Nel mezzo del cammin... *Ahem*. Does there happen to be room for me as well? (You can blame the spectre above for summoning me here.)
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Hellscapers! [PRETTY MUCH ALWAYS ACCEPTING EXCEPT WHEN WE HAVE TEN PEOPLE (WE DON'T)!]
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10 yrs ago
Forum: Casual Roleplay
I am ready whenever the rest of you are.
And we still are not finished. To be continued...
@POOHEAD189
I dare say not. In fact, we might just have reached such a point where your contribution would be quite fitting.
I dare say not. In fact, we might just have reached such a point where your contribution would be quite fitting.
Updated the sub-sheet with the Remnant. The Overseers have not yet appeared in the in-story present, but they might as well be allotted a preview here.
@Willy Vereb
I believe that is The Spectre's Athistan Federation, though they have yet to appear on this thread.
I believe that is The Spectre's Athistan Federation, though they have yet to appear on this thread.
And here is, at long last, the Coalition's introduction.
Glory to the Coalition.
Glory to the Coalition.
Core of New Yrrkeltharl Space
Alkrath
The Citadel of Order, Seat of the Central Administrative Council
The world which was now known as Alkrath had not always borne an alien name so harsh upon the human tongue. Little more than a century before, it, then a largely pristine, beautiful planet, dotted sparsely with comparatively small cities (as not many could afford a residence there) mimicking an architectural style dating back to the old days of old Earth itself, had been known by a quaint, if somewhat lengthy, appellation derived from an ancient Terran language. That name had been uttered wistfully by many an inhabitant of the nearby systems as they gazed up to the stars, fancying they saw the world in question amid the glimmering expanse, or jotted down upon the pages of journals, public announcement screens, digital invoices or other suchlike documents with such feelings as longing, satisfaction or slight envy. The world had been the focus of several lifetimes' worth of dreams and desires, whether those involved a pleasant retirement, being appointed to a privileged position or simply a brief, yet memorable visit - and ever had that name been the banner and symbol of such aspiration.
Now, no more. Now, it was Alkrath.
Where had once been bright meadows and elegant towns there stood now an immense maze of outlandishly twisted, bizarrely stacked structures, glaring with the lurid red lights of foundries and crackling with energy conduits of tremendous size and potency. As had been its predecessor, Erelkhathurl, Alkrath was placed in a strategic position, being as close to a hypothetical centre of the Coalition's rather irregularly shaped territory as it could reasonably be expected of an inhabitable planet - and thus enabling the CAC to dominate its entirety with ease. Under its evolved rule, no longer could the free initiative of its subjects be relied upon to populate what was effectively its capital world; yet, had this even been an issue, little thought would have been given to it, for the quantity of officials and lieutenants of various sorts required by the new, centralised system was more than sufficient to compensate for it - and this without mentioning the energetic and industrial support facilities necessary for the vast government apparatus to function. Thus, there was scarce a spot to be found upon the planet's surface where there did not stand a terraced spire or run a multi-level road, and unwholesome fumes spread foully where there had once been a crystalline sky.
Over all this towered the behemoth sable mass of the Citadel of Order. Built atop a complex framework which would have appeared surreal to an architect of bygone ages, the colossal structure was as much a monument to the might of the Coalition, and a constant reminder of the Council's unceasing vigilance, as the nucleus of its administrative activity. Here there regularly gathered the nation's nine most influential figures; some of them even permanently resided there, ever surrounded by a host of servitors, guards and transmitter technicians tasked with conveying their commands throughout multitudes of systems almost as soon as they were given. While the Citadel was theoretically accessible to anyone at any moment, those who had no urgent business within it knew better than to enter its shadowy, vault-like halls on a whim; the Council did not take well to being disturbed in its activities, and any perceived as engaging in such a deplorable activity would find it difficult to avoid summary censure – or worse yet, in case a meeting were underway.
Now was just one such a time. At the inmost core of the Citadel’s main tower, in a chamber dwarfing that of the old Seat on Erelkhathurl, yet just as dim, there had gathered around a massive circular podium-table nine beings which, for how they appeared, might as well have emerged from the feverish nightmares of an overly imaginative human under the effect of a strong “stimulating” concoction. From the looming bulk of the Voice of the Deep, bristling with ridges and spines of chitin shaped strangely even by a Zsresriir’s standards, to the amoeboid mass of the High Administrator, composed of semi-fluid rivulets of fungoid flesh and nano-machinery, twisting and mingling in unnaturally intricate forms which shifted every second without losing their symmetry, the members of the Central Administrative Council were an outlandish sight even for others of their respective species. The enhancements they donned – all save for Rseslar, who, being touched by the Zsrolor, eschewed such petty contrivances – were unique, specially designed models whose equal was not to be found elsewhere in Coalition space, or, indeed, in the galaxy itself; it was even rumoured that the presence of the regiment of elite troops tasked with watching over their persons was entirely symbolic, as the nine could easily have out-performed an entire army on their own.
Regardless of theories concerning their supposed martial prowess, the representatives all shared a skill which had enabled their election to the CAC, and at the practice of which they excelled - namely, devising schemes to further the Coalition’s interests at the expense of everyone else. Which, if one was to judge by the holographic map of the galaxy, characteristically gold-hued and slightly distorted to accommodate the watchers’ visual organs, hovering over the podium-table at the exact centre of the circle formed by them, was just what they were engaged in at that moment. Everyone’s gaze, or equivalent thereof, was directed toward a bright green spot which pulsed amid the core regions, surrounded by flowing coordinate lines.
“This time, we have solid information” Exalted Strategist Sralsresr hissed, “According to field reports, over twenty craft, including what seems to be a supercarrier. Contrarily to our previsions, the Republic does not act alone. Some of the vessels are of Hexanagallion facture.”
“Which renders direct action entirely out of the question” Cycle-Bearer Xalthil commented, “But I am aware that this is not the pertinent matter. On behalf of the Weavers of the Cycle, I confirm the experiment to have been a success. The prototypes have performed admirably in field conditions, and the covert intervention fleet has been identified and located. I second my esteemed colleagues’ motion to initiate mass production of the infiltrator units.”
A wave of swaying and nodding swept around the podium, manifesting the CAC’s unanimous approval.
“How shall we dispose of the prototypes?” High Defence Coordinator Aalthallr inquired.
“They are set to revert to their unformed state upon engaging armed foes, and self-destruct when lethally wounded. If the Republic should reach them, we shall be able to gauge their combat abilities. Otherwise, they shall continue their activity within the Taspara household as before.” Xalthil replied.
“In one manner or the other, they should provide enough time for our own intervention force to arrive within reach of the specified coordinates” Sralsresr rejoindered, “Is the fleet ready?”
“Entirely.” Decorated Proto-Engineer Iurrvelt twitched with a pseudopod, and the map disappeared, replaced by a projection of an old Agonis-designed carrier ship. ”The difference between the original models and our refitted replicas is undistinguishable even upon close scrutiny, and the synthetic crews are fully operational.”
“Excellent. It shall be dispatched in short order. Our delegation is likewise on its way to encounter the marauder leaders on the southern fringe.” The Exalted Strategist snapped his mandibles, and the map appeared again, this time without the green spot, as the other members expressed their approval. “Deep-Vassal, you had requested announcement time.”
“Indeed.” Rsilrsesr tapped upon the podium’s edge, and more pulsing spots, this time of a reddish-orange hue, appeared in the northern regions of Coalition space. “I have been notified by garrison force commanders that unknown items have been apprehended orbiting previously uninspected planets at these locations. Scansions indicate that said bodies closely resemble vessels produced by the Agonis Collective, as classified among the samples we possess, yet show no signs of activity. A lesser fleet has been sent to investigate upon my orders. This is all.”
Some moments of silence ensued, then, with a horrific half-rumbling, half-screeching sound the Voice of the Deep spoke. “With no further matters of immediate importance to be submitted to our attention, in the name of the most august union of our peoples, the great Yrrkeltharl Coalition, I declare this meeting closed. Glory to the Coalition.”
“Glory to the Coalition” the other eight beings echoed, as the map flickered out of existence, plunging the chamber in a faintly green-bluish gloom.
Alkrath
The Citadel of Order, Seat of the Central Administrative Council
The world which was now known as Alkrath had not always borne an alien name so harsh upon the human tongue. Little more than a century before, it, then a largely pristine, beautiful planet, dotted sparsely with comparatively small cities (as not many could afford a residence there) mimicking an architectural style dating back to the old days of old Earth itself, had been known by a quaint, if somewhat lengthy, appellation derived from an ancient Terran language. That name had been uttered wistfully by many an inhabitant of the nearby systems as they gazed up to the stars, fancying they saw the world in question amid the glimmering expanse, or jotted down upon the pages of journals, public announcement screens, digital invoices or other suchlike documents with such feelings as longing, satisfaction or slight envy. The world had been the focus of several lifetimes' worth of dreams and desires, whether those involved a pleasant retirement, being appointed to a privileged position or simply a brief, yet memorable visit - and ever had that name been the banner and symbol of such aspiration.
Now, no more. Now, it was Alkrath.
Where had once been bright meadows and elegant towns there stood now an immense maze of outlandishly twisted, bizarrely stacked structures, glaring with the lurid red lights of foundries and crackling with energy conduits of tremendous size and potency. As had been its predecessor, Erelkhathurl, Alkrath was placed in a strategic position, being as close to a hypothetical centre of the Coalition's rather irregularly shaped territory as it could reasonably be expected of an inhabitable planet - and thus enabling the CAC to dominate its entirety with ease. Under its evolved rule, no longer could the free initiative of its subjects be relied upon to populate what was effectively its capital world; yet, had this even been an issue, little thought would have been given to it, for the quantity of officials and lieutenants of various sorts required by the new, centralised system was more than sufficient to compensate for it - and this without mentioning the energetic and industrial support facilities necessary for the vast government apparatus to function. Thus, there was scarce a spot to be found upon the planet's surface where there did not stand a terraced spire or run a multi-level road, and unwholesome fumes spread foully where there had once been a crystalline sky.
Over all this towered the behemoth sable mass of the Citadel of Order. Built atop a complex framework which would have appeared surreal to an architect of bygone ages, the colossal structure was as much a monument to the might of the Coalition, and a constant reminder of the Council's unceasing vigilance, as the nucleus of its administrative activity. Here there regularly gathered the nation's nine most influential figures; some of them even permanently resided there, ever surrounded by a host of servitors, guards and transmitter technicians tasked with conveying their commands throughout multitudes of systems almost as soon as they were given. While the Citadel was theoretically accessible to anyone at any moment, those who had no urgent business within it knew better than to enter its shadowy, vault-like halls on a whim; the Council did not take well to being disturbed in its activities, and any perceived as engaging in such a deplorable activity would find it difficult to avoid summary censure – or worse yet, in case a meeting were underway.
Now was just one such a time. At the inmost core of the Citadel’s main tower, in a chamber dwarfing that of the old Seat on Erelkhathurl, yet just as dim, there had gathered around a massive circular podium-table nine beings which, for how they appeared, might as well have emerged from the feverish nightmares of an overly imaginative human under the effect of a strong “stimulating” concoction. From the looming bulk of the Voice of the Deep, bristling with ridges and spines of chitin shaped strangely even by a Zsresriir’s standards, to the amoeboid mass of the High Administrator, composed of semi-fluid rivulets of fungoid flesh and nano-machinery, twisting and mingling in unnaturally intricate forms which shifted every second without losing their symmetry, the members of the Central Administrative Council were an outlandish sight even for others of their respective species. The enhancements they donned – all save for Rseslar, who, being touched by the Zsrolor, eschewed such petty contrivances – were unique, specially designed models whose equal was not to be found elsewhere in Coalition space, or, indeed, in the galaxy itself; it was even rumoured that the presence of the regiment of elite troops tasked with watching over their persons was entirely symbolic, as the nine could easily have out-performed an entire army on their own.
Regardless of theories concerning their supposed martial prowess, the representatives all shared a skill which had enabled their election to the CAC, and at the practice of which they excelled - namely, devising schemes to further the Coalition’s interests at the expense of everyone else. Which, if one was to judge by the holographic map of the galaxy, characteristically gold-hued and slightly distorted to accommodate the watchers’ visual organs, hovering over the podium-table at the exact centre of the circle formed by them, was just what they were engaged in at that moment. Everyone’s gaze, or equivalent thereof, was directed toward a bright green spot which pulsed amid the core regions, surrounded by flowing coordinate lines.
“This time, we have solid information” Exalted Strategist Sralsresr hissed, “According to field reports, over twenty craft, including what seems to be a supercarrier. Contrarily to our previsions, the Republic does not act alone. Some of the vessels are of Hexanagallion facture.”
“Which renders direct action entirely out of the question” Cycle-Bearer Xalthil commented, “But I am aware that this is not the pertinent matter. On behalf of the Weavers of the Cycle, I confirm the experiment to have been a success. The prototypes have performed admirably in field conditions, and the covert intervention fleet has been identified and located. I second my esteemed colleagues’ motion to initiate mass production of the infiltrator units.”
A wave of swaying and nodding swept around the podium, manifesting the CAC’s unanimous approval.
“How shall we dispose of the prototypes?” High Defence Coordinator Aalthallr inquired.
“They are set to revert to their unformed state upon engaging armed foes, and self-destruct when lethally wounded. If the Republic should reach them, we shall be able to gauge their combat abilities. Otherwise, they shall continue their activity within the Taspara household as before.” Xalthil replied.
“In one manner or the other, they should provide enough time for our own intervention force to arrive within reach of the specified coordinates” Sralsresr rejoindered, “Is the fleet ready?”
“Entirely.” Decorated Proto-Engineer Iurrvelt twitched with a pseudopod, and the map disappeared, replaced by a projection of an old Agonis-designed carrier ship. ”The difference between the original models and our refitted replicas is undistinguishable even upon close scrutiny, and the synthetic crews are fully operational.”
“Excellent. It shall be dispatched in short order. Our delegation is likewise on its way to encounter the marauder leaders on the southern fringe.” The Exalted Strategist snapped his mandibles, and the map appeared again, this time without the green spot, as the other members expressed their approval. “Deep-Vassal, you had requested announcement time.”
“Indeed.” Rsilrsesr tapped upon the podium’s edge, and more pulsing spots, this time of a reddish-orange hue, appeared in the northern regions of Coalition space. “I have been notified by garrison force commanders that unknown items have been apprehended orbiting previously uninspected planets at these locations. Scansions indicate that said bodies closely resemble vessels produced by the Agonis Collective, as classified among the samples we possess, yet show no signs of activity. A lesser fleet has been sent to investigate upon my orders. This is all.”
Some moments of silence ensued, then, with a horrific half-rumbling, half-screeching sound the Voice of the Deep spoke. “With no further matters of immediate importance to be submitted to our attention, in the name of the most august union of our peoples, the great Yrrkeltharl Coalition, I declare this meeting closed. Glory to the Coalition.”
“Glory to the Coalition” the other eight beings echoed, as the map flickered out of existence, plunging the chamber in a faintly green-bluish gloom.
Lots of conflict brewing there.
...Is it not everywhere?
Just as Khri'zhatt had expected, there was a deafening detonation, followed by a whistling sound, some bellowing and plenty of smoke. However, and this was where his expectations and the turn of events began to diverge, no scraps of metal or smouldering tatters of goblin struck the corpse Thrik was holding. Flashes of unnatural light and an ominous crackling flared and resounded from behind the fleshly barriers, yet, again, no impact ensued. This was mighty odd indeed. Now more curious than alarmed, Khri'zhatt moved to peer from behind the elf's back, twisting his neck in a slightly sickening arch. It was a somewhat uncomfortable position, but he would only have to maintain it for a few moments...
...Or would he? Just as the top of his head emerged from behind the makeshift "shield", and the sight of the goblin, enveloped in a cloud of smoke, being held up by the orc's gigantic beast while being charged by the skeleton became open to him, he discovered with surprise that uncoiling himself was not as easy as he was accustomed to. In fact, he barely seemed able to move at all. Worse yet, his neck, already strained by the effort, was now being compelled by some preternatural force, evoked by someone screaming (for them?) to stop down the street, to twist in the opposite direction - all while being unable to straighten its original posture. The result was, to say the least, unpleasant. Not even the soothing tones of the enchanting voice assuaged it - in fact, Khri'zhatt was fairly irritated by what he perceived was adding insult to injury.
Hooded figures presently approached him and Thrik, releasing the mistreated elf's corpse from the claws of the umber hulk, who was too busy processing the fact he was surprised, or something similar enough, to resist, and leaving the two defenceless, with Khri'zhatt still trapped in his now outright painful position. Thankfully, the other monsters were likewise hampered in their movements, with the skeleton being oddly but safely contained in mid-air suspension. Then, all of a sudden, the spell was lifted, causing his tense muscles to instantaneously spring into concerted action, and thus his head to cartoonishly swivel to and fro before he recovered his bearings. Dizzy, with an aching neck and altogether far from pleased, Khri'zhatt heard the goblin addressing him in what did not appear to be altogether inimical tones.
"That's fairly obvious, isn't it? Bah. I suppose I shall take "tolerable" over what these people" he gestured toward the rest of the party, "have to offer. I'm up." With these words, motioning for Thrik to follow him, he set forth in the wizards' wake, thinking that, whoever they might be, they would probably have a clearer idea of what was supposed to be done than the assembled monsters collectively.
...Or would he? Just as the top of his head emerged from behind the makeshift "shield", and the sight of the goblin, enveloped in a cloud of smoke, being held up by the orc's gigantic beast while being charged by the skeleton became open to him, he discovered with surprise that uncoiling himself was not as easy as he was accustomed to. In fact, he barely seemed able to move at all. Worse yet, his neck, already strained by the effort, was now being compelled by some preternatural force, evoked by someone screaming (for them?) to stop down the street, to twist in the opposite direction - all while being unable to straighten its original posture. The result was, to say the least, unpleasant. Not even the soothing tones of the enchanting voice assuaged it - in fact, Khri'zhatt was fairly irritated by what he perceived was adding insult to injury.
Hooded figures presently approached him and Thrik, releasing the mistreated elf's corpse from the claws of the umber hulk, who was too busy processing the fact he was surprised, or something similar enough, to resist, and leaving the two defenceless, with Khri'zhatt still trapped in his now outright painful position. Thankfully, the other monsters were likewise hampered in their movements, with the skeleton being oddly but safely contained in mid-air suspension. Then, all of a sudden, the spell was lifted, causing his tense muscles to instantaneously spring into concerted action, and thus his head to cartoonishly swivel to and fro before he recovered his bearings. Dizzy, with an aching neck and altogether far from pleased, Khri'zhatt heard the goblin addressing him in what did not appear to be altogether inimical tones.
"That's fairly obvious, isn't it? Bah. I suppose I shall take "tolerable" over what these people" he gestured toward the rest of the party, "have to offer. I'm up." With these words, motioning for Thrik to follow him, he set forth in the wizards' wake, thinking that, whoever they might be, they would probably have a clearer idea of what was supposed to be done than the assembled monsters collectively.
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