@Wernher Awesome, let's see if we can drum up any more interest. I'll post my faction tomorrow.
Flagg Member
Strange. This outcome I did not foresee.
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Very interesting concept, to have everyone evil. You said the previous iteration imploded, might I ask what was the general direction it look in terms of factions/politics before it did?
An orcish tribal empire, very detailed, from @The Nexerus, some slaver cities, etc. The problem was more in my GMing than in the player factions. I didnt manage the RP very well and didnt have a very compelling faction myself. Hopefully both problems Ive fixed.
Location Undisclosed
The room was simply decorated, a single table in the middle with a folder on it, two chairs on both sides. The lighting came from a source above, sufficient but not overly bright. It left much of the room in shadow.
“Step inside, Commander Love.” a voice, from the shadowy parts of the room emerged, inviting the man in. It sounded gravelly, almost hoarse like that of a man that spent a lifetime barking orders.
Love paused at the doorway, looking down at the smoldering cigarette in his hand. He considered snuffing it out for a moment. Instead, he took a long drag as he entered the room, closing the door gently behind him.
“Thank you,” he said. His voice was quiet, with a slight quiver that made him sound sad, but his gaze was cool and appraising, and the expression on his hollow face was of very faint amusement, like a man who knows the punchline as an old joke is being told. He sat, exhaling a cloud of bluish, spicy smelling smoke.
“Before we begin-” The same voice began, which from this distance was coming from the silhouette of a bald man, wearing a simple, but well-tailored suit, his arms crossed.
“I need you to stand up, please.” His tone was firm, but not necessarily commanding.
Love arched an eyebrow but stood, silently, his head tilted slightly as his eyes wandered the darkness of the room.
The man unfolded his arms and stepped forth into the light beaming from above. What initially may have looked like sunglasses, upon closer inspection were older generation eye augments or prosthetics that used to be military-grade, but have been since phased out in favour of less intrusive models. It nevertheless gave the man a less approachable, human look without the context of subtle eye motions to relate his facial expressions to.
He briefly smiled as he stretched his hand out, expecting the customary handshake. “That’s more like it. Now from the beginning -thank you for attending, Commander Love. Please, have a seat.”
“My pleasure, thank you for the invitation,” said Love, taking the man’s hand. A very slight smile played at the corner of Love’s mouth. Wrong-footing your interrogation subject at the start was straight from the textbook. Apparently they stuck to basics here.
They sat.
“I haven’t had my wrist slapped for informality since I was a cadet,” said Love, “being on this side of an interrogation is a rather new experience. Let’s hope I manage to behave myself.”
The man nodded. “Following protocol is the barometer of good manners.” He began. “And manners maketh man.” he added, with a smile.
“I’ll take your word on that,” said Love.
The man then produced a plastic folder, ran his finger down its spine, which then prompted the folder to open and reveal its contents -freshly printed paper, still warm to the touch. A rare enough commodity, let alone still be used for administration. Generally for things that weren’t kept on digital record -or any public record.
“First question, if I may.” he began, after he unfurled and organised the sheets of paper into a neat stack against the table.
“Your records indicate you’ve spent some time in... shall we say asset recovery. In this line of work, book-keeping is paramount to ensure nothing escapes one’s attention. Would you care to discuss any challenges -be they professional or personal- that arose for you?”
“As you know, records dating to the War, and to ah- those we fought against- are astronomically valuable on the black market. Keeping your own personnel informed enough so that they can do their jobs but ignorant enough that operational security is not at risk is critical,” said Love, “And if a leak occurs, you need the stomach to clean up your own mess. Since you asked about challenges, I will share my greatest failure in this area- an operator under my command, a data-splicer, had significant gambling debts. I knew of course, but he was effective and so we continued to use him. ZeoCorp got to him and paid him well for leaking, shall we say, AI components of non-human origin. It was only because his debts disappeared that I realized he’d been compromised. I do not relish ordering the deaths of men with whom I have worked, and I did not get into this line of work to arrest hypercorp executives. I have since been very careful to keep subordinates safe from... occasions of sin, as the theologians would say.”
The man merely made a mark on his sheet of paper, his expression stoic and the eyes, which normally would have been telling of one’s subconscious emotions and impressions being in his case a figurative stonewall due to their almost mirror-like sheen that covered up the advanced optics beneath.
“And how have you been coping with it after?” He asked, almost as a matter-of-course, without raising what could be inferred was his gaze off the paper.
“I sleep very well, seven hours a night-cycle,” said Love, “If I had difficulty coping with executing a criminal ten years ago I don’t imagine I would be in this room with you.”
The man paused his taking notes and this time, looked at the Commander straight. A smile crept through his face. “You’re right, Commander -you wouldn’t be.”
Love nodded and continued, “The AI he leaked, if AI is the word for it, insinuated itself into ZeoCorp’s systems. Everyone connected to their corporate neural network became infested and began following what are officially called ‘type six xenos-pattern behaviors.’ I will spare you the details, they are exceedingly gory. If I were to lose sleep over anything, it would not be the lawful death of a subordinate, but the existence of what he gave the corporation.”
And with that, the man made an obvious tick mark on his paper.
“Just as an aside-” He remarked “that would have been the ZeoCorp coolant leak. It took some effort to contain that whole story.” The man smiled, pensively. “I had my suspicions at the time.. but I’m glad you proved yourself capable of tracing to- and acting at the source of an issue. It’s what garnered our attention, amongst other things.”
He now leaned back and placed his papers to one side on the table, the hands of his fingers interlocked in front of him.
“We know about your involvement in Miss Elizabeth and the Construct 498-ELI’s… merge. We realize that at the time, you did what you felt you had to do and you’ve taken the… liberty to inform the parents of the situation.”
He made a few notes in preparation for the reply.
“But I would like to hear your relation of the events. On an otherwise quite frankly spotless record, this is the sole blemish -why?”
“I have known Elizabeth Islik since she was born. I served with her father early in my career and we have remained friends ever since. He knows very little about my work. Over the course of her career, I remained friendly with Elizabeth as well. She was a remarkable talent and I entertained the idea of bringing her into intelligence work. I was, therefore, aboard the Toren as an NID observer when the experimental drive she had designed exploded, leaving her badly injured. The AI saved Elizabeth’s life, but I played a role in….facilitating the integration. I wanted Elizabeth to live, and also wanted to see if it would work. When it did work, my superiors decided that Elizabeth’s...status was to be highly classified, her existence kept a careful secret.”
Love paused, bluish smoke ringing his head like a spectral crown. “I disobeyed orders, but not out of sentimentality. Keeping Elizabeth in isolation, apart from her parents, friends, normal human interaction would be setting her up to breakdown, to give in to the schizoid potentiality in her new psyche. Quite apart from my personal concern for Ms. Islik, I felt that a mentally unstable human-AI hybrid would be….incredibly dangerous.”
Love leaned forward, “I believe, without exception, that Eli will be the most dangerous person aboard your new ship. We are a year into this experiment. It seems to be going well. But computing power of that magnitude integrated directly into a reasoning human mind of genius level intellect...the potential is staggering. So, in the interest of keeping our machine/human hybrid as human as possible, I broke protocol. I informed her parents, permitted her to meet them, lowered her classified status so that she does not need to live in a cell or a lab. The bureaucrats threw their usual tantrums, but I...have yet to be court marshaled. In fact, I believe I am about to be considerably promoted with a new commission aboard the navy’s finest ship.”
“Hmph.” The man grunted. “I was wrong about you after all, Commander Love.” he began, with a bitter smile. “Here I thought you were getting sentimental in your old age.”
“Never,” said Love.
The room was simply decorated, a single table in the middle with a folder on it, two chairs on both sides. The lighting came from a source above, sufficient but not overly bright. It left much of the room in shadow.
“Step inside, Commander Love.” a voice, from the shadowy parts of the room emerged, inviting the man in. It sounded gravelly, almost hoarse like that of a man that spent a lifetime barking orders.
Love paused at the doorway, looking down at the smoldering cigarette in his hand. He considered snuffing it out for a moment. Instead, he took a long drag as he entered the room, closing the door gently behind him.
“Thank you,” he said. His voice was quiet, with a slight quiver that made him sound sad, but his gaze was cool and appraising, and the expression on his hollow face was of very faint amusement, like a man who knows the punchline as an old joke is being told. He sat, exhaling a cloud of bluish, spicy smelling smoke.
“Before we begin-” The same voice began, which from this distance was coming from the silhouette of a bald man, wearing a simple, but well-tailored suit, his arms crossed.
“I need you to stand up, please.” His tone was firm, but not necessarily commanding.
Love arched an eyebrow but stood, silently, his head tilted slightly as his eyes wandered the darkness of the room.
The man unfolded his arms and stepped forth into the light beaming from above. What initially may have looked like sunglasses, upon closer inspection were older generation eye augments or prosthetics that used to be military-grade, but have been since phased out in favour of less intrusive models. It nevertheless gave the man a less approachable, human look without the context of subtle eye motions to relate his facial expressions to.
He briefly smiled as he stretched his hand out, expecting the customary handshake. “That’s more like it. Now from the beginning -thank you for attending, Commander Love. Please, have a seat.”
“My pleasure, thank you for the invitation,” said Love, taking the man’s hand. A very slight smile played at the corner of Love’s mouth. Wrong-footing your interrogation subject at the start was straight from the textbook. Apparently they stuck to basics here.
They sat.
“I haven’t had my wrist slapped for informality since I was a cadet,” said Love, “being on this side of an interrogation is a rather new experience. Let’s hope I manage to behave myself.”
The man nodded. “Following protocol is the barometer of good manners.” He began. “And manners maketh man.” he added, with a smile.
“I’ll take your word on that,” said Love.
The man then produced a plastic folder, ran his finger down its spine, which then prompted the folder to open and reveal its contents -freshly printed paper, still warm to the touch. A rare enough commodity, let alone still be used for administration. Generally for things that weren’t kept on digital record -or any public record.
“First question, if I may.” he began, after he unfurled and organised the sheets of paper into a neat stack against the table.
“Your records indicate you’ve spent some time in... shall we say asset recovery. In this line of work, book-keeping is paramount to ensure nothing escapes one’s attention. Would you care to discuss any challenges -be they professional or personal- that arose for you?”
“As you know, records dating to the War, and to ah- those we fought against- are astronomically valuable on the black market. Keeping your own personnel informed enough so that they can do their jobs but ignorant enough that operational security is not at risk is critical,” said Love, “And if a leak occurs, you need the stomach to clean up your own mess. Since you asked about challenges, I will share my greatest failure in this area- an operator under my command, a data-splicer, had significant gambling debts. I knew of course, but he was effective and so we continued to use him. ZeoCorp got to him and paid him well for leaking, shall we say, AI components of non-human origin. It was only because his debts disappeared that I realized he’d been compromised. I do not relish ordering the deaths of men with whom I have worked, and I did not get into this line of work to arrest hypercorp executives. I have since been very careful to keep subordinates safe from... occasions of sin, as the theologians would say.”
The man merely made a mark on his sheet of paper, his expression stoic and the eyes, which normally would have been telling of one’s subconscious emotions and impressions being in his case a figurative stonewall due to their almost mirror-like sheen that covered up the advanced optics beneath.
“And how have you been coping with it after?” He asked, almost as a matter-of-course, without raising what could be inferred was his gaze off the paper.
“I sleep very well, seven hours a night-cycle,” said Love, “If I had difficulty coping with executing a criminal ten years ago I don’t imagine I would be in this room with you.”
The man paused his taking notes and this time, looked at the Commander straight. A smile crept through his face. “You’re right, Commander -you wouldn’t be.”
Love nodded and continued, “The AI he leaked, if AI is the word for it, insinuated itself into ZeoCorp’s systems. Everyone connected to their corporate neural network became infested and began following what are officially called ‘type six xenos-pattern behaviors.’ I will spare you the details, they are exceedingly gory. If I were to lose sleep over anything, it would not be the lawful death of a subordinate, but the existence of what he gave the corporation.”
And with that, the man made an obvious tick mark on his paper.
“Just as an aside-” He remarked “that would have been the ZeoCorp coolant leak. It took some effort to contain that whole story.” The man smiled, pensively. “I had my suspicions at the time.. but I’m glad you proved yourself capable of tracing to- and acting at the source of an issue. It’s what garnered our attention, amongst other things.”
He now leaned back and placed his papers to one side on the table, the hands of his fingers interlocked in front of him.
“We know about your involvement in Miss Elizabeth and the Construct 498-ELI’s… merge. We realize that at the time, you did what you felt you had to do and you’ve taken the… liberty to inform the parents of the situation.”
He made a few notes in preparation for the reply.
“But I would like to hear your relation of the events. On an otherwise quite frankly spotless record, this is the sole blemish -why?”
“I have known Elizabeth Islik since she was born. I served with her father early in my career and we have remained friends ever since. He knows very little about my work. Over the course of her career, I remained friendly with Elizabeth as well. She was a remarkable talent and I entertained the idea of bringing her into intelligence work. I was, therefore, aboard the Toren as an NID observer when the experimental drive she had designed exploded, leaving her badly injured. The AI saved Elizabeth’s life, but I played a role in….facilitating the integration. I wanted Elizabeth to live, and also wanted to see if it would work. When it did work, my superiors decided that Elizabeth’s...status was to be highly classified, her existence kept a careful secret.”
Love paused, bluish smoke ringing his head like a spectral crown. “I disobeyed orders, but not out of sentimentality. Keeping Elizabeth in isolation, apart from her parents, friends, normal human interaction would be setting her up to breakdown, to give in to the schizoid potentiality in her new psyche. Quite apart from my personal concern for Ms. Islik, I felt that a mentally unstable human-AI hybrid would be….incredibly dangerous.”
Love leaned forward, “I believe, without exception, that Eli will be the most dangerous person aboard your new ship. We are a year into this experiment. It seems to be going well. But computing power of that magnitude integrated directly into a reasoning human mind of genius level intellect...the potential is staggering. So, in the interest of keeping our machine/human hybrid as human as possible, I broke protocol. I informed her parents, permitted her to meet them, lowered her classified status so that she does not need to live in a cell or a lab. The bureaucrats threw their usual tantrums, but I...have yet to be court marshaled. In fact, I believe I am about to be considerably promoted with a new commission aboard the navy’s finest ship.”
“Hmph.” The man grunted. “I was wrong about you after all, Commander Love.” he began, with a bitter smile. “Here I thought you were getting sentimental in your old age.”
“Never,” said Love.
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell
- Satan, Paradise Lost
- Satan, Paradise Lost
Centuries have passed since the Shadow was defeated, and little is it mentioned anymore, and then only in whispers. The Clerisy, those dutiful and punctilious protectors of piety and order, have ensured that only the most sanitized and pious accounts of the Great Battle circulate, in which Justinian, their incarnate god, met the Dark Lord Daigon on the ashen plains of Nagath and in single combat vanquished him. In the deserts far to the south, the arrogant wizard-lords scoff at such stories, and debate theories of their own about the fall of Daigon and the Empire of Nagath. Some question whether there ever was a Dark Lord, speculating that the Clerisy created an antagonist to justify its own pretenses to sanctity.
Whatever the truth, it is clear that Nagath was once the seat of a great dominion. The ruined fortresses of steel and black stone, the great earthworks channeling rivers of molten rock, the half-ruined machines still capable of great destruction, the shrines haunted still by demons and dark gods, these and more remain testimony to some former glory...or horror.
But now it is a wasteland, infested with warring tribes of beastkin and orcs and barbarous men, the haunt of trolls and ghouls and outcasts from every corner of the civilized world, acknowledged by the Imperium only when they send in expeditions to massacre its remaining inhabitants in an effort to prevent them from ever becoming too numerous.
It is here, in this gods-forsaken land of ash and fire, of ruins and warring tribes, it is here that you will forge a kingdom.
-
Welcome!
In this RP, players will design and play as a characters and/or factions within the vast wasteland of Nagath, a Mordor-like analogue in the fantasy world of Geryon. There will be NPC nations around Nagath taking an interest in what goes on within it, most notably the theocratic Justinian Imperium and the Imperium's sworn vassal-princes known as the March Lords who hold the hill country between Nagath and the Imperium's eastern flank. These vassals, and the Imperium they answer to, will not tolerate a threat rising in the seat of the ancient Dark Lord Daigon.
Any takers? I tried this RP once before and it faltered a bit, but I think it's worth another shot.
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell
- Satan, Paradise Lost
- Satan, Paradise Lost
Centuries have passed since the Shadow was defeated, and little is it mentioned anymore, and then only in whispers. The Clerisy, those dutiful and punctilious protectors of piety and order, have ensured that only the most sanitized and pious accounts of the Great Battle circulate, in which Justinian, their incarnate god, met the Dark Lord Daigon on the ashen plains of Nagath and in single combat vanquished him. In the deserts far to the south, the arrogant wizard-lords scoff at such stories, and debate theories of their own about the fall of Daigon and the Empire of Nagath. Some question whether there ever was a Dark Lord, speculating that the Clerisy created an antagonist to justify its own pretenses to sanctity.
Whatever the truth, it is clear that Nagath was once the seat of a great dominion. The ruined fortresses of steel and black stone, the great earthworks channeling rivers of molten rock, the half-ruined machines still capable of great destruction, the shrines haunted still by demons and dark gods, these and more remain testimony to some former glory...or horror.
But now it is a wasteland, infested with warring tribes of beastkin and orcs and barbarous men, the haunt of trolls and ghouls and outcasts from every corner of the civilized world, acknowledged by the Imperium only when they send in expeditions to massacre its remaining inhabitants in an effort to prevent them from ever becoming too numerous.
It is here, in this gods-forsaken land of ash and fire, of ruins and warring tribes, it is here that you will forge a kingdom.
-
Welcome!
In this RP, players will design and play as a characters and/or factions within the vast wasteland of Nagath, a Mordor-like analogue in the fantasy world of Geryon. There will be NPC nations around Nagath taking an interest in what goes on within it, most notably the theocratic Justinian Imperium and the Imperium's sworn vassal-princes known as the March Lords who hold the hill country between Nagath and the Imperium's eastern flank. These vassals, and the Imperium they answer to, will not tolerate a threat rising in the seat of the ancient Dark Lord Daigon.
Any takers? I tried this RP once before and it faltered a bit, but I think it's worth another shot.
WIP. personal statement probably needs sprucing up.
A well placed knife for those whom armies cannot conquer.
- On the Tools Political, by Athalus daz Velym, Dictator of Zar Dratha
- On the Tools Political, by Athalus daz Velym, Dictator of Zar Dratha
Previously...
Present Day, Kingsport, the High Queen's Solar....
She was standing by the window, watching the moon rise through drifting fog. She knew she was not alone, though there did not appear to be anyone else in the room. She knew she would never again be truly alone again, for she would never know when he was present.
"You did well, Majesty," said a quiet voice, thick with the accents of the Ashlands, "Erlendr will serve you well as Regent."
The Queen did not respond, but her eyes closed.
"Most unfortunate that the Blacktooth wastes his men attacking Sentinel. I had asked you to restrain the Stonecutters."
"I tried," said the High Queen, "These men do not listen to me."
"It would seem not," said the voice, "But I will ask you to try harder, the next time I make such a request. You remember our arrangement?"
"Arrangement?" asked the Queen, "Arrangement?! What kind of arrangement is this? I do as you say, as the Coward says, or you threaten murder!? You threaten my son!?"
"Just so," said the quiet voice.
@Aristo @The Wyrm @Dogematix @Nerevarine @Ashgan @gorgenmast @captainbritton @atomicnut @Blueskin
Gentle reminder that we are back in business. Those of you who've yet to post- do it! :)
Gentle reminder that we are back in business. Those of you who've yet to post- do it! :)
Thanks! Figured amidst chapters sounds like a good place to jump in, once I figure out where the Knarrlings fit in with their neighbors.
Yep- feel free to have been at/skipped the Moot and jump in how and as you'd like!
Is there room for one more? The Wyrm referred me to you fine bunch. I have a vague idea of current events.
The Knarrlings
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