Cyborg goblins. Now this is perhaps the only thing our party still lacks.
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Fair enough. How long a period shall we leap over?
@Sigma@Monkeypants
Effectively, these humans were indeed a small unaffiliated nation no one had ever heard of before (I believe I have mentioned their ancestors having fled from the old Imperium), for all it matters at this point.
Effectively, these humans were indeed a small unaffiliated nation no one had ever heard of before (I believe I have mentioned their ancestors having fled from the old Imperium), for all it matters at this point.
@6slyboy6
It seems as though the caveman *ahem* is actually setting the computer on fire with the typical "savage's stick-rubbing" technique. Though it only adds to the glory of the image.
It seems as though the caveman *ahem* is actually setting the computer on fire with the typical "savage's stick-rubbing" technique. Though it only adds to the glory of the image.
Unaffiliated Space
Coalition Invasion Fleet
Amid the dark, vacuous expanse of the south-eastern neutral region of the galaxy, faintly lit by the closest stars, the Invasion Fleet drifted at sub-warp speed, glimmering menacingly with a multitude of shifting lights arrayed in strange geometrical patterns. Its insatiable sensors were eagerly seeking in the surrounding void something worthwhile to latch upon - which, as many a conqueror boldly advancing into uncharted sectors had learned, was no simple task. Given the vastness of the zone wherein they were operating, few pulses struck anything close enough to return, and most of those which did had chanced upon nothing more than nondescript space debris. Altogether, the invasion was proving to be less wealthy in glorious battles and ferocious assaults upon enemy territories than most of its participants had hoped and more composed of interminable days of waiting, different from garrison duty only in the constant hope that they might, after all, stumble upon something.
Over the past few weeks the fleet had proceeded a good distance from established Yrrkheltharl borders, scattering sentry drones along its path to mark their expansion. It had encountered some star systems - all of them uninhabited and mostly uninhabitable as well. However, these factors did not thus far concern the conquerors exceedingly. Small groups of ships had detached themselves from the bulk of the fleet to keep watch over them until colonists would arrive. With some processing, several of the discovered planets could be rendered sufficiently fit to inhabit, whereas the others could doubtless be harvested for raw materials to fuel the Coalition's industry. After all, did the Invasion Forces' military codex not proclaim that every victory, however small, could yield enormous gain if properly exploited?
Now, however, the equivalent of days had passed without the least novelty befalling the victorious, yet idle armada, and, with even the previous events having given little to no respite from inactivity, the Coalition's eager forces had been reduced to impatiently repeating drill exercises, even as they did before launching. Preparatory processes had, in fact, just been finished when a drone craft detected an unusual signal and relayed it to one of the main vessels. The signal came again and again, at regular intervals, and soon the entire fleet was reverberating with the luminescence of locator devices. Not only had their explorer pulse returned to its emitter; along with it there came some other impulse, of distinctly different composition but just as regular. There could be little doubt that it was artificial. It did not seem to convey any encoded information, and, in fact, did not even appear designed for transmitting at such distances, if one were to judge from its clearly faded and distorted nature; however, it did denote a distinct direction to follow, and the fleet was not slow in following it. Turning almost as a single form, it rapidly flared its engines and sped toward the source of the unexpected pulsation.
Unnamed Star System
When it approached the zone where it estimated its target to be located, the fleet was already in battle formation. The largest, heaviest ships spearheaded its advance, ready to hurl themselves at enemy ranks in scattered, disjunctive order; lesser craft hovered at the flanks, brimming with lethal pods and assorted weaponry; drones hurried about the fringes, advancing and retreating in a series of feints; finally, at some distance behind the rear-guard, the massed transports edged forward cautiously, escorted by a handful of fighter detachments. Soon, it became apparent that such precautions might not have been superfluous. Sensors located a number of shapes, one of which rather large, drawing near from one of the system's central planets. Though at first indistinct, as the shapes drew closer they became identifiable as ships - and ships of an unpleasantly familiar make. What was now headed toward the invading force was no less than a patrol of Imperial vessels, led by a large cruiser. Truth be told, they did not appear to be an especially formidable foe - the ships were clearly weathered and aged, and most were civilian craft without any apparent armaments. However, Terrans being widely known to be, among other things, "deceitful", it was enough to induce the fleet to slow its progress, ready to redirect the power of its engines into a frontal rush.
Once they came within what was assumed to be firing distance of the intruders, the Terran ships stopped as well, and soon a demand to initiate transmission was issued by the cruiser. It was odd that they should have called for permission instead of transmitting directly, and it was not without some suspicion that Fleet Commander Sraslsirl activated his communication device. The sight which appeared upon the slightly distorted, gold-lit monitor made him clench his mandibles with hatred. There, before him, was a Terran. Not one in a CAC-approved historical documentary, or a visual manifesto. No, this loathsome creature stood there in the flabby flesh, absurdly covered by some sort of "uniform", as these largely useless implements were called, glaring at him in a manner which doubtless expressed rapacious malevolence. In truth, though Sraslsirl could not have known it, the "Terran" at the opposite end of the transmission was not a little taken aback by seeing a non-human visage materialise on the screen. This surprise brought with itself both relief and new apprehension: on the one hand, this could not have been the Imperium his ancestors had fled from; on the other, it was unclear what these creatures' intentions were, and the size of their fleet was not altogether reassuring. He inhaled deeply and began reciting the speech which had been prepared for such an occasion and, all of a sudden, seemed to him tremendously inappropriate.
The ambassador's concern was, however, altogether vain, for no sooner had the Coalition's translator systems been activated that it became obvious their database was obsolete - which was not altogether surprising, seeing as it had not been updated for over two centuries. Thus, as the programs struggled to recalibrate their parameters based on this new influx of information, the Fleet Commander was only reached by individual words - and uninteresting ones at that, words such as "peace", "agreement", "certain" and the likes, without counting conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns. Finally, the translator was brought into functioning condition; just in time, it seemed, to hear the Terran conclude "...and hopefully this encounter will mark the beginning of a long age of friendship and cooperation between our peoples. On behalf of all of Refuge's population, I welcome you to our home."
"Silence, Terran vermin. This is no home of yours." Sraslsirl chittered. The translator could not convey his scornful tones, but apparently his alien intonations were sufficiently distorted for the Terran to recoil slightly with an alarmed expression.
"Terrans? I am afraid there is a misunderstanding. We are humans, yes, but we are not-"
"Humans, Terrans, it is all the same. The matter stands that I command you to cease your blathering, and you resist me."
"But-" it was now clear even to the Fleet Commander that the human was stunned, "Why- I am sure we can reach an agre-"
"An agreement with the likes of you?" Sraslsirl spat out, "Eradication is all you are fit for. Fleet, prepare to engage."
"Why?" the Terran was nearly choking on his words, "Why do you- We haven't done anything! We don't even have anything you could want-"
"Even if this were true, your unauthorised presence on the worlds of our great Coalition is enough to justify your destruction. Right wing front, attack."
As the human envoy still gazed from the monitor, dumbfounded, and other, curt voices were beginning to rise from behind him, a number of deployer craft suddenly burst forth from the formation and swept toward the Terran ships. The latter shuddered spasmodically and fired a few uncoordinated blasts in their direction, but were far too slow, and their shots went wide. The deployers hurled several pods, as though they were missiles, at their largely immobile targets, then instantaneously retreated, avoiding retaliating fire, only to swoop upon the larger ships once again and deliver further boarding craft. The pods, making good use of their limited autonomous manoeuvring capabilities, latched in leech-like fashion onto their prey, and soon Sraslsirl heard with satisfaction the panicked screams conveyed by the transmission. The envoy, who throughout this time had remained transfixed, soundlessly opened and closed his mouth a few times; then there was a sizzling sound, and he collapsed out of sight. In his stead there appeared the mask-like head of a Coalition shock trooper. "The boarding operation has been successful, Fleet Commander" he reported, raising an arm in salute, "All Terrans except for necessary pilots have been eliminated. Casualties are negligible. Awaiting further instructions." "Land the vessels" Sraslsirl ordered, "Transport group ahk-six, initiate planetary invasion procedures."
In an exemplary display of efficiency, the armoured transports descended upon the planet whence had come the Terran ships, followed by the latter with their new contents, and almost immediately observation cameras began recording what no one doubted would be a documentary immortal for Coalition history. Many a mechanical eye contributed to build a testament to the Planetary Invasion Forces' first thunderous success; images of drones, monsters, soldiers and walker tanks pouring from the curvilinear ships, pursuing crowds of fleeing humans, overwhelming their scattered, unprepared, demoralised troops, rampaging through their cities, leaving nothing but rubble, mangled corpses and toxic clouds in their wake were instantaneously processed and attached to the Fleet Commander's triumphant battle report, ready to be sent directly to the CAC. Exterminating the entire human - the word was more general than "Terran", it seemed, and more phonetically practical as well - population would require weeks, perhaps months; but the planet was theirs, and all further stages were now inevitable.
When, after a mere few days, the conflict proper was over, the fleet directed its sights toward the nearest edge of the system, its reactors already letting loose a few preparatory flares. This battle had been won, but there was no doubt many others expected them on their path of conquest. The troops' morale was soaring, and the Fleet Commander himself was ever so slightly impatient to put the might of the Coalition war machine to the test again - perhaps a somewhat more challenging one. Once again, the ships hummed in over-orbital space, then vanished, hurling itself at warp speed toward new encounters.
Coalition Invasion Fleet
Amid the dark, vacuous expanse of the south-eastern neutral region of the galaxy, faintly lit by the closest stars, the Invasion Fleet drifted at sub-warp speed, glimmering menacingly with a multitude of shifting lights arrayed in strange geometrical patterns. Its insatiable sensors were eagerly seeking in the surrounding void something worthwhile to latch upon - which, as many a conqueror boldly advancing into uncharted sectors had learned, was no simple task. Given the vastness of the zone wherein they were operating, few pulses struck anything close enough to return, and most of those which did had chanced upon nothing more than nondescript space debris. Altogether, the invasion was proving to be less wealthy in glorious battles and ferocious assaults upon enemy territories than most of its participants had hoped and more composed of interminable days of waiting, different from garrison duty only in the constant hope that they might, after all, stumble upon something.
Over the past few weeks the fleet had proceeded a good distance from established Yrrkheltharl borders, scattering sentry drones along its path to mark their expansion. It had encountered some star systems - all of them uninhabited and mostly uninhabitable as well. However, these factors did not thus far concern the conquerors exceedingly. Small groups of ships had detached themselves from the bulk of the fleet to keep watch over them until colonists would arrive. With some processing, several of the discovered planets could be rendered sufficiently fit to inhabit, whereas the others could doubtless be harvested for raw materials to fuel the Coalition's industry. After all, did the Invasion Forces' military codex not proclaim that every victory, however small, could yield enormous gain if properly exploited?
Now, however, the equivalent of days had passed without the least novelty befalling the victorious, yet idle armada, and, with even the previous events having given little to no respite from inactivity, the Coalition's eager forces had been reduced to impatiently repeating drill exercises, even as they did before launching. Preparatory processes had, in fact, just been finished when a drone craft detected an unusual signal and relayed it to one of the main vessels. The signal came again and again, at regular intervals, and soon the entire fleet was reverberating with the luminescence of locator devices. Not only had their explorer pulse returned to its emitter; along with it there came some other impulse, of distinctly different composition but just as regular. There could be little doubt that it was artificial. It did not seem to convey any encoded information, and, in fact, did not even appear designed for transmitting at such distances, if one were to judge from its clearly faded and distorted nature; however, it did denote a distinct direction to follow, and the fleet was not slow in following it. Turning almost as a single form, it rapidly flared its engines and sped toward the source of the unexpected pulsation.
Unnamed Star System
When it approached the zone where it estimated its target to be located, the fleet was already in battle formation. The largest, heaviest ships spearheaded its advance, ready to hurl themselves at enemy ranks in scattered, disjunctive order; lesser craft hovered at the flanks, brimming with lethal pods and assorted weaponry; drones hurried about the fringes, advancing and retreating in a series of feints; finally, at some distance behind the rear-guard, the massed transports edged forward cautiously, escorted by a handful of fighter detachments. Soon, it became apparent that such precautions might not have been superfluous. Sensors located a number of shapes, one of which rather large, drawing near from one of the system's central planets. Though at first indistinct, as the shapes drew closer they became identifiable as ships - and ships of an unpleasantly familiar make. What was now headed toward the invading force was no less than a patrol of Imperial vessels, led by a large cruiser. Truth be told, they did not appear to be an especially formidable foe - the ships were clearly weathered and aged, and most were civilian craft without any apparent armaments. However, Terrans being widely known to be, among other things, "deceitful", it was enough to induce the fleet to slow its progress, ready to redirect the power of its engines into a frontal rush.
Once they came within what was assumed to be firing distance of the intruders, the Terran ships stopped as well, and soon a demand to initiate transmission was issued by the cruiser. It was odd that they should have called for permission instead of transmitting directly, and it was not without some suspicion that Fleet Commander Sraslsirl activated his communication device. The sight which appeared upon the slightly distorted, gold-lit monitor made him clench his mandibles with hatred. There, before him, was a Terran. Not one in a CAC-approved historical documentary, or a visual manifesto. No, this loathsome creature stood there in the flabby flesh, absurdly covered by some sort of "uniform", as these largely useless implements were called, glaring at him in a manner which doubtless expressed rapacious malevolence. In truth, though Sraslsirl could not have known it, the "Terran" at the opposite end of the transmission was not a little taken aback by seeing a non-human visage materialise on the screen. This surprise brought with itself both relief and new apprehension: on the one hand, this could not have been the Imperium his ancestors had fled from; on the other, it was unclear what these creatures' intentions were, and the size of their fleet was not altogether reassuring. He inhaled deeply and began reciting the speech which had been prepared for such an occasion and, all of a sudden, seemed to him tremendously inappropriate.
The ambassador's concern was, however, altogether vain, for no sooner had the Coalition's translator systems been activated that it became obvious their database was obsolete - which was not altogether surprising, seeing as it had not been updated for over two centuries. Thus, as the programs struggled to recalibrate their parameters based on this new influx of information, the Fleet Commander was only reached by individual words - and uninteresting ones at that, words such as "peace", "agreement", "certain" and the likes, without counting conjunctions, prepositions and pronouns. Finally, the translator was brought into functioning condition; just in time, it seemed, to hear the Terran conclude "...and hopefully this encounter will mark the beginning of a long age of friendship and cooperation between our peoples. On behalf of all of Refuge's population, I welcome you to our home."
"Silence, Terran vermin. This is no home of yours." Sraslsirl chittered. The translator could not convey his scornful tones, but apparently his alien intonations were sufficiently distorted for the Terran to recoil slightly with an alarmed expression.
"Terrans? I am afraid there is a misunderstanding. We are humans, yes, but we are not-"
"Humans, Terrans, it is all the same. The matter stands that I command you to cease your blathering, and you resist me."
"But-" it was now clear even to the Fleet Commander that the human was stunned, "Why- I am sure we can reach an agre-"
"An agreement with the likes of you?" Sraslsirl spat out, "Eradication is all you are fit for. Fleet, prepare to engage."
"Why?" the Terran was nearly choking on his words, "Why do you- We haven't done anything! We don't even have anything you could want-"
"Even if this were true, your unauthorised presence on the worlds of our great Coalition is enough to justify your destruction. Right wing front, attack."
As the human envoy still gazed from the monitor, dumbfounded, and other, curt voices were beginning to rise from behind him, a number of deployer craft suddenly burst forth from the formation and swept toward the Terran ships. The latter shuddered spasmodically and fired a few uncoordinated blasts in their direction, but were far too slow, and their shots went wide. The deployers hurled several pods, as though they were missiles, at their largely immobile targets, then instantaneously retreated, avoiding retaliating fire, only to swoop upon the larger ships once again and deliver further boarding craft. The pods, making good use of their limited autonomous manoeuvring capabilities, latched in leech-like fashion onto their prey, and soon Sraslsirl heard with satisfaction the panicked screams conveyed by the transmission. The envoy, who throughout this time had remained transfixed, soundlessly opened and closed his mouth a few times; then there was a sizzling sound, and he collapsed out of sight. In his stead there appeared the mask-like head of a Coalition shock trooper. "The boarding operation has been successful, Fleet Commander" he reported, raising an arm in salute, "All Terrans except for necessary pilots have been eliminated. Casualties are negligible. Awaiting further instructions." "Land the vessels" Sraslsirl ordered, "Transport group ahk-six, initiate planetary invasion procedures."
In an exemplary display of efficiency, the armoured transports descended upon the planet whence had come the Terran ships, followed by the latter with their new contents, and almost immediately observation cameras began recording what no one doubted would be a documentary immortal for Coalition history. Many a mechanical eye contributed to build a testament to the Planetary Invasion Forces' first thunderous success; images of drones, monsters, soldiers and walker tanks pouring from the curvilinear ships, pursuing crowds of fleeing humans, overwhelming their scattered, unprepared, demoralised troops, rampaging through their cities, leaving nothing but rubble, mangled corpses and toxic clouds in their wake were instantaneously processed and attached to the Fleet Commander's triumphant battle report, ready to be sent directly to the CAC. Exterminating the entire human - the word was more general than "Terran", it seemed, and more phonetically practical as well - population would require weeks, perhaps months; but the planet was theirs, and all further stages were now inevitable.
When, after a mere few days, the conflict proper was over, the fleet directed its sights toward the nearest edge of the system, its reactors already letting loose a few preparatory flares. This battle had been won, but there was no doubt many others expected them on their path of conquest. The troops' morale was soaring, and the Fleet Commander himself was ever so slightly impatient to put the might of the Coalition war machine to the test again - perhaps a somewhat more challenging one. Once again, the ships hummed in over-orbital space, then vanished, hurling itself at warp speed toward new encounters.
In
Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG Season 2- New Horizons (Closed)
→
10 yrs ago
Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Character you have created: Johannes Schmidt
Alias: Türk Filmleri Adam
Speech Color: Saddle Brown(8B4513). (Note: italicised text from Türk Filmleri Adam and his companions is spoken in German in-universe).
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: It would perhaps not be entirely accurate to describe Johannes as a modern hedonist, were it only for the fact that he lacks most of the glaring traits and habits commonly associated with that archetype; however, upon deeper reflection, it becomes apparent that there is simply no better definition to be given of him. There is little he truly cares for beyond his own, unconditional enjoyment. That said, he is neither so egoistic as not to include those few who have attained the privilege of his friendship and esteem into this aspiration, nor so weak-willed as to let himself be entirely mastered by his lusts, or to allow himself any sorts of the latter beyond the tamest ones. He sets pleasure as foremost among his goals in life; yet he does not mindlessly crawl toward it as many other do, nor lash himself into a frenzy which he then strives to assuage at any cost, but is capable of constructing logical and sufficiently elaborate plans to reach that end.
His demeanour is, in spite of the latter trait, not quite affected. Honest to the point of bluntness, abhorring as he does misunderstandings and quid pro quos, Johannes shall never hesitate to face whatever situation he might find himself stumbling into, exhibiting a bravado bordering with foolhardiness and an often uncalled-for flair for the dramatic in any conceivable circumstances. Such perilous traits are compounded by an almost unnaturally unshakable indifference to stimuli which would normally cause fear or anguish, seemingly acquired by Johannes along with his powers.
Uniform/costume:
Johannes has adopted as his makeshift costume a horrendous patchwork of scraps, cardboard and adhesive tape, completed by what seems to be a repurposed curtain and a clumsily glued-on false beard, to reflect his favoured pastime. He usually wields a short wooden javelin wrapped in colourful paper and a golden cardboard sword:
When not donning his heroic paraphernalia, he appears as the very epitome of the average youthful Mitteleuropean type, with nondescriptly light-brown hair and vaguely greyish eyes; more often than not, he wears cheap, anonymous sport-style clothing.
Origin Info/Details:
Johannes Schmidt was born in Berlin as the neighbouring Deutsche Demokratische Republik was breathing its last, and the entire country whereof he was a citizen was clamouring for the long-awaited unification which was finally at hand. It might have been that these events occurred too early in his life to leave any lasting impression, or that he soon felt he had had quite enough of them; however it might be, never in his life would he display any measure of national pride, or any other feeling, for that matter, nor would he regard politics with anything but slightly amused bafflement at the importance attributed to such fundamentally abstract matters.
As the Schmidts were a moderately well-to-do family, their latest offspring lacked nothing in the way of basic necessities, and had the possibility to trudge his way through the education system up to graduating in History at the Freie Universität. Though he never displayed a particular aptitude for academic learning, he compensated for his lack of exceptional skills with a diligent, disciplined approach to study, fuelled by the belief that it would all pay off someday. Though such an opinion was not altogether unjustified, the reward for these years of application was not as swift in arriving as Johannes expected, and throughout his first autonomous years he found himself drifting from one clerk-level occupation to another, ever seeking a suitable opportunity to rise through the ranks and ever being met with an indefinitely long, blind routine which left him quite discontented with the world at large and the employment sector in particular. It was at that time that he met Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad, his peers in age and position, whose Turkish descent had grown largely diluted by generations of more or less steady integration, reaching, they averred, back to the times of Friedrich the Great himself. Sympathy, first comradely, then personal soon sprang up between Johannes and the pair, and it was not long ere they introduced him to the ruling passion which had first united them, and soon captured him as well - namely, the somewhat perverse enjoyment of turksploitation films. Sitting till late at night before a smudged screen in Nejat and Turan’s apartment, Johannes nearly laughed himself ill at the inconceivable gymnastics of clumsily costumed actors whose expressive repertoire consisted entirely of fearsome grimaces, and swore repeatedly that there never could be enough pictures of that sort in the world. This marked the beginning of an enduring friendship between the trio, who rapidly grew inseparable - a condition which, among other things, offered distinct economic advantages, as the rent was paid collectively.
Then, one night, the unexpected occurred. Upon returning from the last workplace he had established himself at, Johannes happened to be strolling through a park, which, fortunately enough, lay directly across his path. Catching sight of a small, glimmering object on the ground before him, he bent to retrieve what seemed to be a coin, and was surprised when the minute item proved unexpectedly heavy and unaccountably cold to the touch. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw what he had lifted was indeed a metallic disk of some sort, but certainly not a monetary unit of any sort he was familiar with. The shining surface was a of a cerulean-veiled white in colour, and bands of iridescent light ran across it without any regularity or, indeed, motive. At that moment, he became aware of a chilling numbness spreading through his arm, and had barely enough time to be afraid before a sudden electric shock enveloped his mind and senses with impenetrable darkness.
Of what followed Johannes has but a dim recollection. He recalls awakening and passing out again at brief intervals, almost intermittently, in an environment whose appearance he has described as vaguely resembling a grimy, long-abandoned airport in a severe state of disrepair. Large greyish-green shapes often flitted at the corners of his vision which he is almost certain were living creatures, and he could have sworn that he occasionally heard, among the humming, rasping and clattering of machinery, grunting sounds of distinctly organic origin. He frequently found himself strapped to flat surfaces (it was unclear whether they were horizontal or vertical) surrounded by spinning lamps of indescribable colours, or at the core of vast, thundering mechanical constructs of unclear functions. Finally, he awoke facing a screen whereupon there appeared, in a slow, laborious sequence, a series of sentences written in what appeared to be a curious form of semi-phonetic English. UMIN YUR OGGANIZMS MENTOTIC POTANSHUL AZ BIN ALTRT flared the letters before him, mingling monstrous spelling with outright nonexistent words, YU WL UZIT AN MEK UZ SI | YU KEN. Thereupon a shock identical to the one which had heralded his arrival into that nightmare shot through him again, and, when next he regained consciousness, he was in the park where he first had stumbled upon the fateful coin-like lure.
His return home was met with astonishment, and he was informed by Nejat and Turan that he had been missing for a full week. Having initially devised a feeble alibi involving a deceased uncle, he was soon constrained to disclose to his friends what had truly transpired upon beginning to manifest certain startling abilities. Although he did not perceive anything unusual even while doing so, he frequently found himself telekinetically manipulating distant items with a mere effort of will, often unconsciously and without being in the least surprised by it himself. Additionally, at times he uncontrollably blasted images he was mentally envisioning into the senses of others, with his companions being the first collateral victims of this nascent power. It was not long before Johannes, who had recovered from the shock of his experience in startlingly little time, discovered that, by exerting his will, he was able to harness these abilities and direct them coherently, as well as to modify their effects as he pleased. In particular, seeing as he had grown able to select what images he projected into the minds of his targets, he adopted the psychic display of his beloved Turkish abject-series films as the signature of the image he had been building for himself - Türk Filmleri Adam (roughly “Turkish Film Man”), Berlin’s first resident superhero.
As the city had heretofore never known the salutary influence of superhuman protection, this figure, zealously assisted by Nejat and Turan, who met the opportunity of becoming Türk Filmleri Adam’s sidekicks with nothing short of glee, was in no shortage of occupations. However, his intents were not so pure as to warrant his diving headfirst into action. Rather, his priority was to negotiate a deal with the authorities, by which he would track malfeasants and consign them to justice - for a reasonable price. Nor was this partnership exclusive: Johannes thought little of selling his services to the highest bidder, even when the latter was a company seeking to instil dread into trade unions or accomplish some similarly morally dubious goal. The treatment which had granted Johannes his abilities appeared to have made him strangely callous, insofar as even the deaths of his parents due to illness did not seem to affect him. His friends, already not being especially idealistic individuals themselves, took his new demeanour in stride, as it was not reflected upon their relations.
After a couple of years, however, business began to grow scarce, and the days dull. Those of the most significant criminals who had not been neutralised, such as the local cell of one Shroud Syndicate, had gone into hiding beyond Türk Filmleri Adam’s rather clumsy reach, and the discipline reigning in the private sector was exemplary. Johannes and his companions had grown accustomed to adventure, and, being deprived of it, they began to cast their gazes toward more promising lands. On the other side of the ocean they had often heard that superhumans abounded, and, when Turan discovered that the city of New Sardis was (roughly) quite close to the areas of highest interest and offered some of the cheapest real estate they had ever seen, all doubts concerning their plans for the immediate future were dissolved.
Hero Type: Psychic
Power Level: City Level
Powers:
Mental Projection
The favoured offensive ability of Türk Filmleri Adam, this application of his skills enables him to subject his targets to specially conjured mental images by psychically affecting their sensory reception neural nodes. Those in the grip of this power find themselves experiencing entirely life-like visions, perceived as though they were themselves an integrating part thereof. Projections do not render their subjects unconscious, but usually leave them unable to act due to severe mental and physical disorientation and a painful strain upon the neural network (not to mention shock at the horrid nonsense they are forced to witness); prolonged exposure may result in permanent neural and psychological damage. The visions' end is as abrupt as their beginning, provoking nausea and a reeling sensation. Türk Filmleri Adam may extend his projections upon any number of individuals within his field of vision; however, he must maintain concentration in order for the effect to last, and tampering with the senses larger quantities of targets demands a proportionally greater effort.
Rudimentary Telekinesis
With a mere exertion of his will, Türk Filmleri Adam is able to affect physical bodies at a distance, thrusting them away from himself, pulling them in his direction or lifting them from whatever surface they might be resting upon. While the raw potential of this capability is impressive, it is unsuited for any sort of fine manipulation or actions requiring a grip lasting longer than two or three seconds.
Kinetic Armament
Türk Filmleri Adam's costume and weapons, being composed of harmless household materials, are scarcely a combat asset in their own right. However, by surrounding them with a malleable telekinetic field of compressed force and air, their wielder can grant them lacerating edges and sufficient toughness to withstand impacts equivalent to medium-calibre gunfire, though without entirely suppressing the ensuing vibrations. These enhancements require a moderate effort to activate, and last for as long as their generator remains actively conscious of them (thus, rendering him unconscious or entirely distracting his attention would cause them to fade).
Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam
In critical circumstances where his powers should result insufficient to fend off danger, Türk Filmleri Adam may, with a potent application of willpower, temporarily refine his telekinetic capabilities, becoming able to alter matter at a sub-molecular level. While thus empowered, he can atomically translocate his body, effectively teleporting across brief distances, disrupt the structure of inorganic matter, causing items to violently explode, and even concentrate light into blinding flashes. Upholding such a state is tremendously exacting, and it is impossible for a human of average resilience to prolong its effects for more than ten minutes.
Attributes:
Resources: Average
Weaknesses:
Human, All Too Human
For all his modified “mentotic potential”, Johannes remains a human being, and not an extraordinarily strong or clever one at that. He is no more invulnerable to wounds, diseases and various mishaps than any other person off the street.
The Limits of Faith
A curious aspect of the powers Johannes has been endowed with is the fact that they are fuelled by his own belief in what they can accomplish. Thus, any application thereof of whose success he is not entirely assured will prove ineffectual, even though it might have been theoretically plausible.
Power Tends to Tire
As mentioned, activating Johannes's psychic abilities requires an effort of will. Although the fatigue toll may initially seem negligible, it gradually waxes increasingly draining, and lengthy usage will often leave him exhausted.
Supporting Characters:
Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad: Johannes's long-time friends and, more recently, assistants in super-heroic endeavour, Nejat and Turan's characters seem to be pre-ordinately congenial to him and each other alike, sharing the same enjoyment-driven inclinations and cinematographical preferences. The main difference between the two's personalities lies in their attitudes: while Turan is usually more proactive (though this is a comparative term), Nejat bears a pronounced antipathy toward the very concept of effort, though, when hard-pressed, he has demonstrated a certain aptitude for lateral thinking.
The Experimenters: The mysterious beings responsible for abducting Johannes and endowing him with superhuman powers as a result of a not better described process (or “fiddling”, if one is less than lenient). Johannes himself knows nothing regarding them, though he suspects they might be of extra-terrestrial origin, if for no other reason than the outlandish appearance of their machinery.
Locations:
New Sardis
Located across from Newport, Rhode Island, across Narragansett Bay, New Sardis was once one of the most relevant portual cities in the region. However, failure to modernise and a gradual decline in its position’s commercial importance have led to its progressive decay, moderated only lately by a number of service-providing companies taking an interest in its few, yet noteworthy investment opportunities. Nowadays, New Sardis is infamous for its dramatically under-staffed and ineffectual administration and police force; nonetheless, its legal infraction rate is astonishingly low for mysterious reasons, and organised criminality is limited to a negligible handful of street gangs within its boundaries (though the occasional disappearance tends to arouse suspicions on this matter).
Architecturally, the city reflects its recent erratic and almost haphazard development. Towers of glass and steel are often flanked by anachronistic pre-Edwardian houses, and the few piers still in use lie alongside numerous promontories of decaying wood.
Notable Features:
Saint Albertus Magnus Cathedral: A Catholic anomaly among New England’s sober Puritan temples, this imposing Gothic structure stands in the very centre of the city. Though both the Cathedral and the vast adjoining graveyard ought to be periodically restored by the urban authorities, the latter’s prolonged inactivity has enabled them to fall into such a state of sinister decrepitude that they tend to be fearfully shunned. Upon the Cathedral’s façade one can still barely discern the curious inscription “SOMNVS RATIONIS MONSTRA GENERAT”.
The Docklands: Once the city’s greatest hub of activity, the Docklands have long since degenerated into a veritable open-air slum, where New Sardis’s homeless population gathers in abandoned warehouses and it is deemed unsafe to pass with any valuables upon one’s person, lest these valuables unaccountably disappear. The few intact quays seem to be used solely for Aegis industrial shipments.
Istvan's Dragon: Since the end of World War II, the only enduring criminal element in New Sardis was that of outlaw biker clubs, ranging from free-spirited rebels to brutal thugs. Though local and small in size, they were numerous and, with the gradual decay of the city's police force, their influence became anything but invisible. Somewhere around the late 60's, the notorious drive bar known as Istvan's Dragon came to be, founded by an Eastern European immigrant. Located near in the Docklands, at the back of a small unimportant harbor, said establishment commonly served as a place for negotiations between different clubs, as well as a melting pot of all sorts of characters from the fringes of society over the years, until the eventual bloodbath that occurred in the early 90's. The Istvan Massacre was sparked by the rising tension between two rival clubs, leading to thirty casualties, seventeen of them being otherwise innocent patrons. The bar never recovered, and was left abandoned ever since. Along with the surrounding dock, it is now a sort of no man's land, as unwritten rules render it a sanctuary, prohibiting any sort of violence within it. Even law enforcement is wise enough to respect this condition. Despite its seemingly useful nature, the area remains abandoned, sparking urban legends of hauntings.
(Contribution by @Turbowraith)
“Atlantis” State Aquarium: New Sardis’s only possible tourist attraction, the Aquarium, built on local State funds with the backing of certain private bodies, is fitted with some of the most advanced equipment in its field. This has allowed for some daring experiments, such as the rare success of keeping giant cephalopods in captivity. The investment has proved fruitful, yielding large sums in the guise of admission fees and the sale of assorted merchandise.
Aegis Incorporated Complex: At some distance beyond the suburbs, surrounded by a stretch of forbidding wasteland, lies the ominous black citadel which serves simultaneously as headquarters, production plant and research establishment for the shadowy Aegis Inc. This comparatively young company, specialising in bellic and defensive technology, is said to have rapidly acquired a redoubtable power base, and, despite taking no interest in New Sardis itself, is almost universally dreaded by its inhabitants.
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:
Sample Post:
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips with - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
Alias: Türk Filmleri Adam
Speech Color: Saddle Brown(8B4513). (Note: italicised text from Türk Filmleri Adam and his companions is spoken in German in-universe).
Character Alignment: Walking the Line
Identity: Secret
Character Personality: It would perhaps not be entirely accurate to describe Johannes as a modern hedonist, were it only for the fact that he lacks most of the glaring traits and habits commonly associated with that archetype; however, upon deeper reflection, it becomes apparent that there is simply no better definition to be given of him. There is little he truly cares for beyond his own, unconditional enjoyment. That said, he is neither so egoistic as not to include those few who have attained the privilege of his friendship and esteem into this aspiration, nor so weak-willed as to let himself be entirely mastered by his lusts, or to allow himself any sorts of the latter beyond the tamest ones. He sets pleasure as foremost among his goals in life; yet he does not mindlessly crawl toward it as many other do, nor lash himself into a frenzy which he then strives to assuage at any cost, but is capable of constructing logical and sufficiently elaborate plans to reach that end.
His demeanour is, in spite of the latter trait, not quite affected. Honest to the point of bluntness, abhorring as he does misunderstandings and quid pro quos, Johannes shall never hesitate to face whatever situation he might find himself stumbling into, exhibiting a bravado bordering with foolhardiness and an often uncalled-for flair for the dramatic in any conceivable circumstances. Such perilous traits are compounded by an almost unnaturally unshakable indifference to stimuli which would normally cause fear or anguish, seemingly acquired by Johannes along with his powers.
Uniform/costume:
Johannes has adopted as his makeshift costume a horrendous patchwork of scraps, cardboard and adhesive tape, completed by what seems to be a repurposed curtain and a clumsily glued-on false beard, to reflect his favoured pastime. He usually wields a short wooden javelin wrapped in colourful paper and a golden cardboard sword:
When not donning his heroic paraphernalia, he appears as the very epitome of the average youthful Mitteleuropean type, with nondescriptly light-brown hair and vaguely greyish eyes; more often than not, he wears cheap, anonymous sport-style clothing.
Origin Info/Details:
Johannes Schmidt was born in Berlin as the neighbouring Deutsche Demokratische Republik was breathing its last, and the entire country whereof he was a citizen was clamouring for the long-awaited unification which was finally at hand. It might have been that these events occurred too early in his life to leave any lasting impression, or that he soon felt he had had quite enough of them; however it might be, never in his life would he display any measure of national pride, or any other feeling, for that matter, nor would he regard politics with anything but slightly amused bafflement at the importance attributed to such fundamentally abstract matters.
As the Schmidts were a moderately well-to-do family, their latest offspring lacked nothing in the way of basic necessities, and had the possibility to trudge his way through the education system up to graduating in History at the Freie Universität. Though he never displayed a particular aptitude for academic learning, he compensated for his lack of exceptional skills with a diligent, disciplined approach to study, fuelled by the belief that it would all pay off someday. Though such an opinion was not altogether unjustified, the reward for these years of application was not as swift in arriving as Johannes expected, and throughout his first autonomous years he found himself drifting from one clerk-level occupation to another, ever seeking a suitable opportunity to rise through the ranks and ever being met with an indefinitely long, blind routine which left him quite discontented with the world at large and the employment sector in particular. It was at that time that he met Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad, his peers in age and position, whose Turkish descent had grown largely diluted by generations of more or less steady integration, reaching, they averred, back to the times of Friedrich the Great himself. Sympathy, first comradely, then personal soon sprang up between Johannes and the pair, and it was not long ere they introduced him to the ruling passion which had first united them, and soon captured him as well - namely, the somewhat perverse enjoyment of turksploitation films. Sitting till late at night before a smudged screen in Nejat and Turan’s apartment, Johannes nearly laughed himself ill at the inconceivable gymnastics of clumsily costumed actors whose expressive repertoire consisted entirely of fearsome grimaces, and swore repeatedly that there never could be enough pictures of that sort in the world. This marked the beginning of an enduring friendship between the trio, who rapidly grew inseparable - a condition which, among other things, offered distinct economic advantages, as the rent was paid collectively.
Then, one night, the unexpected occurred. Upon returning from the last workplace he had established himself at, Johannes happened to be strolling through a park, which, fortunately enough, lay directly across his path. Catching sight of a small, glimmering object on the ground before him, he bent to retrieve what seemed to be a coin, and was surprised when the minute item proved unexpectedly heavy and unaccountably cold to the touch. Upon closer scrutiny, he saw what he had lifted was indeed a metallic disk of some sort, but certainly not a monetary unit of any sort he was familiar with. The shining surface was a of a cerulean-veiled white in colour, and bands of iridescent light ran across it without any regularity or, indeed, motive. At that moment, he became aware of a chilling numbness spreading through his arm, and had barely enough time to be afraid before a sudden electric shock enveloped his mind and senses with impenetrable darkness.
Of what followed Johannes has but a dim recollection. He recalls awakening and passing out again at brief intervals, almost intermittently, in an environment whose appearance he has described as vaguely resembling a grimy, long-abandoned airport in a severe state of disrepair. Large greyish-green shapes often flitted at the corners of his vision which he is almost certain were living creatures, and he could have sworn that he occasionally heard, among the humming, rasping and clattering of machinery, grunting sounds of distinctly organic origin. He frequently found himself strapped to flat surfaces (it was unclear whether they were horizontal or vertical) surrounded by spinning lamps of indescribable colours, or at the core of vast, thundering mechanical constructs of unclear functions. Finally, he awoke facing a screen whereupon there appeared, in a slow, laborious sequence, a series of sentences written in what appeared to be a curious form of semi-phonetic English. UMIN YUR OGGANIZMS MENTOTIC POTANSHUL AZ BIN ALTRT flared the letters before him, mingling monstrous spelling with outright nonexistent words, YU WL UZIT AN MEK UZ SI | YU KEN. Thereupon a shock identical to the one which had heralded his arrival into that nightmare shot through him again, and, when next he regained consciousness, he was in the park where he first had stumbled upon the fateful coin-like lure.
His return home was met with astonishment, and he was informed by Nejat and Turan that he had been missing for a full week. Having initially devised a feeble alibi involving a deceased uncle, he was soon constrained to disclose to his friends what had truly transpired upon beginning to manifest certain startling abilities. Although he did not perceive anything unusual even while doing so, he frequently found himself telekinetically manipulating distant items with a mere effort of will, often unconsciously and without being in the least surprised by it himself. Additionally, at times he uncontrollably blasted images he was mentally envisioning into the senses of others, with his companions being the first collateral victims of this nascent power. It was not long before Johannes, who had recovered from the shock of his experience in startlingly little time, discovered that, by exerting his will, he was able to harness these abilities and direct them coherently, as well as to modify their effects as he pleased. In particular, seeing as he had grown able to select what images he projected into the minds of his targets, he adopted the psychic display of his beloved Turkish abject-series films as the signature of the image he had been building for himself - Türk Filmleri Adam (roughly “Turkish Film Man”), Berlin’s first resident superhero.
As the city had heretofore never known the salutary influence of superhuman protection, this figure, zealously assisted by Nejat and Turan, who met the opportunity of becoming Türk Filmleri Adam’s sidekicks with nothing short of glee, was in no shortage of occupations. However, his intents were not so pure as to warrant his diving headfirst into action. Rather, his priority was to negotiate a deal with the authorities, by which he would track malfeasants and consign them to justice - for a reasonable price. Nor was this partnership exclusive: Johannes thought little of selling his services to the highest bidder, even when the latter was a company seeking to instil dread into trade unions or accomplish some similarly morally dubious goal. The treatment which had granted Johannes his abilities appeared to have made him strangely callous, insofar as even the deaths of his parents due to illness did not seem to affect him. His friends, already not being especially idealistic individuals themselves, took his new demeanour in stride, as it was not reflected upon their relations.
After a couple of years, however, business began to grow scarce, and the days dull. Those of the most significant criminals who had not been neutralised, such as the local cell of one Shroud Syndicate, had gone into hiding beyond Türk Filmleri Adam’s rather clumsy reach, and the discipline reigning in the private sector was exemplary. Johannes and his companions had grown accustomed to adventure, and, being deprived of it, they began to cast their gazes toward more promising lands. On the other side of the ocean they had often heard that superhumans abounded, and, when Turan discovered that the city of New Sardis was (roughly) quite close to the areas of highest interest and offered some of the cheapest real estate they had ever seen, all doubts concerning their plans for the immediate future were dissolved.
Hero Type: Psychic
Power Level: City Level
Powers:
Mental Projection
The favoured offensive ability of Türk Filmleri Adam, this application of his skills enables him to subject his targets to specially conjured mental images by psychically affecting their sensory reception neural nodes. Those in the grip of this power find themselves experiencing entirely life-like visions, perceived as though they were themselves an integrating part thereof. Projections do not render their subjects unconscious, but usually leave them unable to act due to severe mental and physical disorientation and a painful strain upon the neural network (not to mention shock at the horrid nonsense they are forced to witness); prolonged exposure may result in permanent neural and psychological damage. The visions' end is as abrupt as their beginning, provoking nausea and a reeling sensation. Türk Filmleri Adam may extend his projections upon any number of individuals within his field of vision; however, he must maintain concentration in order for the effect to last, and tampering with the senses larger quantities of targets demands a proportionally greater effort.
Rudimentary Telekinesis
With a mere exertion of his will, Türk Filmleri Adam is able to affect physical bodies at a distance, thrusting them away from himself, pulling them in his direction or lifting them from whatever surface they might be resting upon. While the raw potential of this capability is impressive, it is unsuited for any sort of fine manipulation or actions requiring a grip lasting longer than two or three seconds.
Kinetic Armament
Türk Filmleri Adam's costume and weapons, being composed of harmless household materials, are scarcely a combat asset in their own right. However, by surrounding them with a malleable telekinetic field of compressed force and air, their wielder can grant them lacerating edges and sufficient toughness to withstand impacts equivalent to medium-calibre gunfire, though without entirely suppressing the ensuing vibrations. These enhancements require a moderate effort to activate, and last for as long as their generator remains actively conscious of them (thus, rendering him unconscious or entirely distracting his attention would cause them to fade).
Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam
In critical circumstances where his powers should result insufficient to fend off danger, Türk Filmleri Adam may, with a potent application of willpower, temporarily refine his telekinetic capabilities, becoming able to alter matter at a sub-molecular level. While thus empowered, he can atomically translocate his body, effectively teleporting across brief distances, disrupt the structure of inorganic matter, causing items to violently explode, and even concentrate light into blinding flashes. Upholding such a state is tremendously exacting, and it is impossible for a human of average resilience to prolong its effects for more than ten minutes.
Attributes:
Height: 5’7’’
Weight: 172 lb.
Strength Level: Normal Human / Up to about 5 tons with telekinesis
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Untrained
Weight: 172 lb.
Strength Level: Normal Human / Up to about 5 tons with telekinesis
Speed/Reaction Timing Level: Normal Human
Endurance at MAXIMUM Effort: Normal Human
Agility: Normal Human
Intelligence: Average
Fighting Skill: Untrained
Resources: Average
Weaknesses:
Human, All Too Human
For all his modified “mentotic potential”, Johannes remains a human being, and not an extraordinarily strong or clever one at that. He is no more invulnerable to wounds, diseases and various mishaps than any other person off the street.
The Limits of Faith
A curious aspect of the powers Johannes has been endowed with is the fact that they are fuelled by his own belief in what they can accomplish. Thus, any application thereof of whose success he is not entirely assured will prove ineffectual, even though it might have been theoretically plausible.
Power Tends to Tire
As mentioned, activating Johannes's psychic abilities requires an effort of will. Although the fatigue toll may initially seem negligible, it gradually waxes increasingly draining, and lengthy usage will often leave him exhausted.
Supporting Characters:
Nejat Gucli and Turan Ahmad: Johannes's long-time friends and, more recently, assistants in super-heroic endeavour, Nejat and Turan's characters seem to be pre-ordinately congenial to him and each other alike, sharing the same enjoyment-driven inclinations and cinematographical preferences. The main difference between the two's personalities lies in their attitudes: while Turan is usually more proactive (though this is a comparative term), Nejat bears a pronounced antipathy toward the very concept of effort, though, when hard-pressed, he has demonstrated a certain aptitude for lateral thinking.
The Experimenters: The mysterious beings responsible for abducting Johannes and endowing him with superhuman powers as a result of a not better described process (or “fiddling”, if one is less than lenient). Johannes himself knows nothing regarding them, though he suspects they might be of extra-terrestrial origin, if for no other reason than the outlandish appearance of their machinery.
Locations:
New Sardis
Located across from Newport, Rhode Island, across Narragansett Bay, New Sardis was once one of the most relevant portual cities in the region. However, failure to modernise and a gradual decline in its position’s commercial importance have led to its progressive decay, moderated only lately by a number of service-providing companies taking an interest in its few, yet noteworthy investment opportunities. Nowadays, New Sardis is infamous for its dramatically under-staffed and ineffectual administration and police force; nonetheless, its legal infraction rate is astonishingly low for mysterious reasons, and organised criminality is limited to a negligible handful of street gangs within its boundaries (though the occasional disappearance tends to arouse suspicions on this matter).
Architecturally, the city reflects its recent erratic and almost haphazard development. Towers of glass and steel are often flanked by anachronistic pre-Edwardian houses, and the few piers still in use lie alongside numerous promontories of decaying wood.
Notable Features:
Saint Albertus Magnus Cathedral: A Catholic anomaly among New England’s sober Puritan temples, this imposing Gothic structure stands in the very centre of the city. Though both the Cathedral and the vast adjoining graveyard ought to be periodically restored by the urban authorities, the latter’s prolonged inactivity has enabled them to fall into such a state of sinister decrepitude that they tend to be fearfully shunned. Upon the Cathedral’s façade one can still barely discern the curious inscription “SOMNVS RATIONIS MONSTRA GENERAT”.
The Docklands: Once the city’s greatest hub of activity, the Docklands have long since degenerated into a veritable open-air slum, where New Sardis’s homeless population gathers in abandoned warehouses and it is deemed unsafe to pass with any valuables upon one’s person, lest these valuables unaccountably disappear. The few intact quays seem to be used solely for Aegis industrial shipments.
Istvan's Dragon: Since the end of World War II, the only enduring criminal element in New Sardis was that of outlaw biker clubs, ranging from free-spirited rebels to brutal thugs. Though local and small in size, they were numerous and, with the gradual decay of the city's police force, their influence became anything but invisible. Somewhere around the late 60's, the notorious drive bar known as Istvan's Dragon came to be, founded by an Eastern European immigrant. Located near in the Docklands, at the back of a small unimportant harbor, said establishment commonly served as a place for negotiations between different clubs, as well as a melting pot of all sorts of characters from the fringes of society over the years, until the eventual bloodbath that occurred in the early 90's. The Istvan Massacre was sparked by the rising tension between two rival clubs, leading to thirty casualties, seventeen of them being otherwise innocent patrons. The bar never recovered, and was left abandoned ever since. Along with the surrounding dock, it is now a sort of no man's land, as unwritten rules render it a sanctuary, prohibiting any sort of violence within it. Even law enforcement is wise enough to respect this condition. Despite its seemingly useful nature, the area remains abandoned, sparking urban legends of hauntings.
(Contribution by @Turbowraith)
“Atlantis” State Aquarium: New Sardis’s only possible tourist attraction, the Aquarium, built on local State funds with the backing of certain private bodies, is fitted with some of the most advanced equipment in its field. This has allowed for some daring experiments, such as the rare success of keeping giant cephalopods in captivity. The investment has proved fruitful, yielding large sums in the guise of admission fees and the sale of assorted merchandise.
Aegis Incorporated Complex: At some distance beyond the suburbs, surrounded by a stretch of forbidding wasteland, lies the ominous black citadel which serves simultaneously as headquarters, production plant and research establishment for the shadowy Aegis Inc. This comparatively young company, specialising in bellic and defensive technology, is said to have rapidly acquired a redoubtable power base, and, despite taking no interest in New Sardis itself, is almost universally dreaded by its inhabitants.
Do you know how to post pictures on RPG boards?:
Sample Post:
For days, the leaden sky which menacingly loomed over them, notwithstanding their steady motion - truth be told, at a velocity which would be deemed unacceptably low whence they had come, owing to the unfamiliar driving practices with which most visiting continentals were constrained to come to grips with - across the rather bleak landscape, had failed to deliver upon its threat of precipitation, which might have prompted them to jot down a note concerning the matter of “dispelling popular misconceptions about...”, had they been ever so rash in making assumptions (which they were) and actually interested in such an endeavour (which they were not). Notwithstanding the lack of sociological aspirations, they had unanimously concluded that the much-reviled Albionic climate might be better, or at least could not be quite so much worse than the only one they had hitherto known.
“Weren’t you thinking the same?” Johannes inquired, without, however, turning to face his companion.
“What?” the latter listlessly replied, in a tone dulled by a lengthy period of sitting and gazing before himself. One could, of course, argue that he had not been effectively doing anything beyond that, but that would probably elicited little more than genuine incomprehension.
“I say, that it has rained the entire time we were in Germany since we left, and some days before that, but not for a single hour while we have been here.”
“And Belgium.”
“What?”
“It’s also rained in Belgium.”
“Not in France, though.”
“A bit after the border, it did. What were you saying there, again?”
“No, I was saying, it seems to rain less here than in Germany, doesn’t it?”
“Could be. I think it also depends on the season. Don’t you remember we had a completely dry summer in Thüringen?”
“But that’s Thüringen.”
Having thus apparently exhausted their stimulating conversational subject, the pair finally exchanged a weary glance, then simultaneously turned backwards for a brief moment and eyed the sleeping Nejat with a hint of envy. The third member of their diminutive party lay all but sprawled on the back seat of the slightly battered automobile, amid rucksacks and satchels of varying sizes and colours, leaning toward the less tasteful end of the spectrum, with his feet a mere few inches away from resting upon an already abundantly scratched suitcase. His fellow-travellers found this all the more outrageous as he had not in the least contributed to their progress through virtually half of the (semi)continent, nor to the journey from Dover to Southampton, and yet was able to blissfully slumber for a length of time which would have put a sloth to shame, whereas neither Johannes, who steered the unreasonably crammed vehicle, nor Turan, who attempted to navigate their way by cycling through a series of maps, with the predictable result of frequently driving them to meander in such parts as they would never have dreamt of visiting, were able to enjoy a night’s rest without spinning about and repeatedly rising to raise or lower the blinds for some two hours beforehand. The final pause before the ferry boarding could have finally allowed them some respite before nearly a week of struggling against sea-sickness, yet even now they seemed to be unable to do anything but trade inconsequential remarks concerning the weather. How else could it be? The topic of their preliminary plans was already spent, and it was as yet too early to begin actually pondering their execution.
All of a sudden, a rap against the glass by his head startled Johannes from the slumber he had been, in spite of all, drifting into. Not a little irritated, he lowered it and turned to face the whiskered countenance of the customs officer peering from beyond it.
“What is it, my good man?” he asked, not immediately realising that his impromptu usage of a rather colloquial expression had yielded a potentially offensive result. Not that it would have concerned him, but it was somewhat embarrassing for being unintended.
“Excuse me, sir,” the man began quite civilly, probably not being altogether inexperienced in interacting with foreigners, “Your vehicle looks like it might be exceeding the weight limit.” Was its crammed state quite so visible? Most likely. Meanwhile, the boarding queue was beginning to move forth - and they were being detained by this overly zealous, or thus it seemed to him, fellow.
“I assure you that we have passed all necessary controls. Here, we have these tickets they give there. Turan, do you...”
But Turan had drifted away into a tranquil slumber. Curse him, could he think of no better moment? Johannes began hastily rooting through the sheaf of various printed pages - mostly maps - in his lap. Where could he have buried them? Before them, the path onto the vessel was now empty. Ah, that was quite enough. No more of this nonsense.
“Sir, do you have the...”
Johannes abruptly turned toward the mustachioed intruder and, gazing fixedly into his eyes, which made him stagger back in surprise, theatrically raised his right hand, with the palm stretched outwards. This gesture was functionally unnecessary, but what was life without a little flavour? He focused his mental energies upon the figure before him and, almost envisioning the outline of its psychic nucleus, hurled at it a brief sequence of visions - nothing especially astounding, but enough to serve their purpose.
The man staggered, flailing his arms as though he had suddenly lost his sight and were attempting to clutch it before it flew away. Failing to grasp any solid object, he nearly collapsed, but was able to moderate his fall by crouching with what seemed to be a supreme effort. After about a minute, the expression of his eyes grew slightly less wild, and he saw that the potentially overloaded automobile had already vanished beyond the ascension ramp. Rising totteringly to his full height, he waved reassuringly at the other drivers, who were looking at him with some concern, and moved toward his position with quivering steps.
Aboard the ship, Johannes smiled to himself with a hint of triumph. Petty, admittedly, but was life not likewise composed of simple pleasures? His mouth still set in its twisted shape, he let his thoughts hasten forwards. Soon, he would have crossed the ocean, and then the true merriment would begin. A world of adventure lay ahead.
It struck me that perhaps we actually are the cannon fodder team. After all, what are we but low-CR monsters who manage to die even without any heroes being about?
Core of Yrrkheltharl Space
Common World Erelkhathurl
Seat of the Central Administrative Council
High Defence Coordinator Aulthellr slid pensively along the elevated path which ran toward the massive building of the CAC's headquarters, his characteristically dark-red ganglia pulsing regularly to reflect his disposition. Though it was certainly unusual for an Ekhrilthur not to travel by the means of some more or less fortified vehicle, especially on a common world, his residence on the planet was sufficiently close to the few facilities he was called upon to visit, and the (private) elevated path was guarded well enough, for him to move about in the open in the oldest fashion known to his species. Besides, he had always regarded the passing of the "ancient times", when Ekhrilthur had been constrained to survive not only by their wits, but by their prowess and flexibility as well, with some regret, and somewhat deplored the modern tendency to delegate all physical work to machines. After all, had they not risen to the current state by making good use of their innate skills? To let them atrophy would have been a symbolic transgression at the very least. Thus, Aulthellr tossed forth his pseudopods and drew them inward time and again, his four personal guard drones rhythmically clattering alongside him.
It was yet fairly early in the local brief day, and most of the nearest road layers were empty. Only in one point, at some distance below, a group of Ulvath was creeping along, probably toward the industrial sector. One of them noticed Aulthellr as they were nearing one of the recurve pillars which supported his path and drew the others' attention thither by waving a proboscidal appendage. The entire group stopped and observed in reverential silence as the Ekhrilthur dignitary passed by, dispensing a vague greeting with a small lateral extension, then resumed their way. From the direction in which they were headed there came now a vague, barely discernible humming sound. At least one of the factory apparata had been set in motion. Though it had no official designation beyond that of a common world, Erelkhathurl was generally understood to be the Coalition's unofficial capital planet, and as such attracted numerous researchers, engineers, experimenters and labourers of various species, specialisations and ranks who were eager to learn from or collaborate with exponents of sometimes radically different disciplines, as well as administrators who, for one reason or another, sought to be as close as possible to the place where the truly meaningful decisions were made. This latter group was about to be especially pleased, as the decision which many were convinced would have been taken that day would mark an entirely new turning-point in the history of the peoples of the Coalition.
Aulthellr finally reached the imposing circular entrance of the vast, cylindrical structure which was the Seat. The heavy troopers standing guard at the door raised their upper right forearms in salute upon his approach, and he responded with an undulation of his central protuberance, passing through the slightly diagonally descending antechamber into what a human would have described as a warped maze of strangely irregular corridors, but was for him a perfectly practicable passageway. Thence he emerged into a vast, vaulted room, dimly lit by narrow, tubular greenish-blue lamps which ran, at regular intervals, vertically along the walls, and were at some point lost in the darkness beneath the vaulted ceiling. In the centre of the room there stood a low, round table, or implement which might have served a similar purpose, around which the other eight councillors had already taken their places. Aulthellr slid toward his pedestal, pulled his body on top of it and, having shifted about it for a while, began.
"Esteemed colleagues" The other two Ekhrilthur undulated to display their awareness of being addressed, "Honoured allies of the Transglobal Union" The three Skirol briefly swayed upon their legs, "Honoured allies of the Blessed Thearchy" The Zsresriir bowed their heads and softly snapped their mandibles, "Under the auspices of our great and beloved Coalition, our people have overthrown the oppressors, shattered their chains and restored ourselves to liberty. Under its watchful gaze, they have grown and prospered for years. Under its mighty and gentle hand, they have vanquished strife and dissent and become as one though they be innumerable. Now, new challenges lie before us as their guides. They are many, and the confines of our worlds are growing narrow. They thirst for innovation, and the materials enabling them to translate such innovation from thought to action are growing scarce." Having disposed of those formalities, Aulthellr's intonation lost some of its solemnity. "Yesterday, the motion from the united administrators of defence of our three states, as well as the high command of the Planetary Invasion Forces, was rectified and officially submitted to the attention of this reverend Council. You are probably already familiar with its contents from the draft which was circulated at the time of the last meeting..." Gestures of assent from the listeners responded to the implicit question. "The text has since remained unaltered. It is our duty to express the Coalition's verdict on its demands - our duty before the Coalition's citizens, and the common good of us all." He paused, then, slightly swaying forward, spoke again.
"Honoured allies of the Transglobal Union." The Skirol remained silent for some moments, then the central one replied, "It is a development. A growth. We approve." "Honoured allied of the Blessed Thearchy." Almost immediately, the largest of the three Zsresriir answered, "The Deep Ones will it." The other two snapped their assent. "We approve." "Esteemed colleagues." The other Ekhrilthur ceased their swaying movements, then the rightmost, High Administrator Iurrthall, answered, "It has been decided. We approve." Aulthellr manipulated some unseen mechanism in the side of the table, and there extended from an apparently featureless wall a mechanical arm which deposited a small metallic plate, bearing inscribed upon it rows of small, angular systems, in the disk's centre. Aulthellr intoned "By the authority bestowed upon me by this reverend Council and the Inter-Planetary Rule of Ekhrilthurl, I declare the motion unanimously approved." From the darkened reaches of the ceiling there fell all of a sudden a focused beam of golden light, which, moving with surgical precision, indelibly seared into the plate which lay beneath it the gleaming symbol of the Yrrkheltharl Coalition.
Ekhrilthurl
A loud ringing sound abruptly rang out over the uninterrupted droning and whirring which seemed to permeate the office-laboratory of Decorated High Administrator Eullvallt even at those rare times all the nearby machinery was shut down. The Decorated High Administrator stretched a pseudopod from his podium, reaching over an improbable distance, and flicked the elastic switch of the announcer device. The ringing ceased, but was immediately followed by a toneless, resonating mechanical voice which stated: "Preordained selected communication. Received. State your-" Without waiting for the machine to finish its sentence, Eullvallt flicked the switch once more. The voice which now issued from the apparatus was distinctly that of an Ekhrilthur, though only slightly less devoid of emotion. Probably an automated service. "To the attention of Decorated High Administrator Eullvallt. The motion has been unanimously approved. End of communication. Glory to the Coalition." Yes, definitely an automated service. But Eullvallt was not concerned. Withdrawing into himself upon his seat, he pulsed and wavered with what anyone familiar with Ekhrilthur physiology would have recognised as intense satisfaction.
Skereth
A lone Skirol was traversing an expanse of overgrown bog. Even in the days following the rebuilding of the planet, when increasingly large and plentiful bio-plants had begun to spring up across Skereth's surface, when sections of plain, fungal wood, wasteland, plateau and eventually ocean were swallowed by the great semi-organic structures, the bog, at one time the symbol ad the synthesis of the planet's unique nature, had remained largely untouched. Now, as millennia before, its mires teemed with incalculable multitudes of creatures of diverse shapes and sizes, some of them occasionally reaching up to cast a glance at, or otherwise inspect the passer-by, swiftly vanishing again, uninterested by an already familiar sight. The Skirol, carefully leaping between mound and rocks, eventually attained a comparatively dry stretch of land, and now scurried over it toward the dark spot which had presently appeared in the distance. Soon, it grew more well-defined, revealing itself to be an individual bio-pod - a rarity even among the highest ranks of the Union, and usually never to be found in a bog. None would have denied, however, that Cycle-Master Kzerir could very well dispose of his bio-pod as he deemed it best. Presently, the elder Skirol emerged from behind the pod's membranes and interrogatively waved his proboscis at the newcomer. It was needless to utter the question his motions conveyed. "Unanimously approved, Cycle-Master." was the laconic reply. Kzerir crouched, as though he were contemplating something. "It is an opportunity, after all. One of a rare sort, at that. Yes, an opportunity." he commented. In the distance, some especially large denizen of the bog gurgled its unwitting assent.
Zsresris
Elder Deep-Speaker Irselsr stood facing the crowd assembled before the sacred mound whereupon he stood. Such a vast throng had probably never gathered there, not even after the Liberation - and these were only those he could see. Half the region was probably there, and more were arriving every minute. As ever, the Deep Ones had been correct in their predictions. This was the dawn of a new, splendid age for the Blessed Thearchy and its allies. An age of strength. An age worthy of them, the gods. Beneath him, the soil quivered and stirred as never before. They knew, of course. Irselsr raised his upper forelimbs upward, then stretched the lower ones toward the ground. The crowd, large as it was, immediately grew still. "Hear! Our wise leaders have ruled." he screeched. Only the foremost ranks heard the import of his words, but from the murmurs he deduced that they were passed on to those who stood behind. "In accordance with the will of the Zsrolor, they gave their unanimous assent to our request. Hear! Our host musters as I speak. We shall sweep over the stars as a storm, scouring them of all the uncleanness which we have banished from our homes, but which yet festers among them, and claiming them for the Deep Ones... For us all. Long live the Zsrolor! Long live the Coalition!" Long live the Zsrolor! Long live the Coalition! echoed over the heads, or lack thereof, of the multitude, rolling again and again over the thundering earth.
Border of Coalition Space
Coalition Invasion Fleet
The fleet had always been ready. Even as, officially, the concerned parties were beginning to pen the introductory formulae of the motion, war-ships and transports had been gathering there, near the invisible, and soon to be non-existent, boundary of the Yrrkheltharl Coalition's dominion, their engines extensively polished several times, their shields calibrated and re-calibrated, their weapons impatiently tested, their boarding patterns practiced time and again. As an avalanche looming over a defenceless valley, held back only by a few creaking saplings, it had hovered, teeming with hunger for true battle and blood-drenched victory, awaiting the signal all aboard every vessel knew would come. And come it had.
Slowly, gradually, the reactors of every ship began to glow with golden luminescence, a humming sound spreading through the insides of their hulls. The beasts scraped and chittered restlessly in their hangars. Then, the lead vessel, the flagship Implacable, tentatively edged forward, hung motionless for a half-second, as though hesitating, and vanished from sight in a blur. Craft after craft followed in its wake, all pausing for the briefest instant before hurling themselves forth, until, within few minutes, the entire fleet had disappeared.
Common World Erelkhathurl
Seat of the Central Administrative Council
High Defence Coordinator Aulthellr slid pensively along the elevated path which ran toward the massive building of the CAC's headquarters, his characteristically dark-red ganglia pulsing regularly to reflect his disposition. Though it was certainly unusual for an Ekhrilthur not to travel by the means of some more or less fortified vehicle, especially on a common world, his residence on the planet was sufficiently close to the few facilities he was called upon to visit, and the (private) elevated path was guarded well enough, for him to move about in the open in the oldest fashion known to his species. Besides, he had always regarded the passing of the "ancient times", when Ekhrilthur had been constrained to survive not only by their wits, but by their prowess and flexibility as well, with some regret, and somewhat deplored the modern tendency to delegate all physical work to machines. After all, had they not risen to the current state by making good use of their innate skills? To let them atrophy would have been a symbolic transgression at the very least. Thus, Aulthellr tossed forth his pseudopods and drew them inward time and again, his four personal guard drones rhythmically clattering alongside him.
It was yet fairly early in the local brief day, and most of the nearest road layers were empty. Only in one point, at some distance below, a group of Ulvath was creeping along, probably toward the industrial sector. One of them noticed Aulthellr as they were nearing one of the recurve pillars which supported his path and drew the others' attention thither by waving a proboscidal appendage. The entire group stopped and observed in reverential silence as the Ekhrilthur dignitary passed by, dispensing a vague greeting with a small lateral extension, then resumed their way. From the direction in which they were headed there came now a vague, barely discernible humming sound. At least one of the factory apparata had been set in motion. Though it had no official designation beyond that of a common world, Erelkhathurl was generally understood to be the Coalition's unofficial capital planet, and as such attracted numerous researchers, engineers, experimenters and labourers of various species, specialisations and ranks who were eager to learn from or collaborate with exponents of sometimes radically different disciplines, as well as administrators who, for one reason or another, sought to be as close as possible to the place where the truly meaningful decisions were made. This latter group was about to be especially pleased, as the decision which many were convinced would have been taken that day would mark an entirely new turning-point in the history of the peoples of the Coalition.
Aulthellr finally reached the imposing circular entrance of the vast, cylindrical structure which was the Seat. The heavy troopers standing guard at the door raised their upper right forearms in salute upon his approach, and he responded with an undulation of his central protuberance, passing through the slightly diagonally descending antechamber into what a human would have described as a warped maze of strangely irregular corridors, but was for him a perfectly practicable passageway. Thence he emerged into a vast, vaulted room, dimly lit by narrow, tubular greenish-blue lamps which ran, at regular intervals, vertically along the walls, and were at some point lost in the darkness beneath the vaulted ceiling. In the centre of the room there stood a low, round table, or implement which might have served a similar purpose, around which the other eight councillors had already taken their places. Aulthellr slid toward his pedestal, pulled his body on top of it and, having shifted about it for a while, began.
"Esteemed colleagues" The other two Ekhrilthur undulated to display their awareness of being addressed, "Honoured allies of the Transglobal Union" The three Skirol briefly swayed upon their legs, "Honoured allies of the Blessed Thearchy" The Zsresriir bowed their heads and softly snapped their mandibles, "Under the auspices of our great and beloved Coalition, our people have overthrown the oppressors, shattered their chains and restored ourselves to liberty. Under its watchful gaze, they have grown and prospered for years. Under its mighty and gentle hand, they have vanquished strife and dissent and become as one though they be innumerable. Now, new challenges lie before us as their guides. They are many, and the confines of our worlds are growing narrow. They thirst for innovation, and the materials enabling them to translate such innovation from thought to action are growing scarce." Having disposed of those formalities, Aulthellr's intonation lost some of its solemnity. "Yesterday, the motion from the united administrators of defence of our three states, as well as the high command of the Planetary Invasion Forces, was rectified and officially submitted to the attention of this reverend Council. You are probably already familiar with its contents from the draft which was circulated at the time of the last meeting..." Gestures of assent from the listeners responded to the implicit question. "The text has since remained unaltered. It is our duty to express the Coalition's verdict on its demands - our duty before the Coalition's citizens, and the common good of us all." He paused, then, slightly swaying forward, spoke again.
"Honoured allies of the Transglobal Union." The Skirol remained silent for some moments, then the central one replied, "It is a development. A growth. We approve." "Honoured allied of the Blessed Thearchy." Almost immediately, the largest of the three Zsresriir answered, "The Deep Ones will it." The other two snapped their assent. "We approve." "Esteemed colleagues." The other Ekhrilthur ceased their swaying movements, then the rightmost, High Administrator Iurrthall, answered, "It has been decided. We approve." Aulthellr manipulated some unseen mechanism in the side of the table, and there extended from an apparently featureless wall a mechanical arm which deposited a small metallic plate, bearing inscribed upon it rows of small, angular systems, in the disk's centre. Aulthellr intoned "By the authority bestowed upon me by this reverend Council and the Inter-Planetary Rule of Ekhrilthurl, I declare the motion unanimously approved." From the darkened reaches of the ceiling there fell all of a sudden a focused beam of golden light, which, moving with surgical precision, indelibly seared into the plate which lay beneath it the gleaming symbol of the Yrrkheltharl Coalition.
Ekhrilthurl
A loud ringing sound abruptly rang out over the uninterrupted droning and whirring which seemed to permeate the office-laboratory of Decorated High Administrator Eullvallt even at those rare times all the nearby machinery was shut down. The Decorated High Administrator stretched a pseudopod from his podium, reaching over an improbable distance, and flicked the elastic switch of the announcer device. The ringing ceased, but was immediately followed by a toneless, resonating mechanical voice which stated: "Preordained selected communication. Received. State your-" Without waiting for the machine to finish its sentence, Eullvallt flicked the switch once more. The voice which now issued from the apparatus was distinctly that of an Ekhrilthur, though only slightly less devoid of emotion. Probably an automated service. "To the attention of Decorated High Administrator Eullvallt. The motion has been unanimously approved. End of communication. Glory to the Coalition." Yes, definitely an automated service. But Eullvallt was not concerned. Withdrawing into himself upon his seat, he pulsed and wavered with what anyone familiar with Ekhrilthur physiology would have recognised as intense satisfaction.
Skereth
A lone Skirol was traversing an expanse of overgrown bog. Even in the days following the rebuilding of the planet, when increasingly large and plentiful bio-plants had begun to spring up across Skereth's surface, when sections of plain, fungal wood, wasteland, plateau and eventually ocean were swallowed by the great semi-organic structures, the bog, at one time the symbol ad the synthesis of the planet's unique nature, had remained largely untouched. Now, as millennia before, its mires teemed with incalculable multitudes of creatures of diverse shapes and sizes, some of them occasionally reaching up to cast a glance at, or otherwise inspect the passer-by, swiftly vanishing again, uninterested by an already familiar sight. The Skirol, carefully leaping between mound and rocks, eventually attained a comparatively dry stretch of land, and now scurried over it toward the dark spot which had presently appeared in the distance. Soon, it grew more well-defined, revealing itself to be an individual bio-pod - a rarity even among the highest ranks of the Union, and usually never to be found in a bog. None would have denied, however, that Cycle-Master Kzerir could very well dispose of his bio-pod as he deemed it best. Presently, the elder Skirol emerged from behind the pod's membranes and interrogatively waved his proboscis at the newcomer. It was needless to utter the question his motions conveyed. "Unanimously approved, Cycle-Master." was the laconic reply. Kzerir crouched, as though he were contemplating something. "It is an opportunity, after all. One of a rare sort, at that. Yes, an opportunity." he commented. In the distance, some especially large denizen of the bog gurgled its unwitting assent.
Zsresris
Elder Deep-Speaker Irselsr stood facing the crowd assembled before the sacred mound whereupon he stood. Such a vast throng had probably never gathered there, not even after the Liberation - and these were only those he could see. Half the region was probably there, and more were arriving every minute. As ever, the Deep Ones had been correct in their predictions. This was the dawn of a new, splendid age for the Blessed Thearchy and its allies. An age of strength. An age worthy of them, the gods. Beneath him, the soil quivered and stirred as never before. They knew, of course. Irselsr raised his upper forelimbs upward, then stretched the lower ones toward the ground. The crowd, large as it was, immediately grew still. "Hear! Our wise leaders have ruled." he screeched. Only the foremost ranks heard the import of his words, but from the murmurs he deduced that they were passed on to those who stood behind. "In accordance with the will of the Zsrolor, they gave their unanimous assent to our request. Hear! Our host musters as I speak. We shall sweep over the stars as a storm, scouring them of all the uncleanness which we have banished from our homes, but which yet festers among them, and claiming them for the Deep Ones... For us all. Long live the Zsrolor! Long live the Coalition!" Long live the Zsrolor! Long live the Coalition! echoed over the heads, or lack thereof, of the multitude, rolling again and again over the thundering earth.
Border of Coalition Space
Coalition Invasion Fleet
The fleet had always been ready. Even as, officially, the concerned parties were beginning to pen the introductory formulae of the motion, war-ships and transports had been gathering there, near the invisible, and soon to be non-existent, boundary of the Yrrkheltharl Coalition's dominion, their engines extensively polished several times, their shields calibrated and re-calibrated, their weapons impatiently tested, their boarding patterns practiced time and again. As an avalanche looming over a defenceless valley, held back only by a few creaking saplings, it had hovered, teeming with hunger for true battle and blood-drenched victory, awaiting the signal all aboard every vessel knew would come. And come it had.
Slowly, gradually, the reactors of every ship began to glow with golden luminescence, a humming sound spreading through the insides of their hulls. The beasts scraped and chittered restlessly in their hangars. Then, the lead vessel, the flagship Implacable, tentatively edged forward, hung motionless for a half-second, as though hesitating, and vanished from sight in a blur. Craft after craft followed in its wake, all pausing for the briefest instant before hurling themselves forth, until, within few minutes, the entire fleet had disappeared.
<Snipped quote by Oraculum>
You wot, mate?
Though this may not be necessary. After all, the Totalists seem quite reasonable as far as humans go...
Get in line
But we just (for a given definition of "just") got out of it...
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