Decepticons consisting of Warhammer, Weirdwolf, Krunix and Burnrubber had been tasked with the collection of any data they could scrounge from the planet. After this, Warhammer planned on orchestrating reconnaissance missions throughout the cosmos to more thoroughly observe the political and military situation throughout the galaxy. From then on, he would see what he could exploit what he believed would benefit the Decepticon war effort. If there were any flaws in ships, they would be exploited to the Decepticons’ advantage; if there were any flaws in personalities, they too would be exploited. Nothing would escape Scorponok’s watchful and seemingly all-seeing optics.

“To make Quake into a Phase-Sixer, I have heard High Command wants,” Weirdwolf said out loud. “Their smartest move, it might not be.”

“Criticizing Lord Megatron’s decisions probably isn’t your smartest move either,” Warhammer responded. “Considering your quirks, he’d probably have you downsized or domesticated.”

“A punishment, downsizing is not,” Weirdwolf retaliated. “Other things to worry about, Lord Megatron has. For instance, Cymopolia’s colonization.”

“Yeah, but domestication’s a fate worse than death,” Krunix interjected, slightly perturbed. “Not something anyone here would want to go through. Besides, the Phase-Sixer process thing just turns ‘bots into bloodthirsty berserkers… or just makes it even worse for ‘bots like Overlord. Imagine what it’d do to somebot like Quake.”

Just as Burnrubber, a Velocitron-forged Decepticon, was about to interject, Scorponok walked up to the crew, several bodyguards accompanying him. “We’ll continue colonizing Tyrannia, but we should soon expand outwards and see what nations have arrived. It’s natural for the more aggressive empires to start trying to conquer large swathes of territory as soon as possible, and it’s just as natural for more diplomatic nations to try and establish positive ties with unknown nations – be sure to anticipate that. It’s inevitable for the Autobots to turn up so we’ll see who we can use and who we can play with, so to speak.” He turned to face Warhammer. “Warhammer, I want you to go meet up with Bitstream back in the Semper Tyrannis and conduct recon of this galaxy to the best of your ability.”

Just as Scorponok turned back and started to walk back to the ship, he received an alert from Skullcrusher:

“Commander, I’ve just received intel that’s told us the Autobots may be coming to Cymopolia soon!”
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Arkeyana » Tue May 07, 2019 8:36 am

Veilara III
The Porpoise hovered in orbit for a second, before the "Fins", formerly on the ventral and dorsal sections of the hull, collapsed inwards onto the ship before reforming into wing-like appendages. With a grace practically paradoxical, the ship glided gently into the atmosphere, the fires of reentry never hitting it as the shields absorbed the friction. Taking care to not disrupt traffic, the ship followed a long, elaborate spiral around the spaceport before finally coming to rest on the very edge of it, beams of light shooting out from devices on it's ventral hull and impacting the ground. As the wings faded from sight, the lights seemed to keep the ship off the ground.

Three fiery projections appeared in front of the vessel, before they concentrated into silhouettes and finally the forms of Ar'thox and xeir escorts, two tentacled robots that hovered above the ground, without the beams of light that the Porpoise used. Looking around at the surroundings, Ar'thox waited for the escorts.

Reclaimer Fleet
There was a fiery formation in the interior of the Levia's docking bays, following the same pattern as the Porpoise’s teleporters, solidifying into the form of Tarnok. The Gladian was massive, even for his own kind. Towering at six whole meters, the ceremonial armor, Tak’nat, and flaming amber eyes located in the helmet did nothing to make him look less intimidating. Bizarrely, however, there appeared to be a grill across the chestplate. The Gladian looked around his surroundings as he waited for escort.

Unsurveyed System
The Traveler kept at it’s surveys, but had found something. A world devastated by nuclear war, surrounded by primitive infrastructure that had long since broken down. A meticulous examination had found that it was a primitive civilization, just barely in the middle of it’s Information Age. It seems that there was once a global authority, but it had collapsed into civil war and subsequently nuclear armageddon when the planet’s resources began to deplete. An hour-long funeral was held for this dead species, a mourning for lost potential, before the immense ship ordered the science vessels to continue their surveys.
Lore Consolidation in Progress

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Euphoria X
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Founded: Mar 15, 2019
Psychotic Dictatorship

Euphoria X - Post 1

Postby Euphoria X » Thu May 09, 2019 3:18 am

Euphoria X, Valentijn’s Den, Yangon, Burma. Year 2100

It was yet another New Year for the Valentians, now reunited under a new name – The Forcefully Joyous Benevolence of Euphoria X. This new name change has several meanings: First one was to indicate the new world that was rebuilt right after the Decepticons had made their mark and killed billions of Valentians. This in turn lead to a chain of reactions where Crinale Valentijn “De Eerst en Vertoornen Valkyrie General” Samantha Maxmillian Gamma Hendrik Hirohisa Reingard Marnix Constantine Thet Zarni Sein Lin, the current (and many more generations to come) leader of the Valentians, went insane and simply instilled benevolent dictatorship on his people, to protect them, as well as to force them to finally adhere to his political cause. Gone were the days when people actually had some resemblance of political freedom, though even in those days, the supposed immortality achieved through synthetic bodies would ensure leadership of the ruling Valentians for decades.

Watching intently from within his suit, Valentijn walked out of his bedroom and into his office, where his wife, Daedalus T-2000 Hoofdonderwijzeres Clarissa Alanis S.T.A.R. Breya « Le Destructrice Gardien » Millie Taissa Coraline Jolijn Tate Clementine Hallie Harumi, was waiting for him, along with several of the scientists on top of his table. He sat down on his chair, with Clarissa by his side, and the several other normal-sized Valentians nothing more than tiny dots of people on his office table. The scientists were in their usual lab coats, with them a cart full of lavender-coloured vials that were glowing rather intensely. Fortunately for everyone involved, the vials were neither marked as radioactive nor biohazardous, and were in fact safe for consumption. Valentijn leaned into hear the scientists and from Clarissa herself.

“My dear Valentijn,” she started off, “The substance that you have requested for and was yearning for is ready! Our top scientists have finally cracked the code, and I finally believe that we have something worthwhile! The Valentian science team has found The Happiness Elixir with effects working as intended. One shot of this vial and this will increase the dopamine levels of an organic target by as much as 500%, and this will last them for 2 days. Though of course… prolonged usage might be considered dangerous, but mainly due to exhaustion. The substance itself has no poisonous traits of its own, and the onus is on the consumer to make sure that they do not push their limits too hard.”

“Good, good,” Valentijn mused, “Though of course, I respect the idea of making it safe, but for battlefield usage like I have told and requested, I think this will do fine. I think I will give the science team, those who are involved, a 5-day break. Just go ahead and do something non-work related, really.”

Upon hearing that, the scientists’ faces on Valentijn’s table brightened up. At least, that was that Valentijn could imply from their surprised and elated voices. “Really? Oh, goodness, Valentijn, we are honoured, but I really think there’s not a need-“

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Valentijn interrupted rather nicely, “I really mean it. Thank you for providing this to me. It’s something that I need to get back at those people, and those darn robots that have caused much pain.”

“Ahh, about that…” one of the scientists interjected, tucking his collar, “You see, Valentijn, with all due respect, this will only work on organic targets, like Clarissa has put it; it will certainly not work on the Decepticons that you are seeking.”

Valentijn pondered at the question for a second, then chuckled lightly, with a voice of reassurance from the man himself that has chose to obscure himself in the suit for this long, “Oh, that… nah, it is taken care of. I know this will not work on the non-organics. For the Decepticons, I will think of something else; something that is electronic and computational in nature. I am pretty sure that Jenny from the Intelligence branch can do that just fine, am I right, Clarissa?”

“Oh yes, of course, my dear! I am very confident that both the science team and the computer team will bring us all the weapons that we need.”

“Good, good… Okay, you are all dismissed. The Science team will get the break like I have just said. I will let the computer team know about what I want later, so let me do some paperwork on those.”

“Very well, our dearest Valentijn. Thank you very much for this appraisal and break. We shall take it as you have instructed,” and with that, the science team quickly wrapped up their presentation, the vials, and walked their way to the teleportation chamber that was built inside Valentijn’s table. For Valentijn, the table was around a quarter of his height when he stood up; for the rest of the people who is neither Valentijn nor Clarissa, it was akin to walking inside a giant’s home, with everything scaled up and needing their own transportation to get anywhere quickly. There used to be lifts and rails installed everywhere around Valentijn’s home, but teleportation chambers were being increasingly used due to their near-instantaneous nature, as well as the increasing safeness of using them.

With everyone walking off, including Clarissa, one person remained inside the office with Valentijn – Vice Foresittend Jolyn Maxine Caulfield Moira Marlene Wendy Lucille Lapis Jill “Неуловимый” Nvt. Zolina łnt. Natasha Vasilisa Helen Ceeta. At least, that was her title from the past world of Valentine Z. For this point on in Euphoria X, even Jolyn does not know what she is exactly doing other than running the education system of the entire world, which in turn remains more or less the same, but political freethought was more or less outlawed; Valentijn really did not like people challenging his authority, though he would still happily listen to his close friends if they have something worthwhile to say to him. And this, Jolyn knows, and that is why she is here to talk to Valentijn about the current order of things.

“Ahh, Valentijn. I hope you don’t mind me staying here, but I really need to address something about you,” Jolyn started off, grabbing a nearby chair on Valentijn’s table and sitting down, staring at the giant in his armor.

“Sure thing, my friend. What would that be?”

“Don’t you think you are taking things a little too far?”

“What do you mean by… too far? Was it the vials? Don’t worry, the 500% dopamine levels aren’t sufficient enough to harm someone on their own. All they need to do is to be very careful with their actions while taking it and-“

“Valentijn… it is not that. It’s just… outlawing politics is one thing, but I feel like you are gearing us up for another war. Do you really want to start a war with the Decepticons, or someone else? Please, allow me to explain. I know the Decepticons have wrecked our world, and so many of our friends have died along the way sacrificing themselves to save us. At the same time, look at what you have been doing so far: You changed your wife to be much more aggressive and trigger-happy and gave her a much more, err… offensive body, so to speak. Offensive as in, she is now armed for warfare, not for loving anymore.”

“I know what you mean by offensive, my friend,” Valentijn answered back after a few seconds of pondering once again, “But you have to admit, the new armor does make her look more sexy.”

“Yeah, I can’t argue with that, to be honest… Still, that’s not the point. You essentially reprogrammed your wife to be much more aggressive, you became a benevolent dictator, and now you are creating… an elixir of happiness, I heard? Happiness Elixir, that’s the word! But why? Why would you create all this when the world around us is stable once again?”

“The world around us, yes… but the world outside? I don’t think so, Jolyn. Look, I… I understand where you are coming from, and sometimes, I actually thought about what I have become night after night. But this is what I am destined to do, and what I am willing to do now.”

“By drugging your people with happiness?”

“No. They are already happy on their own. I know and trust the Valentians well enough, minus a few dissents that have challenged me along the way. Those, I don’t really care, anyway. My grand plan is just to eliminate the enemies around us, by selling them motivation instead of weapons. Have you heard of those games or movies where a morally ambiguous and grey country or an entity sell weapons to both sides of the conflict to fuel the war efforts?”

“Yes, I have seen such movies so many times. I frankly think that they are disgusting and- are you seriously thinking of selling motivation, this… Happiness Elixir… to the warring nations and planets?!” Jolyn suddenly exclaimed.

“You caught on quickly, my friend. See, I am not going to invade or declare war on other nations and worlds. Instead, my plan is to act as a middleman, become friends for both sides, and sell them the motivation they need so that the wars will simply go on. You will realise that sooner or later, human minds break. We aren’t as resilient as we think we are, and when the going gets tough, we will tend to give up. Soldiers will get tired at the first sight of setback, be it shortage of supply, mounting causalities, or appalling living conditions. The dopamine hits, the Happiness Elixir, will cure just that. The Elixir… will make them fight to the end and ignore all the negativity that surrounds them. They will think that they are invincible and even if they are starving to death, they will still fight on and take any kind of orders from the command. I assume that the High Command will love it too when we promote that this Elixir will make insubordination a thing of the past.”

“Well… I am not going to stop you, since you are the one with all the authority,” Jolyn sighed, “And as a close friend of yours, I simply want to tell you how appalling this idea is. The fact that we are going to profit from the deaths of many.”

“It is for our fallen friends and families, Jolyn. The people outside of our world needs to know that we are not going to stand still when they invaded us. So this time, I will make sure they kill each other to extinction and they never look at us again. It’s insurance for us – that they won’t fight us. They will be busy fighting each other.”

“Yes, I get your point, but… it just does not feel right, Val.”

“It has never been right ever since they invaded us and killed our people. My… dearest Clarissa… I don’t want to do this to her, but I have to. She needs to be stronger and more aggressive, not bloody wanting to hug anything that she sees. By the way, any news about our lovely Gwen?”

“No, Valentijn… we still could not find her after 20 years. We have to simply assume that she died along with the rest of our unfortunate friends.”

“She really should have seen that coming. I am not mad that she left us, but rather, she should have seen the future and tell us, right? Unless… unless Fate wanted that to happen to us and she was taken away somehow? Jeez, I don’t know anymore. Anyway, I have to make a request to the computer team to get the “Dopamine” thing working for the Decepticons. They aren’t organic, so they cannot be hit with the Elixir. They will need to be hit with a hacking tool, or whatever else that the computer team has procured for us.”

“Sounds good… well, for you, anyway. Valentijn, I am not liking this one bit, but as a friend, I will still support you in your times of need, you have that assurance. I may disapprove of what you are doing, but backstabbing is never me.”

“Never doubted you in the first place, Jolyn,” Valentijn then extended his hand onto the table and picked Jolyn up. With her in his hand, he walked towards the window and looked outside at the rather fantastic view. The houses and buildings of residency are rather colourful despite the nature of benevolent dictatorship going about. Euphoria X was unlike a typical dictatorship, or a Soviet-style urban housings of greyness and bleakness. Rather, Euphoria X in terms of appearance is rather tame, akin to the days of United States or a rich European country back in the days of the old Earth. The Valentians are able to do anything they want civilly, but one wrong political dissent and they will be under the watchful eyes of Valentijn and Clarissa.

The Valentian Space Program has also found multiple planets outside (and possibly) of the Solar System, each with their own teeming life. These are more or less confirmed by the radio waves, as well as heat signatures, that they have emitted. The Decepticons are not too near, but are not too far either. That is exactly the reason why Valentijn was worried that they will strike back.

The question is: Will this lonely Earth, with Euphoria X occupying the entire planet, will be up to the challenge of selling their products to the denizens of many other galaxies and planets, all in order to keep the Valentians themselves alive? Only time will tell.
Last edited by Euphoria X on Fri May 10, 2019 5:11 pm, edited 3 times in total.
Valentine Z again, except... what happens if Happiness is no longer from actual Happiness? Dopamine hits are free of charge to Valentians. For the other countries... pay up.
We use these Dopamine hits (called Happiness Elixir liquid) and sell them to warring nations, in order to escalate their conflicts. Easy $$$.
We are also not edgy people! Just with a very, very different and radical outlook on life. You can't have conflicts if the conflicting people are dead. *Taps forehead*

Short Overview || History || Crinale Valentijn || Daedalus Clarissa

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Pax Cybertronian
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Founded: Jun 20, 2017
Corporate Police State

Postby Pax Cybertronian » Sun May 12, 2019 8:07 am

In the orbit of Veilara III, Circellian forces noticed that the fins of the LADV Porpoise collapsed inwards and reformed into wing-like appendages. After that, it seemed to raise its shields and glided into the atmosphere to evade the fires of re-entry entirely. When the diplomatic vessel finally entered the planet itself, it spiralled around the spaceport as it tried to not disrupt ongoing traffic before finally resting on the very outskirts of the spaceport. Compared to the rest of the spaceport, the outskirts were relatively desolate. In the distance of the star-ship was two workers. One of the workers seemed to be smoking a cigarette, obviously on their break, and the other was on their phone. Judging by their un-bemused reaction, he didn’t receive the best news on there.

The planet had obviously been terraformed in the past. One would expect that Veilara III, having suffered from an apocalyptic war not long ago, would be a complete barren wasteland. Rocky formations would have been decimated, radiation levels would have soared through the roof and the sun would have been scorching. However, the diplomat and his escorts would feel an arctic-like chilly breeze as soon as they left the ship. Surrounding the spaceport itself, a relatively large network of buildings constructed for the purpose of getting ships from point A to point B with relative ease, was numerous relatively large glaciers – large enough to be noticed by the average Circellian and visitor but not too large so as to easily obstruct spaceships.

However, not all of Veilara III enjoyed this chill.

As expected, some of Veilara III was still a barren wasteland reminiscent of other, less fortunate planets. Due to the high radiation levels present, the Circellian Senate was not very willing to deploy expeditions in the still highly-irradiated area without countless bureaucratic checks being conducted. After all, what if it reached the walls of Veilara III’s capital city, Blaness? Krusskena and the rest of the Senate were unwilling to be killed due to errant radiation from infected citizens. Whenever Krusskena found out that someone was returning from a barren wasteland after a terraforming effort, he felt a chill run down his spine. A slip-up from the government would result in irradiated citizens, then irradiated personnel, and finally, irradiated senators. The best-case scenario would be that he would have to remain in his bunker for weeks on end whilst everyone else was either euthanised or “cleaned up”, as the doctors called it euphemistically. The process wasn’t exactly painless, even the doctors admitted. Krusskena wasn’t the most willing to suffer pain or die.

Regardless, the planet, sooner or later, would have to support increasing amounts of life if the New Circle was to successfully resurrect the Grand Circle of yore.

The two workers from before – the relatively youthful pair, one of whom smoked and the other of whom seemed to not have the best temperament – noticed the Porpise landing on the ground, its landing gear fully deployed. Lights beamed from the ventral hull as it impacted the ground. The wings retreated into itself and the ship opened its hangar, releasing the LA diplomat. According to data quickly collated by one of the New Circle’s top intelligence agencies, the assigned LA diplomat was someone called Art’hox Verde. The worker on his phone, a plump red and blue alien who somewhat resembled a Tyrannosaurus Rex yet remained humanoid, looked around to the south of him. He noticed the diplomat’s arrival, who had two seemingly non-sapient robotic lifeforms with tentacle-like appendages attached to them, and nudged his accomplice, a lanky grey alien with a black sclera and a yellow eye colour.

“Fuck, someone’s ‘ere,” one of the workers said. “Got anyone to escort ‘em into the embassy?”

The other worker finished his cigarette and threw it onto the ground. “Yeah, give me a minute. Probably gonna hafta hassle someone for a few minutes, aren’t I?”

“Probably,” the red alien responded. “Shouldn’t take too much to get ‘em to bring the diplomat into the embassy. All we need is someone who can actually drive and who won’t let ‘im into the capital.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gotcha.” The grey alien then walked into one of the relatively large structures and, for several minutes, seemed to disappear into the building. The red plump alien returned to his phone and this time seemed to start to look at future weather reports. The cold conditions would continue, it said, to the worker’s apathy. Finally, the worker returned with two aliens: a young green female alien roughly around 1.80m and a blue alien around the same height as the woman. Both Circellians were alien in their appearance, yet the young woman noticeably had two antennae on her forehead and a strong, defined jaw. The two turned to face the Voidwalker diplomat.

“Hi, I’m Yari, one of the two escorts sent to take you to the embassy. I’m with Ikmius here. You are…” She swiped up on one of her phones. “Ar’thox Verde, yes?” she asked. “Doesn’t matter too much; you’re from the Porpose so it’s extremely unlikely you’re not the diplomat.” She signalled [TBC] to her vehicle, a long black and red limousine with the New Circle insignia plastered onto the side of it. “Official New Circellian property,” she chatted, “Mr. Krusskena gets angry when the limos get damaged. Resources aren’t as scarce as they were five years ago, but we still have to make do with what we’ve got. We can send drones to mine asteroids until we’re blue in the face, he says, but even the resources on asteroids and Veilara III’s moons are finite and we’re probably gonna need to colonize more if we’re gonna rebuild the glorious Grand Circle alliance.”

“Hey, Yari,” the other escort said. “Do you ever shut the hell up? I don’t think anyone here wants to hear your shrilly voice for the ride to the damn embassy.”

She grumbled. “Prick…” She resumed her blithesome demeanour, turning back to [TBC]. She opened the furthest left door of the limousine. “Anyway, sir… it’s sir, isn’t it? Sorry about that; Ikmius can be a jerk at times. We’d like you to enter the car now so we can go to the embassy.” She gestured towards the car – if he entered and didn’t simply take some alternate route or, God forbid, leave the meeting outright for whatever reason, however asinine, the Laniakean Alliance diplomat came up with on the spot.

It was rather eventful as per usual in the Levia’s docking bays. Befitting a spaceborne mostly-nomadic alliance, ships were often lined up inside the ship for one reason or another. Some necessitated repairs, though the repairs were small enough that they didn’t require the ship to be taken to a repair station located within one of the Reclaimer fleets, on a space station or near an asteroid belt where, for whatever reason, someone put up a business in the interim between the Final Conflict and modern events in this seemingly borderline desolate galaxy. Other ships were there to change the crewmembers, all of whom were on a rota at the time, of their star-ship with another; this would ideally allow those crewmembers to gain some much-needed relaxation after presumably weeks on end of patrols and preparing for a skirmish with the New Circle. At the same time, however, the docking bay would need to adapt further to serve an additional purpose with the arrival of extragalactic superpowers in Cymopolia: it would need to accommodate the arrival of swathes of foreign ambassadors and diplomats.

According to updates received by several officers directly under Stak’s command, they were expecting the arrival of a Laniakean Alliance diplomat shortly. However, it seemed like they would be preparing for their arrival for an eternity, at least for the more impatient Reclaimers.

And then, a fire-y formation seemed to spontaneously erupt in one of the Levia’s docking bays. It quickly solidified itself into a humanoid being. Roughly six metres tall, the lifeform in question, a Gladian, boasted his Tak’nat ceremonial armour, flaming amber eyes in his helmet and a grill on the Tak’nat’s chestplate. It was obvious to Commander Klauik, a similarly tall Nelsian, albeit one who somewhat resembled that of an Earthen pterosaur, that Tarnok son-of-Armuk had arrived and was awaiting some escorts. He was somewhat suspicious – Tarnok did not come off as the most unintimidating and pacifistic lifeform on the vessel – but as per protocol, all personnel are to be escorted to high-ranking officials so that the Reclaimers can forge strong ties and alliances with them in the hope that they will help them defeat the New Circle and bring prosperity to Cymopolia.

Klauik tapped several buttons on a wrist-device on his left arm and contacted High Admiral Stak. “This is Commander Klauik, sir. We’ve got someone in the docking bay who wants to see you,” he informed. “Not exactly the friendliest looking fellow, but he’s probably the diplomat we’re looking for, so he can’t be that bad. Would you like me to have someone bring him over to you now?”

“Yes, Commander,” Stak responded. “You know the standard protocol here; it’s been ingrained into you since you were trained in the academy all those years ago.”

Klauik nodded in response to Stak and gestured to two nearby guards. “He’s probably the diplomat we’re after – the Tarnok son-of-Armuk fellow – but he doesn’t exactly look all that friendly,” he said. “I’m suspicious of him. Follow me and be prepared for anything.” The Nelsian would then walk over to Tarnok, the two guards standing at his side.

“I take it you’re that “Tarnok son-of-Armuk” fellow who wants to start diplomatic relations with us?” Klauik asked. “Well, I am Klauik, one of the many Commanders situated throughout the Reclaimer Fleets. I believe you’re looking for either High Admiral Stak or one of his subordinate Admirals. Come with us.” Klauik and the two guards then proceeded to walk off. One of the guards turned around and signalled Tarnok to follow them.

On Tyrannia, several Decepticons were wading through one of the planet’s jungles. Surrounding them all was nothing but lush, green trees, shrubs and plants. To their surprise, the Decepticons were about as small as a human being compared to the trees. By no means was it anomalous, in fact it was quite common throughout the cosmos, but it was still a rare sight for the Transformers. Krunix, the commander of this group, looked above him and spotted a pack of animals resembling Earthen orangutans swinging around on some branches. This planet, Krunix assumed, would have been perfect for Beachcomber and the rest of his friends; it was essentially the “hippie” utopia. The vegetation throughout the planet remained mostly untouched and there was a definite abundance of animals. Beachcomber could have, in theory, watched the countless different birds above soar across the skies and the animals below scurry around him and be none the wiser to the current political theatre outside Tyrannia.

However, Krunix also remembered, Tyrannia was the capital of the Decepticon Empire in Cymopolia and, as such, wasn’t under Autobot occupation.

He then felt a squish underneath one of his struts and looked at it. It was a rather grim sight: he found an organic corpse.

“Ugh… organics,” Krunix griped. He grabbed the corpse, peeled it off his left strut and threw it to the wayside. “Such weak, insignificant creatures.”

“Unfortunately, it’s probably a given this galaxy’s infested with organics,” another Decepticon said. She looked around and scanned the area. She was a relatively tall and slim Transformer who seemed to transform into a red and blue motorcycle. “To be honest, I prefer organics to Autobots. Slightly, anyway. At least organics aren’t traitors,” she continued venomously. “Weaklings can be dealt with quickly. Cowards will keel over quickly thanks to their pathetic timidity. Traitors, however, will just slink away into the darkness with their allies and cost us in any way possible. The Autobots tend to be predisposed towards cowardice and treason.”

“Hah, well said, Firecatcher!” She turned behind her to see Stonewall, a grey and black Decepticon who was roughly a head taller than her. “Can’t wait to punch a hole in one of them Autobots soon, ‘specially if Scorponok’s right and we’re gonna see ‘em ‘ere real soon! Hahahahahaha!”

“It’d probably be worth calming down a bit, Stonewall…” Firecatcher said. “You’re distracting me.”

“Is that the only reason you wanted me to stop, Miss. Mercena-?”

The three of them heard a thud beside them; a bat-like figure swooped down to the ground and transformed into their robot mode. Mindwipe. “You know, there are some rather convincing and extremely detailed doorstopper-worthy literature available on necromancy, pyromancy and cryomancy – the best of the dark arts.”

“Get back to me once you’ve actually got something out of that apocrypha you read,” Firecatcher dismissed. “Like, go revive somebot or something like that, then we’ll talk more about that.”

“As I’ve said in the past, “the powers of darkness are a more powerful weapon than all the toys your science can muster,” Firecatcher,” Mindwipe retorted. “I have many ideas of how I can reach the dead from the realm of the living.”

“Uh… huh…” Stonewall responded, slightly weirded out. “Ya might wanna stop listenin’ to them sitcoms all the time and start workin’ on that, then, I guess.”

“I can multitask,” Mindwipe responded.

A few seconds passed. The Decepticons continued to wade through the jungle and Krunix finally spoke up once more amongst the awkward silence. “We won’t be seeing Quake for a bit, will we?” Krunix asked.

“If High Command’s really gonna go through with it,” Firecatcher responded. “I’d give it a few days before we see him again. They’ll be putting him through everything – the ununtrium process, performance upgrades and performance checks, ensuring his CPUs are working at peak performance, the works. I mean… he can’t be much more aggressive than he is now, so the Phase-Sixer process shouldn’t make him much more berserk and energon-hungry. If we’re going to end the Great War in our favour, we’re ”

“I though the war was over?”

“The war isn’t over until the Autobots and all other organic life are defeated and under our struts,” Firecatcher said. “Actually, it won’t be over until everyone’s under our boots knowing High Command.”

“So, will we move onto other universes eventually, or will we stay in our own universe?” Krunix responded. “We’ve got the men and the resources for an eventual push beyond our cosmos. The Protoformers, the next generations (Neogens) of Transformers, will be able to continue our fight long after we’ve all rusted, ideally. Then again, with luck, it’ll never come to that.”

Suddenly, an alligator crept out of the woodland. Damp, it was obvious that it hadn’t been too long out of a swamp; strange considering that, as far as the Decepticons knew, there were no marshlands nearby. Krunix pulled his gun out and pointed it at the alligator. If the alligator was hostile, he would rather end it quickly with blaster-fire than be annoyed with a relatively long fracas between the two. Before he could fire at it, he noticed that the alligator was metallic, and that the alligator transformed into a robotic lifeform – a Predacon, one of the two Protoformer races created by the Autobots and Decepticons following the War for Iacon. Snapback.

“Krunix,” he informed. “Grand Admiral Scorponok wants you back in the Semper Tyrannis. I’d move it now if I were you.” In response, Krunix nodded, transformed into his jet mode and flew off into the sky above him, heading towards the massive capital ship in the distance, now currently acting as a sort of fortress and colony for the time being.
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Democratic Socialists

Postby Arkeyana » Mon May 13, 2019 8:20 am

Veilara III

Arthox took a few steps to the door of the limo and bent over to look inside. The interior was definitely designed for humanoids, and not quadrupeds, let alone those with an anatomy such as Arthox's species. Xe silently stood fully upright and gestured about this problem, first pointing at the seat and then at Xeir lower body, before speaking.

"It is not unusual for the vehicles of most other races to be non-adapted to quadrupeds, I will just beam over to the destination if you can give me coordinates." Xeir voice was soft, sounding like a gentle breeze blowing through wind chimes. Behind them, the two drones moved forward to the Diplomat's left and right, ready for a transport should such be required.

Aboard the Levia's Docking Bays
Tarnok looked over the similarly tall Kaulik, overhearing his statement about the Gladian not being the friendliest sophont on the vessel. Not all that surprising considering the Imperium's origins on a "Death World", although that planet had long since been destroyed and the Gladian Imperium existed in a galaxy-spanning network of Dyson Swarms, a feat of megascale engineering that not even the Trifexians rivaled. As he moved to follow, it was clear that the diplomat was anything but humanoid. He moved on three legs, and his body and head were out of proportion, with the head being low to the body with no apparent neck. Two massive arms ended in giant crushing claws, that could either force a bulkhead open or crush armor like a paper cup at the bottom of an ocean. The monstrous alien moved with an air of inevitability an avalanche or descending asteroid has, the two amber eyes scanning over the docking bay as he followed behind Kaulik.
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Kasa Tkoth Sphere
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Founded: Apr 23, 2019
Scandinavian Liberal Paradise

Postby Kasa Tkoth Sphere » Mon May 13, 2019 10:11 am

One day - it didn't really matter which day, you could cram a hundred into the blink of an eye outside the K-Sphere without even sacrificing environmental fidelity - there was an insect, inhabiting a large upright virtual body, and sitting in a pub somewhere, enjoying himself without much of a care in the world. Most of the proper Freed (rather than Colonial) inhabitants of the K-Sphere were uplifted animals, and of those the vast majority were invertebrates; in a way, one could say that this insect - who did not even bother to give himself a name - was utterly typical of "real" sophonts who lived in the expansive digital utopia. He didn't care about his old body, didn't really remember what life was like back on Kasa Tkoth IV a few hundred billion simulated years ago, and didn't even want to know what was going to happen tomorrow, let alone in Holder of Dreams' meticulously planned "distant future".

He did have one thought on his mind, though, and rather than solely speaking aloud or purely thinking, he performed a hybrid gesture to subtly convey his question to any Freed in the memeplex who bothered to pick it up:

"Bzzzt. What assets are arriving at Cymopolia? Bzzzt."

A primitive amoeba who, outside of this biosphere game, went by the name of Chavro-Dii, was doing pretty well. It'd absorbed far more nutrients than necessary, and its organelles, all perfectly healthy, were ready for division and dispersion in the strange quasi-mitotic way that life on this simulated planet had evolved to perform. In fact, it began to think - in the way that amoebae don't, but that players of a biosphere game do - that it might be time to make things harder for itself.

Just then, it picked up a message from an old friend asking about operations in prisonspace. Making a swift decision to dump excess chemicals in a pattern that encoded its proper response. Sure, just sending a thought back would have been easier, but doing it this way made things more fun in the game too.

2 FO, 3 FI, 1 FTS, 2 FCM, 5 FCR, 1 FL

30 FI, 12 FCM, 1770 FCR"

Two lovers danced under a starless sky, their movements perfectly synced, every breath and glance a mirror image of the other's. Even telling them apart might have been difficult...

... because they were controlling the radio jets from inside their joint form of a neutron star, their names were both vocalized as fifteen seconds of incoherent screaming, and they'd spent the last trillion years at massively reduced environmental fidelity getting to know each other so well that they could acausally negotiate actions with each other perfectly. Neither could see the effects their partner had on the world around them, but their shared dance, spewing light and charged particles from the virtual stellar remnant, betrayed no hesitation or failure to know exactly what the other was doing. Holder of Dreams might have seen this as a crude but admirable attempt to emulate a superintelligence's prediction capabilities, an onlooker might have seen this as a disturbing use of a trillion years of free time... and an amoeba and an uplifted insect saw it as a source of information, apparently, since the two were invited to the conversation.

They chanted in unison, neither really knowing what was in the other's head but guessing so accurately that their mental voices passed through the K-Sphere in sync, eventually splitting apart to convey two ideas at once, both having predicted what the other would have chosen to do.



Protector of Spin spent her days staring into a maelstrom of colors and whispering thoughts on the nature of reality. This was, after all, exactly what she had desired to do upon entering the K-Sphere, and thanks to some consensual mental finagling on the part of Holder of Dreams, she was in no way ready to get bored of any of it. Still, news from the outside - that place some of the others called "meatspace" or "prisonspace" - was entertaining enough from time to time, and sometimes it was worth giving some opinions in return, whispered into the uncaring polychromatic abyss.

"... it will not be enough ! ... to tame every star is folly . ... even holder of dreams should know ."

And then, from a space beyond space, a mind that permeated the K-Sphere and every one of its oases gave its gentle reply, not just to the most recent skeptical mind but to all those who wanted to listen.

"I have run models of all of the available futures. Our current and reserve units combined are sufficient for pursuit of the Freeing campaign, given our known energy constraints involving travel of this range. Those with knowledge of our space assets will no doubt realize why."

The gestalt mind of spectators aboard FO Where All Of Us Belong - and thus, in a sense, the vehicle itself - was thoroughly excited for its assignment to a galaxy an order of magnitude farther away from home than any Freed spacecraft had ever gone. The excitement was hardly even dampened by the FO's entry into the distant Oort Cloud of a nameless star system, for it and its companion vessels had arrived in an "unclaimed" region removed from the immediate influence of either of this galaxy's two major powers. Many of the Freed onboard pitied its sister ship, FO Foundry, for having arrived on the opposite end of the galaxy in a position where it would be far from ready to make contact to anyone any time soon.

Here, in the midst of the brewing war over resources, there was work to do. As the mobile industrial hub's grasers got to work cutting up nearby comets and its mass grapplers started sifting through debris for processable metals, its internal bays dropped FI "contact" units into space, letting their internal minds spool up and get ready for action before blinking off into the distance in search of civilizations in need of Freeing. Where All Of Us Belong stood still and patient, refusing to reveal its true capabilities or the combat prowess of its contents until absolutely necessary; the half-dozen FCMs inside it were unused, their only interaction with their parent being a steady supply of minerals processed into fresh micromissiles for their stockpiles.

Energy, too, was crucial, but Where All Of Us Belong was instructed for now to remain out of solar collection range so as not to raise further alarm amongst civilizations capable of infrared scanning. The Kasa Tkoth Sphere's introduction to Cymopolia would be in the form of its innocuous FIs, simple ships that had just enough technology to achieve their mission without encouraging suspicion.

And they were set to arrive at any signal they found.
"You are not the person they think is hiding inside you. You're the person who can see yourself clearly."

Holder of Dreams and the K-Sphere are tirelessly working to put your preferences first and mortality last. Planetary upload procedures available on request!

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Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Cruciland » Tue May 14, 2019 12:53 pm

Cymopolia, Unclaimed Sectors
For all the nations equipped with FTL sensors, a spatial anomaly followed by a large, gradual graviton wave could be detected coming from the solar system where Sub-Fleet 2C appeared. One of the largest vessels drifted aimlessly as the others fanned out, descending upon uninhabited planets as they circled their way towards the binary stars at the heart of the system. The starships and ultralight drones had only just finished pouring out of this vessel- the "Sibyl" command ship- when the first pricks of light could be seen emanating from the stars' orbiting bodies. Great beams of energy and streams of projectiles systemically carved up and dismantled asteroids, planetoids, and terrestrial planets alike, while the remote energy distortion systems of the starships siphoned off the upper atmospheres of gas giants to be processed- be it into nanomachines for constructing their living outposts or into energy to be beamed into kugelblitzes. Slowly at first, but more rapidly as vessels joined in the harvest and covered larger percentages of the heavenly bodies' surface area, the solar system was being devoured by the sub-fleet.

Then came the largest of these vessels- the "Hakhchadah" dreadnought and the "Hash'madah" battleships. They passed by the terrestrial planets and gas giants, the mere pressure exerted by their distortion systems and the psionic minds which guided them delivering the coup de grace as they passed by. Terrestrial planets were reduced to asteroids and quickly covered in nanites; many of them glowed underneath the black masses with an atomic light as they were annihilated into energy. The gas giants found entire layers stripped away, flowing towards the great hulls of the kilometers-long vessels before being either absorbed into their kugelblitz capacitors or transmuted into other forms of Legionary infrastructure... In a way, it looked like the ships were reproducing asexually, causing smaller constructs to bud off of them and grow to full size. Then at last the largest and proudest of the Lig'yoniy Tziy's sub-fleet arrived at the stars themselves, making their way around the red dwarf while leaving the white star alone... for now. Then the vessels extended their energy distortion fields, and began the process of starlifting... Hundreds, then thousands, then millions of tons of burning hydrogen and helium ascended from the glowing sphere in great funnels towards the battleships and dreadnoughts, which fed hungrily upon the star's matter. But not to sate their energy demands, necessarily- the Nomadic Legion had mastered energy efficiency to the point where they could only ever lose energy by firing it as ammunition against their foes, and even then could recollect the majority of it as it dispersed into the quantum vacuum. Rather instead, the great vessels were interested in fabricating the mainstay of their outpost while the rest of them were away- another of their kind. Star matter churned and was slammed together as the red dwarf lost its mass, its nuclear fusion processes becoming dampened to the point of browning out until it finally died altogether. The great shape of yet another battleship formed, together with a host of drones to monitor this system- all that was left was to create a power source, to be absorbed and contained within its topaz-colored hull. What they had left in this system could not fully sustain such a ravenous monster, but they would expand such that they could bring it the mass-energy it needs to become fully operational. And so, with a member of their crew diving towards the dead star, and their sixth Hash'madah battleship materializing of its own volition, the battleships and dreadnoughts of Sub-Fleet 2C turned their gaze towards the white star beside them...

Mere hours after the spatial anomaly, the light of the binary star system had faded away to nothing. For anyone with the means to see it, the presence of an interloper had become perfectly clear.
Crucilandians - Old Capital - New Capital | A 4.8 civilization, according to this index.
Socialdemokraterne wrote:If the absence of secularism wasn't enough to scare our people, the rate of which the doomsday button is pressed by them sure settled the matter.

Prussia-Steinbach wrote:Cruciland, I just want to say, your nation is frightening.

The Inevitable Syndicate wrote:My advice to you, dear Gordano-Lysandus, is to run. Or hide. Maybe not hiding, because the Crucilandians will find you, and by their god, you will be assimilated.

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Democratic Socialists

Postby Arkeyana » Tue May 14, 2019 7:30 pm

Turens Major, Surveyed System
The Traveler was rapidly recalling it's complement of science ships. A large gravitational anomaly had been detected, and it, after a short vote among it's inhabitants, was going to go investigate it as a whole instead of just sending a science ship. Activating the jump sequence, it's Root Drive spun the ship around before sending it shooting upwards, as it traversed FTL to it's destination....

And barely a picosecond later, it arrived, appearing to shoot downward from an unknown location and sending lightning out around it as it reentered normal space.

It was shocked by what it saw. Where there was once a solar system, was now nothing, just swarms of ships that had apparently disassembled it. Mentally, the Traveler's AI felt a wave of revulsion at such behavior that could only be described as gluttonous. Thankful that it had appeared a few light-minutes away, it swept a brief scan across the fleet, taking in each ship. No doubt it would be noticed, due to it's not-so-stealthy FTL, and the fact that it itself was the size of a planet. If these unknown ships were to scan it, they would find at it's heart a power signature that was impossibly small, yet gave off so much energy even in this state it dwarfed anything previously seen. Hopefully, these people would not have hostile intentions, and would not seek to disassemble the Traveler as well.
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Chargé d'Affaires
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Founded: Nov 26, 2017

Postby Ordocravia » Tue May 14, 2019 11:58 pm

Cymopolian Space

Not long after the Imperial Communications' Systems picked up the New Circle's response an Escort Fleet of five Warships arrived before the Ordocravian Fleet

"Not bad" , exclaimed Pegorpax, surprised at the quick response of the New Circle

"It means absolutely nothing, there is no reason that getting a piece of Scrap some light years away from a dock should be commendable. If it was then our Trash Disposal teams should be national her-". Answered A-1 to Pegorpax, in as much a mocking tone as a Robot can

"Allright, shut up, A-1, if we want these people as our allies we have to show them respect.". Quickly interrupted Pergorpax, annoyed at the remark

The Broodmother simply replied with :

"I am only stating a fact, general. If you want us to win whatever conflict this diplomatic maneuver may bring up, you're gonna have to provide them with better weaponry"

"Bold of you to assume we have better weaponry than them" said Pegorpax. But before getting an answer he left for the Ship's Bridge.

Only a short while after the Escort Fleet identified itself in front of the Emperor, the two fleets departed for the New Cricle's Capital, after a couple of minutes spent in hyperspace they arrived there

"...And remember Vuldax, It will be you that will run this whole operation, not me. All I am going to do will be handling a couple of Diplomatic meetings here and there until the colony is set, understood?"

"Of course, your Highness, it is a great honor to be Duke of our Great Nation's first Intergalactic colony"

"The greatest of honours go to the worthiest of people, Vuldax. While it was indeed the raffle that chose you, do not think I didn't have my hand in it. There have been many raffle winners that I had rejected due to unworthyness, you've earned this"

"Thank you, your Highness"

Immediately after the Ship landed, the Emperor opened coms with the New Circle's Authorities

"This is Rethovus Ermecorroge of the Ordocravian Empire again, I announce that we have securely entered your capital province and that we are ready for the following diplomatic summit.".

And with that the Emperor waited. Meanwhile all Imperial Officials except for Vuldax, the Emperor, and their four Death Corp bodyguards remained in their ships. The aforementioned Diplomatic Mission then exited their ships to wait outside in the docks
Last edited by Ordocravia on Wed May 15, 2019 12:11 am, edited 4 times in total.
Tier: 8 Level: 0 Type: 6
FT Fascist-Imperialist nation which values the Soldier over all else... NS stats are a no, except for the new legislations and Economy, Civil Rights, Political Freedoms and Policies
News:The Empire is currently preparing to send out it's first ever intergalactic Colonization Expendition

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Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Cruciland » Sun May 19, 2019 2:22 pm

Cymopolia, Unclaimed Sectors
Even though sound didn't travel very well in the hard vacuum of space, plunging the solar system into darkness somehow made it even more silent. The fact that the entire heliosphere was empty didn't help anything, either. Even the yellow topaz-colored ships adrift in the dark were eerily silent inside; the machines were mostly solid-state, the crew did not speak aloud, they barely moved from their solemn posts, and any sounds which were produced quickly found their molecular vibrations dissipated as the ubiquitous nanomachines which comprised the ships' architecture fed greedily upon their kinetic energy. Yet, despite the starships' silence rivaling that of the void outside, the minds of the skeleton crews aboard the ships' bridges were abuzz with activity as they communicated with one-another. In the center of the gathering of the largest vessels, the crewman assigned to operating the battleship was melding with the ship's electronics, the great silent vessel becoming an extension of his mind. And then... the vessel began to wake up.

"הכור הוא מקוון," the crewman reported, almost robotically. It was hard to tell if it was truly him speaking, or the ship's computer. "המערכות העיקריות הן מקוונות." The windows aboard the bridge became transparent, revealing the hard light of teal-colored holograms against the softer light that illuminated the interior. The lone crewman rested in the captain's seat, appearing to be in complete repose. "המגינים מחוברים." The dark outline of the battleship rippled against the field of stars for all those who gazed upon it, and then grew still. "מערכות הנעה מקוונות." Slowly, the battleship began to pitch and roll, seeming to align in the general direction that the other large vessels had been moving in. "נקודות נשק הגנה באינטרנט." The vessel continued to move, seeming to want to point in the direction of a star system only a handful of lightyears away. Its bow was pointed away from where the Traveler had appeared, seeming to pay it no mind as the other vessels looked on. The Traveler could feel at least a passing awareness of its presence, even before the photons emitted from its spectacular entry had reached Sub-Fleet 2C. "מערכות נשק ראשוניות פועלות במצב מוגבל."

"Reactor is online," the crewman reported, almost robotically. It was hard to tell if it was truly him speaking, or the ship's computer. "Primary systems are online." The windows aboard the bridge became transparent, revealing the hard light of teal-colored holograms against the softer light that illuminated the interior. The lone crewman rested in the captain's seat, appearing to be in complete repose. "Shields are online." The dark outline of the battleship rippled against the field of stars for all those who gazed upon it, and then grew still. "Propulsion systems are online." Slowly, the battleship began to pitch and roll, seeming to align in the general direction that the other large vessels had been moving in. "Point-defense weapons are online." The vessel continued to move, seeming to want to point in the direction of a star system only a handful of lightyears away. Its bow was pointed away from where the Traveler had appeared, seeming to pay it no mind as the other vessels looked on. The Traveler could feel at least a passing awareness of its presence, even before the photons emitted from its spectacular entry had reached Sub-Fleet 2C. "Primary weapon systems are running in a limited state."

The Traveler would have an easy time deducing what star would be the next to go out...
Last edited by Cruciland on Mon Sep 02, 2019 4:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Crucilandians - Old Capital - New Capital | A 4.8 civilization, according to this index.
Socialdemokraterne wrote:If the absence of secularism wasn't enough to scare our people, the rate of which the doomsday button is pressed by them sure settled the matter.

Prussia-Steinbach wrote:Cruciland, I just want to say, your nation is frightening.

The Inevitable Syndicate wrote:My advice to you, dear Gordano-Lysandus, is to run. Or hide. Maybe not hiding, because the Crucilandians will find you, and by their god, you will be assimilated.

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Posts: 2386
Founded: Mar 21, 2017
Democratic Socialists

Postby Arkeyana » Fri May 24, 2019 2:32 pm

Interstellar Void

The Traveler very, very quickly analyzed the route of the fleet and which star would be the next to go out. As such, the preliminary AIs decided to go to the Core itself to bring up the issue of First Contact...

I awaken from my functions, my consciousness emerging from the sea of stimulation that is the heartbeat of this body. I have read the data as soon as it flowed in, storing it within my memory as I shudder at this gluttony. Scans of the vessels come in as well, showing that each one is covered in nanorobotic devices that hunger for the slightest influx of energy, the slightest brush of an atom. I find it revolting, yet, I must make contact. The smallest bursts of activity in the lowest levels of my mind indicate the crafting of a message, one that is handed over to a subordinate. The responsibility falls to them now, and I return to my own as I sink.


A message is sent from the Traveler, a simple message, yet one that could spark further contact.

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"This is the LAMH [i]Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained[/i], who are you?"
Lore Consolidation in Progress

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Pax Cybertronian
Posts: 1047
Founded: Jun 20, 2017
Corporate Police State

Postby Pax Cybertronian » Sat May 25, 2019 12:32 pm

The Semper Tyrannis loomed in the skies of Tyrannia like a predatory bird. While it was obviously an ant compared to the rest of the planet, the star-ship itself was still grand in size, nonetheless. The warm sum and the clear blue skies shone down upon the capital ship, allowing its features to almost glisten in the airs above. It was a sleek, majestic, purple and silver – a proud testament, so they proclaimed, to the Decepticons’ great proficiency with ship-related architecture. Surrounding the ship was pure white, unpolluted clouds, and below it was grasslands, coloured a luscious green from a recent regular short burst of rainfall, animals grazing the grass throughout.

The colonization of Tyrannia was relatively successful. Scorponok decided that Tyrannia would eventually undergo the cyberformation process, although not until the Decepticons expanded outwards. Luckily for the Decepticons, the first few Decepticon armadas deployed throughout Cymopolia had managed to land on several planets with little to no interruptions, who themselves would be converted into Decepticon colonies shortly. Out of the five or so colonies, two would be used as military bases, one would be used to cultivate resources and the rest would be used as colonies or whatever miscellaneous purpose the government eventually thought up. However, even then, the Decepticons had only annexed a sliver of a marginal portion of the galaxy. This, Scorponok knew, would be integral to the rest of the Decepticons’ efforts to annex Cymopolia.

Six (including Tyrannia) planets out of what they assumed was a trillion or so planets was absolutely miniscule and easily decimated and annexed, even if fortified to the best of their abilities. This, Scorponok knew.

As a result, the Decepticons would have to continuously expand in Cymopolia to ensure they always maintained the advantage over their enemy.

As Scorponok continued to ponder these thoughts, a Decepticon, a head smaller than Scorponok, walked into the room. Krunix. “You wanted to see me, Grand Admiral?” Krunix asked. “Must be important.”

Scorponok turned to face Krunix. “Yes.” He walked over to a nearby desk and grabbed a datapad. He turned it on, revealing lots of information regarding the New Circle and the Reclaimers. “The current political climate is post-apocalyptic, so to speak, in that there was a literal apocalyptic war not too long ago... relatively speaking, of course; five years is not a long time. Much of Cymopolia is still irradiated, and most sapient life, I believe, existing before the war is dead – most likely from the so-called “Final Conflict”.”

He tapped a button on a table, revealing a large light blue hologram, showing several Decepticons with capes proudly saluting a statute of Megatron. “The ultimate objective must be to rule over the Cymopolian Galaxy,” Scorponok continued. “The rest of the Decepticon Conclave will never falter on that stance. No matter what happens, the ultimate objective must be to secure a Decepticon victory. To achieve that end, however, it seems that getting ourselves involved in this arbitrary conflict of theirs will be imperative to the victory of the Empire. They seem to be rather different ideologically. The Grand Circle favour some form of what they call “autocratic democracy”, whereas the Reclaimers are more nomadic.”

“Neutrality would be unbeneficial, at least for now,” Scorponok explained, “and by analysing the culture and other miscellaneous information of this galaxy, I will be able to decipher what their plans will be. What their tactics will likely be. How to defeat them for the glory of the Empire. Although, to the acrasial reaction of the Conclave, the leadership of both sides consist of a multitude of species types, especially organics. However, we seem to be somewhat more similar to the Grand Circle, at least in terms of ideology. It’ll be easier for everybot to stomach if we side with them, at least for the time being.”

“And if they stop being useful to us, sir?”

“We will deal with this – Krusskena? I believe that’s his name – and his Senate once they either start to impede our plans or they otherwise begin to become unnecessary,” Scorponok continued. “Every patriotic Decepticon should understand that we are destined to reign supreme – not just as kings, but as physical gods. That is what Lord Megatron told me, and so I bequeathed that information to you now, like I have with many others.”

“Well, that’s cool and all, sir, but I don’t know why you called me here. Could you elaborate on that?”

“I called you here for a specific purpose, yes.” Scorponok tapped the button on the table again, turning off the hologram. “Krunix, you’re a Masterian Transformer, correct?”

“Yes,” Krunix responded. “I joined the Malignus Insurgency against the Optimum Triumvirate before the Decepticons annexed Master.”

“Indeed, you did; the very detailed fact-files I have on you say the same thing,” Scorponok said. “Additionally, many of the Masterians who joined up with the Decepticons opted to undergo the binary-bonding process, or at least conversion into, say, a Headmaster, a Targetmaster or a Powermaster. Now, then…” Scorponok brought up another holographic image, this time of the Decepticon general and warlord, Galvatron, who was notorious throughout the known cosmos for being less than sane and extremely ruthless. “You know who Galvatron is, correct?”

“Yes, Grand Admiral,” Krunix said. “He led the contingent of Decepticons that helped the Insurgency.” Krunix’s voice turned colder. “…and annexed Master into the Empire after the Triumvirate were overthrown.”

Scorponok noticed the rise of coldness in Krunix’s voice. It was clear that Krunix at least moderately resented the Decepticon conquest of his planet. “You can place your feelings about the annexation of the planet Master to the wayside,” Scorponok responded. “There are always far more pressing matters to tend to. Now… we may be electing Galvatron to become the very first “Triple Threat Master”.”

“And that is…”

“A Transformer with the combined power of a Targetmaster, a Powermaster and a Headmaster,” Scorponok elaborated. “Ideally, this should make the Transformer in question exceedingly more powerful than before. Now…” Scorponok moved over and switched the hologram to that of a Targetmaster. “You, Krunix, are a Targetmaster, if I’m correct. As a result, I believe that you will be a very suitable candidate to be binary-bonded with Galvatron. If this process succeeds, Galvatron will be the first in a line of extremely powerful Transformers. Estimates state that they’d be on par with the likes of the Phase-Sixers, if not more powerful than them. Granted, these projections are simply estimates and so they can’t be entirely trusted; they are the most idealistic results of this experiment.”

Scorponok stopped for a second, contemplating his response. “Now… do you accept to undergo the procedure?”

Krunix was silent for a few seconds, which felt like an eternity, but he eventually responded with: “Yes.”

“Excellent. Then, you’ll undergo the second binary-bonding process… sooner or later…” Scorponok opened the door and walked down a corridor, entering one of his offices, and Krunix sat down in a nearby metallic chair, clearly contemplating his current situation...

A solar system went dark. Its star, in turn, had seemingly died, and so its children, numerous planets, were more or less left to rot in the cosmic void. A nearby Decepticon warship, armed to the teeth and yet sleek as per usual, detected a large, gradual graviton wave resonating from this star system. The quick disappearance of an entire star from the face of a galaxy was, unsurprisingly, rather uncommon. The Decepticons, for one, opted for the usage of Dyson swarms to gradually drain stars of energy so as to retain a constant, regular flow of energy needed for resources. On board the ship, the Decepticon commander immediately ordered the star-ship to enter FTL and head towards the star system. There, they would investigate the star’s death further; if it happened to be due to any other factions, the Decepticons would then employ diplomatic and militaristic strategies as per usual.

The ship, a medium-sized vessel, exited FTL travel and scanned their surroundings. Numerous topaz-coloured star-ships, seemingly of unknown origin, had been detected in a nearby planet’s heliosphere. Surprisingly to very few, mechanical lifeforms had been detected on all the spacecrafts. Downthrust, the commander of the vessel, sneered. These vessels would soon face the glorious might of the all-powerful Decepticon Empire, he thought. The Decepticons were infalliable, glorious warriors fighting against the cosmos for the glory of the Transformer race, he also thought.

As the vessel descended towards the Crucilandian ships, the commander spoke thusly, a snooty, arrogant tone present as he laid back in his chair with a cough. “Denizens of this star system, this is Downthrust, a commander who serves the almighty Decepticon Empire. Identify yourselves to your betters at once, and maybe we’ll offer you an alliance.” Someone, clearly older and thus much more experienced in the frontlines, recognized the Crucilandian vessels and whispered this fact to her thusly. “…Never mind; somebot on board my ship recognized you, loyal allies of the almighty Decepticon Empire. Be lucky, for we shall be merciful today, for I am Downthrust, commander of this vessel!”

Still in the spaceport, it turned out that the Laniakean Alliance’s diplomat to the New Circle was quadrupedal, not bipedal. As a result, he was unable to enter the limousine, which had been clearly created for bipedal humanoid lifeforms. This was an obvious hinderance to their ability to send Arthox to the embassy; perhaps Arthox would have to use his own methods of transportation, or maybe they would be able to provide other quick methods of transportation.

“He’s quadrupedal…” Yari said to Ikmius, who just shrugged in response. “Uh… I’m pretty sure foreigners aren’t allowed into the capital without all sorta bureaucratic stuff taking place to let you in, so you’ll have to teleport to one of the embassies outside it. I’ll send you the coordinates to one of the embassies and the President should meet you there.”

Yari then proceeded to quickly type in some coordinates into her wrist communicator, a silver-ish device that covered her entire left wrist. She finished typing in the alphanumeric combination on her device and sent them over to Arthox. “Here you go. The coordinates I’ve sent to you will take you to one of the embassies. Remember that you can’t visit Blaness until the government’s consented to it and have done all the paperwork necessary – they’ll shoot you if you try to enter; it’s for national security and that stuff since we don’t have much territory right now and so it might be open to invasion. Oh, and also remember to obey the Metropolitan Guard’s orders at all times and you’ll be alright.”

Above the skies of several of Blaness’ external embassies, the escort fleet assigned to the Ordocravians had arrived, exiting FTL travel almost instantaneously. They had been seeking to attend an Ordocravian summit as per usual. Emperor Ermecorroge, the leader of the Ordocravian Empire, sent a message to the New Circle’s communication services.

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[i]”This is Rethovus Ermecorroge of the Ordocravian Empire again. I announce that we have securely entered your capital province and that we are ready for the following diplomatic summit.”[/i]

The New Circle would, in response, send a response essentially accepting their request and directing them to an embassy northeast of the capital. Additionally, they would mention that foreigners would not be allowed to enter the capital unless the Senate had certified their allegiance to the New Circle.

Tarnok son-of-Armuk’s body was disproportionate to one another. There was no apparent neck in sight and the head and body, in turn, seemed to almost be interconnected. As the Gladian scuttled behind Kaulik, the commander noticed that two massive arms protruded from Tarnok’s body, ending in two massive, powerful claws. Kaulik related the Gladian to the more “grotesquely alien”, as Kaulik brusquely put it, among the Reclaimers. Tarnok, he believed, resembled one of the major leaders who opposed the rise of Stak as High Admiral of the Reverent Fleet. It was believed that that the late High Admiral in question commandeered a very large spacecraft that resembled the Levia, if he remembered correctly, before it was downed and presumed to have been destroyed during the civil war that ensued a few weeks following the Final Conflict. Kaulik himself believed that the Reverent Civil War could have been prevented by assassinating the other High Admirals and Stak asserting his authority as soon as that occurred, but that was five years ago; tensions were high and unavoidable. Civil war would have broken out regardless.

Tarnok would notice that the interiors of the ship itself were very clean and sleek, betraying an obvious futuristic and “Cyberpunk” aesthetic, contrasting the bluish and greenish colours dotting this warship. Of course, this was likely of its origins as a massive civilian luxury liner with countless interior habitats dotting this capital ship. Finally arriving in Stak’s office, Kaulik opened the door to allow his guards and Tarnok to pass through. Closing it, he turned to face a rather tall being, though very small in comparison to the Gladian, who was sitting on a chair at the time. Stak, reaching up to 200cm and still wearing his helmet that covered his antennae, stayed in his chair, having just finished a conversation with several Admirals.

“The diplomat’s here with me, High Admiral,” Commander Kaulik said.

“You have your duties, Admirals, and I expect you to fulfil them to the best of your abilities,” Stak said as the Admirals grabbed their belongings and briskly left the room. He swivelled in his chair to face Kaulik and Tarnok. “Ah. So, you’re the diplomat they sent? Well, I am Stak, High Admiral of the Reclaimers, the survivors of a short civil war following our apocalypse and the hopeful saviours of this galaxy. So, you are Tarnok son-of-Armuk, correct?”
My current RP - you can join if you want. | Proud member of The Anti-Democracy League. | If you want to join our region, come and join; you're more than welcome! | My Q&A's here as well.

I do not use NationStates stats. I use my own.

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Eidolan Assembly and Titanomachina
Posts: 13
Founded: Apr 28, 2019

Postby Eidolan Assembly and Titanomachina » Sat May 25, 2019 2:41 pm

Abound, dimensions away in the home between time and space...

Having paid attention to the mess of what came forth outside of the galaxy of Cymopolia, the eldest Eidolan known as Marjorie prophesied the changing of reality itself: not by their own hand, but the inquisitive actions of outsiders foreign to them. Most felt disturbed and worried about the situation slowly unfolding in the galaxy they were to protect: however, there were a couple who found the prospect... quite a fine idea to look into as much as they liked.

The home, while sometimes packed and always accustomed to a large party of sorts, was empty for the time being as the Eidolans all were out to see into these new foreigners: while some took it either to proper introductions later, or simply watching from afar, there was Lizbeth. Lizbeth was... a special type of Eidolan: the middle child of her family, she's been the most troublesome there is in the Assembly. Having broken the code of the Eidolans on multiple occasions, she's seen as an outcast to the elders, a leader to the younger, and the most independent of them all. She was alone in the home, resting on a blue velvet couch and having formed what looked to be a large round mirror to boredly surf the cosmos as a viewpoint to her own.

Tirelessly seeing to what was out there, she soon spotted her first sign of new crafts in the system: big, topaz colored ships with a sleek and armed ship moving in towards them. Oh, my! An encounter in the darker ends of space! The perfect party to watch and, if things pertain to the matter, hopefully crash! She hops up from her seat, her boots clacking to the ground, as she walks on through a blue door which arose in front of her!

...And soon, out into the void of space! Between the small fleet and the scouting warship, she went and formed the chair into what seemed to be a piece of lounge furniture, and sat on down, fingers crossed and so were legs as she excitedly watched what was to unfold! The chair she sat upon seemed to break a few laws, as it seems to be rooted down in some sort of gravity, as she was as well! In all this, she could sit back and wait for the action to arise!

Of course... she's also visible to each of the sides on scanners, as some sort of anomaly: not biological, not mechanical, just a strange, offputting... well of endless energy and sealed power that literally walked through a physical door into the heliosphere of the system. As soon as it's noted, all signs of radar and sonar would go off for a few seconds, before dying down quickly as if it were simply trying to snuff itself away by hiding.



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