Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
Of some reason CFC doesn't give me updates when this thread gets new posts. Had no idea people were active
To The Great Beyond - Space Empires!
- Thread starter Daftpanzer
- Start date
Thorvald of Lym
A Little Sketchy
Yeah, the Alerts system is pretty fickle.
Lord_Herobrine
Back in the Saddle
Hey Daft, I was looking through the previous pages and it looks like you miss-titled a piece of RP from me. Post #311 should be included as the second chapter of Tales of Hoban. Could you title it, "Tales of Hoban - V02 "Greeted with Fire" ?
Last edited:
Daftpanzer
canonically ambiguous
Hi Angst, it would be great to have you back for The Beast's Crusade! I've set an orders deadline for monday night.
I had linked it on the front page, but I'd given it my own title. I have now renamed the link as you requested
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
Ye I*m definitely back for The Beast's Crusade 
Daftpanzer
canonically ambiguous
Life Beyond Rurrica
He floated in a darkened room, lit only by the faint green glare of a monochrome cathode-ray display. Despite focusing his full willpower, the tape reel drive was not going any faster. It clicked and whirred at a steady pace. The sudden noise of several sarru* passing by his commune made each of is hearts skip a beat. It was rumoured that the hofkits* were tracking anyone accessing this bulletin board. But his curiosity had got the better of him.
12 more sectors on the dial. A high-pitched siren started up nearby; he braced himself for the inevitable knocking at the door. It didn’t come; the siren faded away into the distance.
10 sectors left.
He must be crazy. Who would volunteer to be a postal node? Who would volunteer to dive into these dangerous depths?
7 sectors left.
He looked out the window. The stars seemed especially bright tonight. Murrina* was shining brightest of all, hanging low on the horizon. A sky full of mysteries, and possibilities.
There had to be more to this existence. He had to know more.
3 sectors left...
-----
Outlier gently inhaled and exhaled her way down the spiral ramp, passing posters full of patriotic messages and hazard-awareness warnings, some of them faded and beginning to peel. It was a route she had taken many times before. She didn’t need to touch off any of the surfaces at all; she let lungs and flippers do all the work, guided by the subconscious part of her brain. Eyes, skin receptors and muscles all fired to a well-practised routine.
Outlier did some of her best thinking in the ramp.
Only the newness registered in her brain. It was brighter than usual, and not just because she had cleaned her goggles; someone had been along and replaced the dead lightbulbs - and given the ceramic surfaces a bit of a scrub down too, by the looks of it. New posters had also been added; ‘Don’t know? Don't touch!’ ran a bold headline, above a typical fool-caricature with its siphnul* on fire, beside a rack full of sparking electronic equipment. Next up, ‘Stay Vigilant’, was the command of a dramatically-posed hofkit, its siphnul outstretched defiantly and protectively, while its arms carried a rifle with the affection of a brooder carrying a child. The figure floated above the instantly-recognisable coastlines of the Great Karras, while the landmass had been obliterated and replaced with the colour patterns of their United Phyle; ‘All our lives depend on it’.
Yes, comrade, we are all in this together. Some more than others…
She reached the bottom of the ramp, feeling the subtle increase in air pressure. A plastic glove tapped in her access code, fingers on autopilot, knowing exactly how much force to apply to each key, some of them rather stiff. A buzzer signalled success. She was just in time to hear the elevator grinding to a halt. She always aimed for this; usually she was a few seconds off. Today was a lucky day. The opposing doors to the antechamber opened simultaneously. It was the little things that helped make an impression.
Interloper was there as expected, one arm still clinging to the elevator handles, floating stiffly next to the steely presence of Commander. Interloper was looking weighed down by the identification badge hanging from his midriff, while Commander was wearing the truncated version of his rank headdress. The trio exchanged courtesies. Interloper, his siphnul curled beneath him, did nothing to dispel the air of being a bewildered child, lost in a strange new world. Good; he was learning. This was the right attitude to have. Trying to guard his ego would only rub everyone up the wrong way. There was a lot to learn.
The antechamber was utilitarian and roughly-rounded, undaubed concrete; half-painted, half-faded direction signs lined one of the walls. The main door to the control room began to open for them. There was a stain on the floor that might have been spilled lubricant, or blood. Interloper nervously eyed the machine gun turret fixed in the ceiling as it noisily panned back and forth. Outlier and Commander knew the machine gun was not loaded.
The large, heavy sliding door opened at a leisurely pace and with considerable noise. The space beyond was dark, and kept at higher pressure than the exterior. A cool breeze made all three drift back slightly. Outlier shuddered against her best efforts; she should have worn an extra layer after all, damn it. Someone had been playing with the atmosphere controls again. Taking Commander’s cue, the trio floated through the door once it was wide enough. Ceiling lights flickered into action as they entered.
It was not quite what Interloper was expecting. The ‘Control Room’ was not a control room at all; it was a large hangar. And sitting pride of place within, propped up on plain wooden crates, was the re-entry capsule of the Urcasal Hyphat 4. It took a moment to register with Interloper; only the ‘4’ symbol was still visible next to the hatch, much of the original outer coating had been torn away by re-entry, and the metal beneath had been scorched in tongues of black. It still looked dangerous, somehow, as if reverberating the tremendous heat and acceleration it had encountered on its journey.
But Interloper was instantly drawn to it; he had to fight the urge to jet up and touch it with his siphnul. Instead he approached slowly, and touched it with an outstretched, plastic-protected hand - this thing that had famously and tragically burnt up in the atmosphere, according to all news reports. Sudden coolness and pressure confirmed it was a real object. It was then the questions began to queue up in his mind.
‘The Hyphat 4 return module’ Outlier confirmed, before he had a chance to speak, ‘we brought it down on by remote control after the disappearance of the crew’. She allowed herself to settle on top of an empty camera-stand.
‘Disappearance?’ Interloper, still touching the metal skin of the capsule, angled himself so one eye made contact with Outlier.
‘Disappearance’, she whistled flatly. Interloper suddenly found himself looking back at the capsule, peering through the black glass of the hatch panel. A faint feeling of horror crept into his consciousness.
Commander was suddenly beside him, pushing on the hatch door with thickly-gloved hands, while stabilising himself with his siphnul. The hatch gave way without much resistance, sliding inwards and to one side; ‘we had quite a job getting this open the first time’. Commander then reversed out the way. Interloper peered through the opening; it had done little to dispel the ominous darkness inside the capsule. After a moment, Commander was back, wielding a flashlight aloft.
‘Go on - take a look’.
Interloper nosed through the opening. Commander’s beam moved gradually from left to right, revealing a cramped but otherwise-undisturbed interior. Cables, control panels, dials and switches were all where they were supposed to be. But there were anomalous stains on some of the surfaces. And a strange smell that he couldn’t place.
‘Disappearance?’ He asked yet again.
‘Yes, comrade’, Commander’s whistle-speech was calm and flat. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation. ‘We found it like this, after we brought it down on autopilot’.
Interloper had retrieved his nose from the capsule, but it was taking time for sentences to form in his head. Outlier jumped in; ‘the capsule was fully pressurised on return. Somebody went to great lengths to abduct our crew in orbit and then re-seal the capsule. Its our job to figure out who. Or what.’
As Commander was still holding up the flashlight, Interloper found himself nosing back into the capsule, immediately looking for clues. The tiny space had a particular aura, not particularly pleasant; it spoke of confinement, and extremes of emotion; three astronauts sharing dangers together in close proximity. Or perhaps that was just his imagination. And wait, was that -
SHREEEEEE
Interloper involuntarily jetted backwards, painfully scraping the top of his head on the hatch frame as he did so. He came to rest a few metres away from the capsule, floating at an awkward angle, now acutely aware of Commander and Outlier eyeing him with some bemusement. Half-written pieces of paper fluttered to the ground in his wake. Something that might have been a power tool fell from one of the crates onto the floor, noisily. A rotating red flashlight whirred into action overhead, rather weakly struggling with the other lights in the room.
SHREEEEEE
‘It’s a drill - or the Great Phyle War has finally started’ explained Outlier, with a deliberately comforting tone in her voice. ‘We’ll talk on the way.’
‘We’re not safe here?’ Interloper was struggling to remember how far underground they were already.
‘No guarantees. Remember - our main defence is that we don’t exist’. She turned for the exit, with a particular swish of her flippers that was an invite to follow.
‘We’ll head to the Theatre’ Commander stated, patting Interloper on the shoulder as he passed, ‘that’s the Bunker, between you and me. And we’ll get you patched up, hofkit’. Interloper suddenly felt a trickle of blood running down the side of his head. He curled up his siphnul to rub the wound as he jetted to catch up.
-----
*Sarru = a type of aircraft similar to helicopters, but optimised for the thick atmosphere of Rurricca. The propulsion system would be more similar to the ‘lifting fan’ of terrestrial F-35 fighters.
*Hofkits = soldiers / police / guards, sworn to serve their leaders; a role with considerable historical-cultural baggage.
*Murrina = a Rurrican name for the Sax-2 orange giant, a star that shines especially bright from the viewpoint of the Rurrica system.
*Siphnul = ‘trunk’, singular forward grasping limb of Rurrican anatomy.
He floated in a darkened room, lit only by the faint green glare of a monochrome cathode-ray display. Despite focusing his full willpower, the tape reel drive was not going any faster. It clicked and whirred at a steady pace. The sudden noise of several sarru* passing by his commune made each of is hearts skip a beat. It was rumoured that the hofkits* were tracking anyone accessing this bulletin board. But his curiosity had got the better of him.
12 more sectors on the dial. A high-pitched siren started up nearby; he braced himself for the inevitable knocking at the door. It didn’t come; the siren faded away into the distance.
10 sectors left.
He must be crazy. Who would volunteer to be a postal node? Who would volunteer to dive into these dangerous depths?
7 sectors left.
He looked out the window. The stars seemed especially bright tonight. Murrina* was shining brightest of all, hanging low on the horizon. A sky full of mysteries, and possibilities.
There had to be more to this existence. He had to know more.
3 sectors left...
-----
Outlier gently inhaled and exhaled her way down the spiral ramp, passing posters full of patriotic messages and hazard-awareness warnings, some of them faded and beginning to peel. It was a route she had taken many times before. She didn’t need to touch off any of the surfaces at all; she let lungs and flippers do all the work, guided by the subconscious part of her brain. Eyes, skin receptors and muscles all fired to a well-practised routine.
Outlier did some of her best thinking in the ramp.
Only the newness registered in her brain. It was brighter than usual, and not just because she had cleaned her goggles; someone had been along and replaced the dead lightbulbs - and given the ceramic surfaces a bit of a scrub down too, by the looks of it. New posters had also been added; ‘Don’t know? Don't touch!’ ran a bold headline, above a typical fool-caricature with its siphnul* on fire, beside a rack full of sparking electronic equipment. Next up, ‘Stay Vigilant’, was the command of a dramatically-posed hofkit, its siphnul outstretched defiantly and protectively, while its arms carried a rifle with the affection of a brooder carrying a child. The figure floated above the instantly-recognisable coastlines of the Great Karras, while the landmass had been obliterated and replaced with the colour patterns of their United Phyle; ‘All our lives depend on it’.
Yes, comrade, we are all in this together. Some more than others…
She reached the bottom of the ramp, feeling the subtle increase in air pressure. A plastic glove tapped in her access code, fingers on autopilot, knowing exactly how much force to apply to each key, some of them rather stiff. A buzzer signalled success. She was just in time to hear the elevator grinding to a halt. She always aimed for this; usually she was a few seconds off. Today was a lucky day. The opposing doors to the antechamber opened simultaneously. It was the little things that helped make an impression.
Interloper was there as expected, one arm still clinging to the elevator handles, floating stiffly next to the steely presence of Commander. Interloper was looking weighed down by the identification badge hanging from his midriff, while Commander was wearing the truncated version of his rank headdress. The trio exchanged courtesies. Interloper, his siphnul curled beneath him, did nothing to dispel the air of being a bewildered child, lost in a strange new world. Good; he was learning. This was the right attitude to have. Trying to guard his ego would only rub everyone up the wrong way. There was a lot to learn.
The antechamber was utilitarian and roughly-rounded, undaubed concrete; half-painted, half-faded direction signs lined one of the walls. The main door to the control room began to open for them. There was a stain on the floor that might have been spilled lubricant, or blood. Interloper nervously eyed the machine gun turret fixed in the ceiling as it noisily panned back and forth. Outlier and Commander knew the machine gun was not loaded.
The large, heavy sliding door opened at a leisurely pace and with considerable noise. The space beyond was dark, and kept at higher pressure than the exterior. A cool breeze made all three drift back slightly. Outlier shuddered against her best efforts; she should have worn an extra layer after all, damn it. Someone had been playing with the atmosphere controls again. Taking Commander’s cue, the trio floated through the door once it was wide enough. Ceiling lights flickered into action as they entered.
It was not quite what Interloper was expecting. The ‘Control Room’ was not a control room at all; it was a large hangar. And sitting pride of place within, propped up on plain wooden crates, was the re-entry capsule of the Urcasal Hyphat 4. It took a moment to register with Interloper; only the ‘4’ symbol was still visible next to the hatch, much of the original outer coating had been torn away by re-entry, and the metal beneath had been scorched in tongues of black. It still looked dangerous, somehow, as if reverberating the tremendous heat and acceleration it had encountered on its journey.
But Interloper was instantly drawn to it; he had to fight the urge to jet up and touch it with his siphnul. Instead he approached slowly, and touched it with an outstretched, plastic-protected hand - this thing that had famously and tragically burnt up in the atmosphere, according to all news reports. Sudden coolness and pressure confirmed it was a real object. It was then the questions began to queue up in his mind.
‘The Hyphat 4 return module’ Outlier confirmed, before he had a chance to speak, ‘we brought it down on by remote control after the disappearance of the crew’. She allowed herself to settle on top of an empty camera-stand.
‘Disappearance?’ Interloper, still touching the metal skin of the capsule, angled himself so one eye made contact with Outlier.
‘Disappearance’, she whistled flatly. Interloper suddenly found himself looking back at the capsule, peering through the black glass of the hatch panel. A faint feeling of horror crept into his consciousness.
Commander was suddenly beside him, pushing on the hatch door with thickly-gloved hands, while stabilising himself with his siphnul. The hatch gave way without much resistance, sliding inwards and to one side; ‘we had quite a job getting this open the first time’. Commander then reversed out the way. Interloper peered through the opening; it had done little to dispel the ominous darkness inside the capsule. After a moment, Commander was back, wielding a flashlight aloft.
‘Go on - take a look’.
Interloper nosed through the opening. Commander’s beam moved gradually from left to right, revealing a cramped but otherwise-undisturbed interior. Cables, control panels, dials and switches were all where they were supposed to be. But there were anomalous stains on some of the surfaces. And a strange smell that he couldn’t place.
‘Disappearance?’ He asked yet again.
‘Yes, comrade’, Commander’s whistle-speech was calm and flat. This wasn’t the first time he’d had this conversation. ‘We found it like this, after we brought it down on autopilot’.
Interloper had retrieved his nose from the capsule, but it was taking time for sentences to form in his head. Outlier jumped in; ‘the capsule was fully pressurised on return. Somebody went to great lengths to abduct our crew in orbit and then re-seal the capsule. Its our job to figure out who. Or what.’
As Commander was still holding up the flashlight, Interloper found himself nosing back into the capsule, immediately looking for clues. The tiny space had a particular aura, not particularly pleasant; it spoke of confinement, and extremes of emotion; three astronauts sharing dangers together in close proximity. Or perhaps that was just his imagination. And wait, was that -
SHREEEEEE
Interloper involuntarily jetted backwards, painfully scraping the top of his head on the hatch frame as he did so. He came to rest a few metres away from the capsule, floating at an awkward angle, now acutely aware of Commander and Outlier eyeing him with some bemusement. Half-written pieces of paper fluttered to the ground in his wake. Something that might have been a power tool fell from one of the crates onto the floor, noisily. A rotating red flashlight whirred into action overhead, rather weakly struggling with the other lights in the room.
SHREEEEEE
‘It’s a drill - or the Great Phyle War has finally started’ explained Outlier, with a deliberately comforting tone in her voice. ‘We’ll talk on the way.’
‘We’re not safe here?’ Interloper was struggling to remember how far underground they were already.
‘No guarantees. Remember - our main defence is that we don’t exist’. She turned for the exit, with a particular swish of her flippers that was an invite to follow.
‘We’ll head to the Theatre’ Commander stated, patting Interloper on the shoulder as he passed, ‘that’s the Bunker, between you and me. And we’ll get you patched up, hofkit’. Interloper suddenly felt a trickle of blood running down the side of his head. He curled up his siphnul to rub the wound as he jetted to catch up.
-----
*Sarru = a type of aircraft similar to helicopters, but optimised for the thick atmosphere of Rurricca. The propulsion system would be more similar to the ‘lifting fan’ of terrestrial F-35 fighters.
*Hofkits = soldiers / police / guards, sworn to serve their leaders; a role with considerable historical-cultural baggage.
*Murrina = a Rurrican name for the Sax-2 orange giant, a star that shines especially bright from the viewpoint of the Rurrica system.
*Siphnul = ‘trunk’, singular forward grasping limb of Rurrican anatomy.
Last edited:
Daftpanzer
canonically ambiguous
Reminder that the deadline is Monday at 11:59 GMT, which is at least 5 hours ahead of anyone in north america 
I'll probably be offline before that, so please feel free to ask any questions today or tomorrow.
If anyone is still interested in joining the game I can offer help with that as well.
I'll probably be offline before that, so please feel free to ask any questions today or tomorrow.
If anyone is still interested in joining the game I can offer help with that as well.
J.K. Stockholme
Right Opposition
Days after first contact, Sovereign creates new office of Alien Affairs.
Our current agenda shall be pursuing sustained, cordial diplomatic relations with the aliens encountered at Kar-2. Only after understanding their language, appreciating their culture and observing reciprocal interest from the other side can we begin to consider formal cooperation. We have little knowledge of the technical, biological and moral development of these aliens and any premature candidness about our species, our beliefs and especially our technical capacities would be dangerous.
For our part, the Sovereign feels it is imperative that the identity of our species be projected through our first impression with these intelligent alien lifeforms – Syruu are a species that wish all societies have the fullest opportunity to develop themselves. We are prepared to build friendly ties with friendly life whom have respect for our inalienable rights to our own progress and prosperity. The Sovereign believe strongly that our first encounter is a promising one.
Honourable Ukurumon
Supreme Arbiter of Alien Affairs
Last edited:
Daftpanzer
canonically ambiguous
23.5 hour warning
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
I don't have time to relearn the rules, should've spent time on it earlier.
I'll just say: Please NPC me with a colonizer AI.
I'll just say: Please NPC me with a colonizer AI.
Economy
$14 to spend.
$4 to building a Combat Fleet.
$2 to building a wing of Hooeeoo Fighters.
$2 to building Freighters.
$4 to funding colonization efforts on Kar-2b (Lurmee), Queeoo-3a and 3b (Queeohee and Hyleen)
$2 to researching my neighbours, the Flallore, Syru and [natives and machines of Queeoo].
Actions
Move the first combat fleet to Queeoo System, to aid in protecting colonists and establishing control of stations.
Move the Explorer Hmeeur from Lurmee (Kar-2) to Zan-81.
Move the explorer Hreegur from Queeoo to DM-1.
Ferry goods and dissident Hlur-Baiheen to the colonies with our freighter fleets, prioritizing Hooyah (Kar-2b) in the Lurmee system (Kar-2) and the habitable worlds in the Queeoo (Pos-3) system.
Independent groups of Hlur-Baiheen may make their own migrations to any of the remotely habitable worlds in range of Seeoo, regardless of the presence of other alien lifeforms in such areas.
Overview
The Stabilizing directorate is quietly alarmed by the lack of easy expansion areas, and the apparent density of alien life. Presently, serious debates are being made about the ability of other life to coexist with the Hlur-Baiheen.
The failure of Mulu's colonization has contributed to the Directorate's stresses, and the Directors are increasingly desperate to either find new habitable worlds, or to brute force existing worlds into habitability. Test out our Seeooformer prototype, if it was successfully constructed.
The Goaeem Anomaly (Dolak System), calling itself the Flallore, remains an alarming force. Their motivations and culture are opaque to us, and it is foolish for us to not prepare for the worst, even if better things may come.
The Queeoo Anomaly, also known as the Pos-3 Broadcast, presents an opportunity, deemed to be an acceptable risk. We will transport settlers to this world.
The Lurmee Anomaly, at Kar-2, refers to itself as the Syru. There is a verdant, and dangerous world in the Lurmee system, Hooayah (Kar-2b), which presents a fantastic colonization opportunity which much be seized. We will actively transport colonists to this world as well. Particularly warlike and aggressive groups, such as the Hlur-Guayeem, are likely to thrive in an environment of constant struggle against a dangerous environment.
Expedition Director Mon Varheem of the Hmeeur inspected the First Contact probe, humming a melancholy polyrhythm to no one in particular, one Hlur's unheard contribution to the cosmic song.
The probe itself would sing too, though who could tell if whatever alien life existed here could comprehend it. It sang of the dreams of the Hlur-Baiheen, their valued treasures, their rise to prominence and fall to war, and the restoration, the creation of the Directorate, their fearful first contact with alien life, and the frightened, but hopeful caution with which they approached these strangers, for the very first time. The song loped and braided into itself, creating a narrative of the recognition of past errors, and a desire for a good future to rhyme with a good past.
With a simple command, the probe was dispatched, broadcasting loudly and clearly, towards the alien vessel. It skipped superluminally, like a rock over water, to 4/5 of the distance between the two ships, and then reversed its forward momentum, presenting itself passively. Its one-use engine ejected itself, fusing into a molten ball of alloys.
OOC: The probe that reaches you is teardrop-shaped, made out of a polymer, with raised, ridged symbols and embedded chemicals of varying complexity. At the center of the probe is a long spiralling recessed groove. Much of its geometry exhibits self-similarity, and its dimensions follow harmonic ratios. Lateral force application will cause it to slide open, revealing a device that projects solid, three-dimensional images by remotely moving a cloud of microparticles around itself into different patterns. When it is within a non-vacuum environment, it produces a broad range of sound, whistling, burbling and warbling in a complex manner with highly variable pitch. It also generates scents, providing a complex sensory experience. From the projections, you can see shelled creatures with 5 flexible limbs, making the same noises played by the probe when it was first encountered. By rotating an embedded sphere that was revealed when the probe opened, you can move from one moving image to another. Some of the scenes include an image of the alien vessel that dispatched the probe, an image of an orange and pink world cloudy world orbiting a bright white star, and a broad collection of floating dots and simple geometric figures in specific patterns, illustrating an understanding of prime numbers, mathematical constants (pi, e and others), and several logical axioms. The solid projection then proceeds to show several objects, including rocks, drops of fluid, celestial phenomena, and a wide variety of things that are utterly unfamiliar and unidentifiable to you. Distinct sounds, more chirps, burbles, hums and whistles, are made alongside each of these images. They start off simple and clearly enunciated, but the longer you remain on each image, the more elaborate and complex the noises become.
Depressing a large, flat, circular button that appears when the device is open projects a circle onto the floor. If you step into the circle, a small solid projected copy of yourself appears in the smaller circle on the probe. Your sensor readings suggest that this is accompanied with the object activating some sort of broadcast, transmitting data from itself back to its point of origin.
The probe itself would sing too, though who could tell if whatever alien life existed here could comprehend it. It sang of the dreams of the Hlur-Baiheen, their valued treasures, their rise to prominence and fall to war, and the restoration, the creation of the Directorate, their fearful first contact with alien life, and the frightened, but hopeful caution with which they approached these strangers, for the very first time. The song loped and braided into itself, creating a narrative of the recognition of past errors, and a desire for a good future to rhyme with a good past.
With a simple command, the probe was dispatched, broadcasting loudly and clearly, towards the alien vessel. It skipped superluminally, like a rock over water, to 4/5 of the distance between the two ships, and then reversed its forward momentum, presenting itself passively. Its one-use engine ejected itself, fusing into a molten ball of alloys.
OOC: The probe that reaches you is teardrop-shaped, made out of a polymer, with raised, ridged symbols and embedded chemicals of varying complexity. At the center of the probe is a long spiralling recessed groove. Much of its geometry exhibits self-similarity, and its dimensions follow harmonic ratios. Lateral force application will cause it to slide open, revealing a device that projects solid, three-dimensional images by remotely moving a cloud of microparticles around itself into different patterns. When it is within a non-vacuum environment, it produces a broad range of sound, whistling, burbling and warbling in a complex manner with highly variable pitch. It also generates scents, providing a complex sensory experience. From the projections, you can see shelled creatures with 5 flexible limbs, making the same noises played by the probe when it was first encountered. By rotating an embedded sphere that was revealed when the probe opened, you can move from one moving image to another. Some of the scenes include an image of the alien vessel that dispatched the probe, an image of an orange and pink world cloudy world orbiting a bright white star, and a broad collection of floating dots and simple geometric figures in specific patterns, illustrating an understanding of prime numbers, mathematical constants (pi, e and others), and several logical axioms. The solid projection then proceeds to show several objects, including rocks, drops of fluid, celestial phenomena, and a wide variety of things that are utterly unfamiliar and unidentifiable to you. Distinct sounds, more chirps, burbles, hums and whistles, are made alongside each of these images. They start off simple and clearly enunciated, but the longer you remain on each image, the more elaborate and complex the noises become.
Depressing a large, flat, circular button that appears when the device is open projects a circle onto the floor. If you step into the circle, a small solid projected copy of yourself appears in the smaller circle on the probe. Your sensor readings suggest that this is accompanied with the object activating some sort of broadcast, transmitting data from itself back to its point of origin.
christos200
Never tell me the odds
I will send orders in an hour or so. Sorry for delay but was on journey and just returned home.
christos200
Never tell me the odds
Emperor Taizong
Chancellor Yang Kang was emboldened after his victory over of the frightening race of aliens known as the Qui’Kho. His popularity soared and he was hailed as 'Victor' and 'Conqueror'. His victories were the most brilliant in Jaar'ar history, surpassing in glory even the campaigns of the legendary General Jin. The soldiers of the armed forces were more loyal to the man who brought them glory and victory than to the Chiefs, who seemed to be weak and overly cautious.
The Chamber of 500, under popular pressure and with the army loyal to the Chancellor, offered to Yang Kang to extend his supreme power for life, to give him the title of 'Emperor' and to order the troops and public officials to swear oath of loyalty to his person instead of swearing loyalty to the Chamber. Yang Kang refused the offer twice but the third time he was asked, he accepted and proclaimed himself 'Emperor Taizong'. The few Chiefs in the Chamber who opposed the expansion of Yang Kang's powers were killed in accidents or accused of treason and executed.
The newly crowned Emperor has opted to bypass the Chamber of 500 and create a parallel unofficial bureaucracy stuffed by loyal courtiers to run the state. Although Jaar'ar is still officially a confederation and the Chamber of 500 is still nominally the supreme body of the Federation, real power lies with the Emperor Taizong. For the first time in Jaar'ar history, supreme power is wielded by one man and the central government has never been more powerful.
Last edited:
Daftpanzer
canonically ambiguous
Thanks everyone. My record at updating this has been 'pretty poor' so far, to say the least, and rule changes every update can't have helped. So I definitely appreciate your input!
I'm really (really, super) determined to update this regularly now. I'm aiming for a Sunday night update, with about half of the map and player actions done during the week. I'll start with what I've got so far, so there may still be a window for those who want to send quick orders.
I'm really (really, super) determined to update this regularly now. I'm aiming for a Sunday night update, with about half of the map and player actions done during the week. I'll start with what I've got so far, so there may still be a window for those who want to send quick orders.
Daftpanzer
canonically ambiguous
Hi guys, just to say there won't be an update this evening 
but I have pushed myself to get a lot done over the weekend. If I hadn't been busy every night last week I could've made it (excuses excuses 
)
I'm taking my time rather than rushing, I don't want to get stressed about it. But it should be done 'soonish'...
but I have pushed myself to get a lot done over the weekend. If I hadn't been busy every night last week I could've made it (excuses excuses )I'm taking my time rather than rushing, I don't want to get stressed about it. But it should be done 'soonish'...
Immaculate
unerring
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2003
- Messages
- 7,623
Sounds good. Looking forward to it.
Angst
Rambling and inconsistent
I'm also quite looking forward to the update
Belgarion95
Walking Enthusiast
- Joined
- May 21, 2014
- Messages
- 102
[From the private memory capsule of Biers'mo, 63rd Incipitax Principiter LXII, 127th Pro-Incipitax Modulon, 1st Incipitax Kul'nostrum, Agricolon Kul'hari, Optimon Kul'hari, Dominimon Kul'hari, Xenomon Kul'hari]
Biers’mo, walking with slow, deliberate strides, arrives at the platform. The surrounding city is a sea of chemiluminescence. Pockets of bright, jubilant hues shine out between many a muted tones of cautious optimism and concerned devotion.
An arm clasps its shoulder; besides the usual milky-grey of Kul’hari silica, the arm was inlaid with cupric oranges, green cobaltates, and hints of golden aurates, marks of a hardened explorer who had lived in the harshest, most beautiful climes known to the Kul. It belonged to Ar’mortia, an old friend. Ar’mortia’s entire shell, from each of the trifold legs to the massive thorax and head, is covered in intricate mineral seams. Floods of confidence, glee, and lusty ambition, unusually in so old and venerated a Kul, were felt by Biers’mo; who, concealing its alarm, returned patriotism and duty.
“I’m pleased to see you again,” thought Biers’mo.
“The Nine,” as they became known to the greater Kul’hari, had become a sensation, at least as far as one can become among a rock-people. Leaders and Heroes of Kul society, promised high standing within the Kul’no’duun, or Collection, had abandoned this destiny for a place among the stars. Wild and unwise to some, bold and courageous to others, the decision had shocked all Kul'hari into the realization that, for better or worse, the new paradigm for all of the Kul was colonization. Even at the expense of their Paragons of Principiter.
“Knew you’d come on board,” thought Ar’mortia.
“Of that, neither you nor any Kul was capable.” Arcanic blue from Ar’mortia’s crystals flashed, and Biers’mo responded in azure.
They turned and marched towards the Freighter, where the other seven waited. They saw the intricately carved shell of Inda’resma, the vibrant purples and reds of Miar’lo, and others of the few Kul’hari who had earned the ostentation of such shells.
“I know because I feel it too; the great void calls.”
“But to what end, old friend?”
“To all ends – that is, of course, what is calling.” Ar’moria flashed a grinning gold, his aurate veins fluorescing to the edges of his shell. The snow-white, patterned calcifications on Biers’mo’s shell glowed a brief, enigmatic green.
“Is this the way of the Kul?”
“To observe the sublime? To see all that can be? There can be no other way.”
“Hmm.” Another flash of green.
“This knowledge must be preserved by the Collection, you know that as well as I do.”
“Indeed, so it is.” Azure glowed reassuringly. “Let us board.”
They joined the others, and the many grey shells of the other colonizing Kul’hari. A great rumbling took hold of Principiter City as the onlookers began to stomp their feet in solidarity with their brave brethren. The rumbling of the engines resonated with the rumbling in the streets, as the ship took off for the great unknown.
Biers’mo, walking with slow, deliberate strides, arrives at the platform. The surrounding city is a sea of chemiluminescence. Pockets of bright, jubilant hues shine out between many a muted tones of cautious optimism and concerned devotion.
An arm clasps its shoulder; besides the usual milky-grey of Kul’hari silica, the arm was inlaid with cupric oranges, green cobaltates, and hints of golden aurates, marks of a hardened explorer who had lived in the harshest, most beautiful climes known to the Kul. It belonged to Ar’mortia, an old friend. Ar’mortia’s entire shell, from each of the trifold legs to the massive thorax and head, is covered in intricate mineral seams. Floods of confidence, glee, and lusty ambition, unusually in so old and venerated a Kul, were felt by Biers’mo; who, concealing its alarm, returned patriotism and duty.
“I’m pleased to see you again,” thought Biers’mo.
“The Nine,” as they became known to the greater Kul’hari, had become a sensation, at least as far as one can become among a rock-people. Leaders and Heroes of Kul society, promised high standing within the Kul’no’duun, or Collection, had abandoned this destiny for a place among the stars. Wild and unwise to some, bold and courageous to others, the decision had shocked all Kul'hari into the realization that, for better or worse, the new paradigm for all of the Kul was colonization. Even at the expense of their Paragons of Principiter.
“Knew you’d come on board,” thought Ar’mortia.
“Of that, neither you nor any Kul was capable.” Arcanic blue from Ar’mortia’s crystals flashed, and Biers’mo responded in azure.
They turned and marched towards the Freighter, where the other seven waited. They saw the intricately carved shell of Inda’resma, the vibrant purples and reds of Miar’lo, and others of the few Kul’hari who had earned the ostentation of such shells.
“I know because I feel it too; the great void calls.”
“But to what end, old friend?”
“To all ends – that is, of course, what is calling.” Ar’moria flashed a grinning gold, his aurate veins fluorescing to the edges of his shell. The snow-white, patterned calcifications on Biers’mo’s shell glowed a brief, enigmatic green.
“Is this the way of the Kul?”
“To observe the sublime? To see all that can be? There can be no other way.”
“Hmm.” Another flash of green.
“This knowledge must be preserved by the Collection, you know that as well as I do.”
“Indeed, so it is.” Azure glowed reassuringly. “Let us board.”
They joined the others, and the many grey shells of the other colonizing Kul’hari. A great rumbling took hold of Principiter City as the onlookers began to stomp their feet in solidarity with their brave brethren. The rumbling of the engines resonated with the rumbling in the streets, as the ship took off for the great unknown.
