Oraculum

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Ay, there goes my not being a silly goose. In my defense, I could only get online on mobile lately, and, with how reliable editing from there is, I was afraid I'd make a mess of the spreadsheet.

Ruins of God -- Dark Age Character RP (Barbarian setting)

An Inquisition would be a tad anachronistic, given the setting's inspiration. Besides, those nosy friars are only good at their theological casuistry. The only real defences (or unmakings) of faith are blood and steel!

Ruins of God -- Dark Age Character RP (Barbarian setting)

Si quis foris provincia fugire timtaverit, morti incurrat periculum, et res eius infiscentur.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

Lest I end up being missed at the next roll call, here goes the usual three-week disappearance warning. Whichever way the choice may go (to me, this thread looks like it's still got much to give, for all my humble uninformed opinion might be worth), I'll always come back to a Divinus, in any size, shape and colour.

Dark Matters (Open)

Skyport Ussviset
Esevrenn City-Hive
Ske'sta'Rvastre

Although she had never seen any herself, Issrin knew that the skyports of major inner galactic planets were, for the most part, grandiose things, vast enough to allow hundreds of thousands of passengers to go in or out and inevitably wait some hours for their vessel to land. She had heard of the bustle, the noise and smells, the decorations, and could imagine them well enough if she thought of a capital bio-plant. Thus, despite lacking any experience by way of comparison, she knew she much preferred skyports as they were in the Nests, even disregarding the matter of human-sized passageways. Ussviset expressed her sentiment perfectly: despite being arguably one of the most important landing sites on no less than Ske'sta'Rvastre, the seat of the Assembly and every corporation whose name was a nest-hold word, it had a subdued, somewhat quaint - provincial, a human would have called it - air about itself. The entryway building was unassuming, much shorter than the average housing spire, and its chambers were a soft, pleasant hue of greenish-brown. It was past high noon, and the halls were almost empty, with only the occasional group of Zsresriir or single Scorpine idly crawling by. The scent was earthy, almost pristine.

Beyond the access structure, several paths branched off towards different parts of the site. Issrin followed the main connection to the landing pad area past the temporary storage silos, then split away from the thin stream of passers-by headed to the public departure terminals and took a turn into a narrower pathway winding deeper into the skyport. Despite her status, she had never travelled through an official-only access hive - her work, much less her life had never taken her offworld before, and even this last time the Assembly had barely bothered to reimburse her standard shipping tax. Now, she would see the restricted zone of not just any port, but of one on Ske'sta'Rvastre, and she could not help but feel curious. How did the core's elites treat themselves on their business journeys, she wondered?

It turned out that the core's elites either wanted to make a show of their frugality or outright lacked the budget to have something entirely presentable. The path that led to the hive did not feel worn and its lack of visible security was not to be trusted, but it certainly cut and wound through some odd places. The vegetation around it was overgrown, and once it passed not too far away from a sparsely fenced scrapyard, with what Issrin was certain were a pair of ferals digging through it. The access building was little better, being unassuming on the outside, though slightly more spacious than the entry halls within. The only marked improvement was in the smell, which was even fresher here, likely due to there being even less people about.

In fact, she only noticed one group standing in the further half of the central chamber. They were an odd assemblage – the four armed Zsresriir wearing light combat membranes were its least remarkable members. More remarkable was the large shape crouching in their midst. It was the first time Issrin saw a live Rekshai, and the impression was not a pleasant one. She could smell it from across the room, a faint, pungent blend of alien flesh, metal and chemical-ridden blood; undoubtedly, it could perceive her much better. Its bulk shifted somewhat, and she caught the gleam of a narrow, inexpressive eye. By a reflex she did not suppress, she snapped her mandibles and raised her carapace in a threatening stance. The Rekshai turned away with an air of disinterest. If they were taking it here without restraints, it must have been a mostly cooperative specimen, albeit the Zsresriir around it were conspicuously holding their pulse rifles at the ready.

The sixth figure in the group was squat, bulky and donning an oblong breather mask. As it gestured, engaged in conversation with one of the Zsresriir, the chitinous blades of the rear of its arms briefly flashed into view. One of those Lonoxi people. It was a wonder how so many of them managed to find their way here, though it seemed that most of them were clones. A suspicion stirred in Issrin’s mind. This motley could very well have been one of the things that held that way open. As far as she knew, the Repopulators organised this whole operation, and they could give their people passage via the restricted port zones, as well as being more selective about what went into their vats than who they hired to do their work.

With a distant sound of plodding footsteps, an armoured Ulthari appeared from one of the shadowed recesses in the back wall and beckoned to the creatures with a gesture. The group raised itself from its folded legs and shuffled, or in the Rekshai's case loped, into the awning corridor entrance. The chamber was left empty, save for Issrin, who idly followed the departing crew with her eyes until it disappeared into the unlit passage. The Lonoxi had still been gesturing all the way-

Schreetch.

She turned, rather swiftly for her bulk, in the direction the sound had come from. It had been the customary call for attention of the Rvasstran Zsresriir, but with some clear, almost crass metallic undertones and obviously artificial modulation. Indeed, it was a human shape in nondescript grey and black, likely some low-ranked uniform, that was walking towards her from one of the side ends, one hand raised in a reasonably good imitation of a greeting gesture. She responded in kind.

"You have been directed here by the Transstellar diplomatic service, yes?"

At least he - as it seemed from the artificial voice, which was set to a male timbre - was more polite than that Qiormu¹. Not that it was saying much, but it was a start. She motioned her assent. "Censor-Inspector Tesri Nth'issrin. Issrin." Her mandibles rapped against one another. "I wasn't told why I should be here."

"You weren't?" The human cocked his head aside in perplexity. "It's up to me, then. Ovrith Terech, Free Speaker-"

He was about to continue, but Issrin interrupted him as he was audibly inhaling. "Terech, like that Prophet from Volthanek?"

The Speaker nodded. "Like him. Better said, a clone offshoot of his. See-" he gestured as if to pull the subject back where he had left it, "- Issrin, call me Ovrith, please, we're about to leave the Vacuus. You do know the Assembly is sending regular officer support to the Neo-Scorpine." He recoiled slightly as the large Zsresriir stepped up to loom over him, impatient annoyance glistening in her eyes despite them being perfectly inexpressive. "We are attached to the expedition core as links to the Coalition. To ease relations, well, talks..." His mask's translator fell silent as his true voice died somewhere in his throat. Issrin had raised her forelimbs dangerously close to his head and chest, and by how their talons were twitching it seemed she was likely to vent her pent-up anger on the sorry sack of intestine and endoskeleton before her.

"I must leave Nest space?!" she almost screeched in a way that would have sent the dullest, hungriest of ferals scurrying off. "NOW?!" The sound was loud enough to draw the attention of whatever was lurking in one of the side corridors. A hideous, yet oddly sleek and, in its way, striking head of skin and chitin curiously edged its way out of the shadows. An asymmetrical arrangement of many-coloured eyes glanced at the scene as multiple parallel tooth-lined lateral jaws dripped and clicked below them. Issrin motioned that nothing was the matter, and the head disappeared.

"The worst idea they could have..." She began to his something in her native dialect, then checked herself and paced to the further wall and back, slightly spinning her arms at their joints as she went. Terech smoothed his uniform with practiced, yet nervous gestures. "Does that mean you decline?" he ventured at last.

"No." came a more even droning answer. "It's another way of pushing Cultors around, in the end. There better be a relay terminal somewhere here."

"Not far at all, just before the exit." The human seemed relieved, for all that could be discerned under his mask. "Your nest?"

"Not mine." Issrin made the sign of descendance. "I'm a drone, you could say." She was not certain whether that expression² was so well known here. Casting her eyes around, she swayed towards the opening where the strange head had emerged from. "There are many hybrids here?"

Terech shook his head. "That's a human, if you'll believe it, one of these unborn augmented. It should be a Speaker to Perseus. They ought' take better to one of theirs, by the plan."

"About that," Issrin snapped, "why does the Assembly need me with the Scorpines?"

"Not as anything too complex. The expedition scheme had it we'd have someone for ethnic representation..." His voice trailed off again as the Zsresriir unfolded her shell in a worse than foreboding manner. "I think we should go find that terminal," he managed to find the thread again, "it's almost time. Sky Commandant Uchinex, our core, I mentioned, might already be waiting. He's an admirable personality, really..."

Their voices trailed off as they walked into the central corridor, Terech occasionally lengthening his steps to keep pace with Issrin's broad strides. From the darkness, an asymmetrical web of eyes watched them disappear for lack of anything better to do.

Notes

1: In most Zsresriir languages, it is considered a form of politeness to emphasise the role and independence of one's interlocutor in grammatical constructions.

2: "Drones" are, in informal parlance, adult individuals living in their parent nest, as they have not founded their own.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

The Great Ring, 16 PR

The sun beat down brightly, mercilessly and, it seemed, mockingly in the empty dazzle of its rays. Although the day was as dry and luminous as the glare from above promised, it was also cold. Not the cold of a winter night, or the brutal gusts of a chilling wind, but that mild, uncomfortable coolness that did nothing but remind that this day did not belong in its season.

Once, it would have been said that it was an unusually cold day. But now, Ittekka grimly reflected, it made no sense to even try and think what was usual and what was not.

Ahead of them, the colossal beast was trampling a copse of blade-leafed trees. Some of them raised their shaggy heads almost as high as the top of the hill where her party was huddled amid the brush, yet the monster effortlessly ground them under its clawed feet. It was difficult to say which part of it was the most sickening - the many spider-legs ending in birdlike talons, the swollen body, long and drooping like some sort of hard-shelled caterpillar, or the great, cruel eyes. Everything in it seemed made to inspire disgust. If it was indeed Jahan that had birthed these brutes out of spite against the beauty of the world, as some of the elders thought, then his desecration had been a success.

Some also said that it was the horrors themselves that brought the cold, they or the Grey Blight that sent them. The summer heat had begun to wane soon after they first appeared, the tales told, and they crushed and devoured every sign of life and colour they met. Would it not be natural for such abominations to drain the vital warmth of the land, like the incarnations of primal evil they were?

Ittekka was not sure when exactly the cold had begun, but she was confident enough it was before the creatures of the Blight had passed north of Naudeng, or maybe even Gisab. Travelling urts told that the sun had lost its warmth as far as the upper edge of the Ring, where the grass met the dry plains, and there was no taint there, either. Besides, she found that this belief did more harm than it could have helped. The spawn of the grey foulness were fearsome enough on their own; she could see it down at the foot of the hill, and everyone had when they had breached the walls of Gisab and trampled the city into ruin. To ascribe godlike might to them was to needlessly poison one’s mind with dread just when all its cunning was needed.

In truth, though she would rather not think of it, that dread was mostly her own. Oddly, or perhaps appropriately, for the daughter of a bloodline of shamans, Ittekka had always feared the thought of a malicious god. She knew, of course, that not all gods were good. The lords of flame and river could be fickle and cruel. Jahan and the star-spirits were monstrous and perverse. Life-Deer knew only to follow its nature. Yet all of those could either be appeased, or banished by distance and the protection of their gentler brethren. The Blight, on the other hand, was blind, voiceless and savage, and it now stood almost on her doorstep, even as the gods of earth and sky had been silent for years. The idea of it being divine was unendurable.

“It’s almost here. It’ll climb up right away. Is this the time?”

The voice of one of the warriors broke her contemplation of the beast below, which had indeed crept dangerously close in those deceptively brief moments. A few more minutes, and it would be on top of them. No one liked to remember what that meant.

Ittekka dipped her beak in a nod, and the half-dozen following her lead scattered, vanishing into the undergrowth in different directions. She barely knew any of them, having first met them but a few days before in the small town she had passed on her way from the city, but now that she was alone it struck her how much anyone’s company would have been a relief in the face of the colossus. There was, it was true, the earth spirit she had coaxed into following her there, but its indifference to her fate could almost be felt in the stillness of the ground under her feet.

No more time to think of that now. The last trees were toppling and collapsing upon each other, the unearthly shape of the creature’s head looming over them.

It stopped. She could not see its mouth opening, but the writhing ends of its tongues were grasping at something in the air. It could smell them, they knew - indeed, they were counting on it.

With an ease astounding for something so great and cumberous, the monster thrust one of its limbs into the hillside brush, then a second, then a third. The bulk of its body followed in a smooth motion, lowering itself closer to the ground as it did. More tongues sprouted from its head, tearing armfuls of drooping grass and shrubs and disappearing into the unseen maw, only to emerge again in a blink.

Closer. The bait had no chance of eluding it on their own - not even an expert hunter could have hid from that path of destruction. Nor did she, if she did not act quickly.

Esoteric though the words of the prayer might have been, Ittekka had been forced to learn to recite them almost without thinking, and they came to her mouth as a reflex after the first syllables. She still did not know what every part of it meant. It was a supplication, she understood that much, and it began with praise of the spirit’s power and wisdom, but the speech of the gods became too dry and intricate beyond that familiar point, and her attention was drawn entirely by the sounds at the expense of their meaning.

For all that was worth, the spirit understood. She felt the soil tremble slightly below her, and saw the shrubs waver as a disturbance coursed below their roots towards the grey bulk. It subsided as it drew closer to the beast, which was obliviously tearing through the grass. Closer-

The earth heaved up beneath one of the creature’s limbs. Rock spikes erupted around it, sending dark sludge spraying from gashes in its shell as its claws sank into the suddenly yielding ground. The thing cried out, a deep, rumbling sound that shook Ittekka’s stomach inside her shell, and raked the ground with its intact paws.

The earth spat out the mangled stump and heaved again, this time lower down the cline of the hill. The surge was not as powerful as the first, but its effect no less dramatic: caught with three of its legs raised, the creature staggered, its massive body thrown off balance by the quake. For a moment, it seemed that it might topple over and crash into the debris it had left of the grove. But then, in another display of unexpected agility, it swung a limb backwards to hold itself up, digging into the side of the hill with the others as it sought to seize and unearth the spirit. By how terrible its cries were, Ittekka thought it must have been fully capable of that.

However, the earthen one had been expecting this, and was already moving away, conspicuously shaking the ground in its wake. Too conspicuously, in fact, but, even if the beast could understand that, it did not seem to care. Swerving from where it stood, it trudged down in pursuit. Just the way it should.

Then she saw it, a small figure moving ahead of the spirit’s tremors. The warrior who had been the bait for the ambush had run far, but, it was clear now, not far enough. The beast’s steps were slow and limping, but long. It was gaining ground.

Ittekka knew, despite herself, that there was little hope for the hain, but the speed of what came next shook her stronger than the monster’s bellowing. The grey tongues darted out, longer than a tree was tall, grasped limbs and snapped them to pieces, vanished in a single motion. Through the few instants it took, the creature had not even missed a step.

When she shook herself for her daze, it was already far, though still perfectly visible in its monstrous size. She hoped, as she hurried down the trail of crushed vegetation, that the rest of the band had better presence of mind. As warriors, they might have been more used to brutality than her, though she doubted it. When people and beasts fought, they did so to kill quickly. This was more like an execution. She had heard that the people of some cities in the west, who had tamed great horned cattle, put the most heinous of their lawbreakers to death by tying those animals to their limbs and having them pull their bodies apart. It must have been a similar sight, yet certainly less gruesome. The foul giants were, after all, the most cruel even among the horrors of the Blight. This was why they could not be caught by any lure short of hain or human; they wanted to spill the blood of something that understood and feared their intent.

It was one of the absurdities of that evil that the most vicious of its spawn should also be the easiest to mislead. The behemoths had awoken the Ring to the dangers of the Blight when they razed Gisab two years before, but scarce a town had fallen to them since. Indeed, here she was, a decade after her second hatching, with but a dozen warriors - or so they had been - and barely able to speak with one spirit at once. The monsters were cunning, yes, and the same trick never worked on them twice, but they did not work as a pack like the grey maulers. They were always alone, and, while one of them could crush any warband, it meant there was only one head to fool, and it was, in the end, the head of a beast.

Ittekka dove into the undergrowth again, crouching for a minute’s rest. The creature had been thrown off its course toward Klegesi, but it could turn back any moment if they did not keep it busy. The rest of the party was preparing another ambush further ahead, and the spirit would need her advice again. Soon, before their quarry regained its bearings. They would not risk another trap like the first one, but she remembered some longer words of adulation in the tongue of the gods. Perhaps she could coax the earthen one into a bolder attack on even ground.

Every blow she could strike against the Grey Blight mattered.

***

There was evenness. At last. However minor, the new shape of the world brought relief.

Not complete. It knew that, outside the reach of its senses, the world still lived, and this knowledge was a subdued torment. Below, under the dust, the earth remained dense and compact. Animate motes crept through it.

Stretch devouring hands into the deep.

But that would take more time, and, for once, Osveril was impatient. Its cycles revolved sluggishly, almost imperceptibly. They were not quite still, but their grating was only slight. The hollowborn, feeling this restless quiet, hung immobile over the boundless wasteland around their master, like so many inanimate gashes in the fabric of the universe. Not a breath of wind could reach through their hungry web. All was silent.

The Hollow stretched its invisible, formless limbs, sifting through what matter remained around it one last time. Sharp immaterial fingers combed through fundamental laws and dimensions, twitching whenever they met an unclean tangle and doing their best to cut or smooth it away. Some yielded, and space warped subtly around it, quivering and rippling inwards. Others, the deeper and older ones that dwelt in all things, resisted. Little matter. It had done what it could.

Even with those fundamental layers still unscathed, it could feel the resonance that had led it there. The misshapen laws of being were like infinitely thick walls. When it scraped at them, the sound was dull. But not everywhere. In rare spots, it could hear that there were empty spaces behind them. And in some of these spots, something scraped back without sound on the other side. Familiar echoes.

Return.

Osveril knew it could not yet. Its body was itself, for the most part, and could not be left behind. But there was a chance it could see. Search for a new, unbroken recess in nothing. Remember for a timeless moment what it meant not to exist. The desire for this was almost as strong as the unremitting hunger for Purity. They fused together, became the same.

It will satisfy the Hunger was the voice of the yearning for I will see Purity as you knew it, and my discerning of it will be restored.

I must sense the Gap that is not hollow it said for it will be the un-force that balances matter when I will build the new world. Touch it, take it, transplant it.

Thus, the Absolute had sought a place where the scraping on the other side was loudest. Its creeping spawn had cleansed it of obstructing forms. The children of the void had deadened the interfering sounds of the world. Its own power had peeled away the skin of the wall, and now the noise behind it was almost audible. The barriers that still stood were strong, but it was certain it could reach past them, and it was never mistaken.

Return.

Osveril thrust Transgenesis into the dust before its feet and left it standing, the pulses of the staff’s inner light slowing to almost match the revolutions inside its form. Its raised its hands with an abrupt motion, and even more abruptly thrust them into the gaps of two nearby hollowborn. The living rifts writhed and crumpled, but did not collapse as they did when touched by matter. Instead, after an instant of wavering, they grew. Grew to split the air in the shape of the outstretched fingers, grew to engulf and merge with their closest brethren, grew to surround the grey body. No eyes saw the intricacies of their still motions, but that was not a loss. Had there been any, they could not have followed the weaving and swelling, because the outlines of everything and the nothings that was there were bending in strange ways.

Osveril drew together those parts of it that could reach outside its body and pushed them into the tips of its fingers. The amalgamation leaked out by the same ways it had once carved to enter the shell, first merely dripping, then flowing, then bursting. It emerged into the un-bodies of the hollowborn, which were by then a single one, gathered itself and dove inwards. Into the hollow, into the Hollow, into itself.

Past itself.

It sensed the wall now. Many walls. They were a maze with no entrance.

It slid along their surfaces, probed their recesses, pushed their cracks. At last, it found a corner that seemed more yielding.

Ill-made. Ill-begotten. They must all be unmade eventually.

Osveril gnawed at the corner, tore it with purging claws, beat upon it with a force it had never felt from that side. The walls shuddered, warped, tilted apart, revealing a narrow crack. Too narrow, in fact - nothing could have passed through it. It was enough.

The Void flowed through. Into life.

A life it had never known.

This is not the origin. Around it, if around there was, the true Other spun, swirled, grew, changed. It had thought that the shapes of the world were sickeningly many, but it saw now that their multitude paled before this. There were not more of them - perhaps fewer, in fact - but they were nested, scattered, separate yet unified in a manner that confused its senses. Here was the scraping it had heard, a deafening, jarring screech. At least, there was nothing that gave them substance.

As the world is an excess of matter, so the Gap is an excess of form.

Not entirely accurate, but enough for Osveril’s purposes. If it could but merge them as they should be, these two faces would negate each other in their greatest flaws. It had been wrong then; the Gap was not between, and did not need to be filled. The Hollow would be nothing, and It would take the place of the walls. The Gap would fill It instead.

Then, It would be Purity, and the pure world would be inside It.

This will be, but it was not now. Now, the Other lived, and it sensed the intrusion. Inward-bent teeth blossomed around the demigod’s empty shadow, ready and able to tear it into measureless shreds. Coiling forms surrounded it, loosening their folds to pierce and cut it. Shapeless gaps within the Gap opened in cold patterns to drink and devour. Imperfectly.

The shadow breathed its grey rot into them, and they did not shrivel.

No blight. There would be nothing.

Emptiness cracked and splintered, and the splinters grew into blades. My hunger is greater. The cracks bled out smooth, cutting tendrils. Slicing, scraping, constricting, crushing. I came to sate it. The mass of nonexistent limbs spread out and bit into its prey. Minuscule fragments burst to all sides, in both directions.

The feeling was unlike the world, but its echo was familiar.

Familiar?

Osveril inverted itself, hurling outwards its internal void. It could find nothing in the Other akin to what was in the cosmos, besides perhaps that both had different forms. Except for one thing.

It was one of the fundamental lumps it could not remove. So ubiquitous that the Absolute had disregarded it as one of the of the universe’s many dimensions, but this could not be true. There were no dimensions in the Gap, yet here it was. The void appendages tore it from the Other, stretched it out, ran along its surface. Even here, they could not unmake it. It was clear now that this was no dimension, but a trace, like the imprint of law it had felt on the bones of the world. This one was in all, and nothing.

The Hollow shade was about to draw out more of it, but a ripple in the twisting lifescape around it gave it pause. Some-no-thing was approaching. Even in this abyss without dimensions, it could feel that it was immense. So great, it seemed, that a universe that had measures of space could not have contained it. And it was dangerous. Its menace, vague but quite sharp and physical, preceded it like a razor angle, or perhaps it was a part of its body. Osveril doubted it could have bitten into the behemoth deep enough to know for certain.

So, it fled.

Its claws and scything arms gathered together and converged on a single point. The Other-mass that covered it was pierced and swept away, but it was not content. It delved further, gouging the insubstantial fluid it found itself floating in, and further yet than that. A spark, then a fissure, then nothing at all. It sank in.

There was void.

This was not the origin, as all things should have been, when time came. Now, it was no more.

The un-thing that had been Osveril, that still was Osveril somewhere where there was space, let itself be dissolved in the absence. It knew nothing. It did not feel.

Did not feel.

Except for one thing.

?

The trace. There was nothing, yet there was that trace. Nowhere for it to be. No way for anything to be. Osveril perceived it worse than in the Gap, as there was nothing it could feel through, but it was certain it was the same one.

It could bask no more in nothingness, now that it knew there actually was something there, but it had learned enough. In a fluid, supernal effort, it tore itself away from absence and crawled up. Up from the fissure, up through the permutations of the Gap, up through the crack in the wall. Up from the collapsing web of the hollowborn.

The Hollow Absolute was itself again.

The rift folded and swallowed its edges, having served its purpose. Then, unexpectedly, it burst outward again, blossoming with amorphous limbs and dripping, grasping branches. Grey soil liquefied and dripped up into the sky. The air lit up with sightless colours, bleeding into one another as hollowborn scattered in alarm. Coiling lines rose up from the ground, matching the horizon - before it disappeared - in their path into the Gap. Perhaps it was the other way around.

Osveril seized its staff and thrust it into the howling, irregularly pulsing midst of the eruption. The ends of the misshapen stretching holes writhed and crumpled, then the arms themselves, then the sky. Other, truly empty tears crisscrossed the gaping mouth. It spat cold, sizzling blood, drew in a breath of dust and vanished. The colours faded. The horizon was there again.

Not yet.

It cast out its still quiescent senses, sifting through every grain of dust, every disembodied hollowborn, every fragment of clear air. Everywhere, there was that mark of a preternatural touch.

The first measure of Purity is tainted.

Or was it?

It may be integral to the Void.

I will know.

Big game hunting

The first part of the post opens some ten-eleven years after we last saw Osveril and his new surroundings. Since then, the grey creatures have become quite a nuisance, which has been acknowledged by most people in a sizeable part of the region after some of them destroyed one of the relatively smaller walled cities. Now, people are struggling to keep the infestation at a safe distance from their homes.

Ittekka, a young and not yet fully trained shaman (that someone more experienced couldn’t be spared is a sign that things aren’t going very well), leads a small warband along with a lesser stonedjinni in an expedition to lure one of the larger beasts off its course. While none of the colossal monsters have yet reached adulthood, they’re much too dangerous to fight directly, and misdirecting them is the best that can be done when they get dangerously close to a city. Ittekka’s memories give a glimpse into the religious practices of the Ring. Aside from the worship of great djinni lords, implied by the presence of shamans, as personifications of the forces of nature, many revere Slough in a vaguely similar, but more important role, while entities like Jvan (here compounded to Jahan) and the Realta are dimly feared as hostile, but distant deities. The disappearance of most powerful elementals, many of whom apparently haven’t returned from the battle against Thermaron, and the steady climate changes that followed have been a sore blow. Osveril’s presence only makes everything worse, and, though no one knows about him yet, many suspect that a new, much closer malevolent god may be at work. Ittekka, understandably afraid of evil gods in general, doesn’t like this idea one bit.

Fortunately, things go mostly well for her band. Despite one of their number being eaten, they manage, with the elemental’s help, to wound the beast and draw it far enough for it to be mostly harmless a while. The environment continues to suffer.

The second section rejoins Osveril himself. After reducing enough ground to a grey waste, the Hollow can concentrate enough to detect a strong Gap presence in one desolate spot. By sacrificing some hollowborn, who have also multiplied alarmingly in the meantime, he projects a part of himself into their void and slips past the barriers separating the Other from the world. Taking stock of what is on the other side for the first time in his life proper, he recalls his original desire to consume universe and Gap alike and decides that this is the best way to create a purified cosmos.

For now, however, all he can eat is some of the local non-Euclidean wildlife, which tastes oddly familiar. By dissecting some Other flesh Osveril discovers that it contains traces of a divine essence he had found in the material world, where it was so common he assumed it was some sort of universal constant. Before he can study it any further, he is reminded that he is not at the tip of the fractal food chain, and escapes by carving himself a den of complete emptiness. The pleasant non-feeling of homecoming is interrupted when there, too, he finds the mysterious essence. Baffled, Osveril pulls himself out of the Gap, and, after cleaning up the unreality fallout and making sure that the divine trail is indeed everywhere, resolves to investigate the matter further.

No Might spent.

Mid/High Casual - Divinus: The Deity Roleplay Mk.II

I've been tinkering at a post now and again lately. Schedule reliability may vary, but I should have something ready this week.

Dark Matters (Open)

Excor-Tek Headquarters
Esevrenn City-Hive
Ske'sta'Rvastre

To anyone in the Vacuus, the name of Excor-Tek would not have brought to mind associations with any particular aesthetic, much less a given people. It was the epitome of the cosmopolitan, shiftingly multifarious corporate body, almost unrivalled in magnitude and reach in the stellar region. Indeed, Issrin could barely think of a handful of non-national groups that could plausibly have been competitors in its league - Istri'ar, Uglath, maybe KhuurTseri (full of Qiormu, too) - and such a size inevitably brought with itself equally great variety, like a gas cloud becoming less dense the more it spreads. Thus it was on every world Excor-Tek had a foothold on, which was all of them: their bases were of that brand of standardised anarchy which dominated Confederate public spaces taken to an extreme, with skewed floors, smooth motion ramps between levels, large, broad passages, generic podiums for members and visitors alike and a mingling of shapes and smells it was hard to describe to someone who had never been there. By all reason, the physical apex of that behemoth, the headquarters on S's'Rvastre, should have been the fullest expression of that spirit.

And yet, what Issrin found on the highest floors - the most important ones were the highest, she had noted, despite the company's Ulthari-like name - bore no trace of that condensed diversity. Doors and surfaces were stark, smooth and a of white-grey colour which slightly irked the eyes, and the ramps had asymmetrical dents suited for Zsresriir-like steps. The blankness of those rooms and corridors, far from cosmopolitan, clearly spoke of Atnar Vistan Qiormu tastes. And, by the looks of it, it was mostly Qiormu in high-end custom forms that prowled about them, barely sparing Issrin a glance from their dull, immobile eyes, and that crouched behind the membranes in the walls, judging by the name of the one she had come to meet.

It still surprised her that, in all the Nests, she had been recalled for this task. It was difficult to believe that things in the core were so bad that a bio-culture plant inspector was the Assembly's best choice for negotiating with one of the Directors of Excor-Tek. Granted, she was technically one of the Pacifiers, who had swallowed the diplomatic services a few cycles ago, and, as far as she was concerned, anything beat shoving those infuriatingly placid fat slugs around, but it was difficult to believe that those paramilitary actions she had been briefed on had truly gobbled up every competent agent on the planet. Well, there was no more time to wonder at this now - the portal to the last locule in the gallery was already open. Director UtkalDar awaited.

The Qiormu superior's room was a perfect continuation of the corridor outside. The only trace of colour other than the ubiquitous white-grey was the metallic body crouching in its center, whose carapace was an earthy red as per the prevalent Atnar Vistan custom. There was virtually no furnishing, save for two uncomfortable-looking split podiums, one for the Director, another for its visitors, and a set of variously angled small lecterns between them which would have been impractical for anyone with less than four forelimbs.

As soon as Issrin stepped into the chamber, her foremost eyes focused on UtkalDar's dim, inorganic visors. The Qiormu had eschewed any attempt at realistically imitating a natural Zsresriir body: besides the disproportionally long upper arms and almost atrophied lower ones, oddly reminiscent of a typical war-form, the shape of the head was distinctly off, with vestigial mandibles and three abnormally large pale circles instead of eyes. Although these circles were entirely featureless, she knew that at least one of them was following her now, however those circuits behind them might have worked. It was no sooner than she had approached the podium on her side of the lecterns that one of the shrunken mid-limbs motioned for her to squat upon it. The surfaces were just as painfully small and slippery as they had seemed, and Issrin struggled not to topple down from them with all her bulk, awkwardly curling her clutches around the smooth edge.

"The Assembly wants our support." The Director's mandibles did not twitch to match the otherwise flawless, though overtly metallic vocalisation. And they sent you to do their business, Issrin mentally concluded its statement. Her split back shell rose up in reflexive irritation, which the Qiormu obviously gave no sign of noticing.

"Not only your support. We ask for your participation." She had no idea what the Excor-Tek representatives at the Assembly had been told, but she knew her own part well enough.

"The Assembly would not be satisfied by support." A tinge of inflexion finally appeared in UtkalDar's tones. It was almost a question. "Any meaningful contribution to the recruitment network alone would have to be a large expense. The weapon supply scheme would drain our stores. The Directors are not eager to commit to all this on faith alone, and you want more."

"Your involvement would not need to be more than logistical assistance. The Assembly is not offering an expense, but an investment, and we have more than faith to show. Our analysis shows that -" she caught herself beginning to tap on one of the lecterns with her claws, and slowly lowered her forearm "- your market expansion has already suffered from the conflict."

She paused, all but motioning for UtkalDar to confirm it. The Qiormu made an acquiescent gesture with the same faux-vestigial arm.

"Ending it, or at least pushing the front back, would not only reopen the local states," she continued, "but immediately give you a place in the Empire. And Mars and its allies. Public opinion would be favourable. You know the advantages." Issrin stopped again, for a shorter time. The Director made no sign of wanting to reply, so she continued, perhaps a little too soon. "Your access to foreign space would make you a better link for rim companies. With this leverage, you could have privileged contact with Vostork."

"The Assembly wants us to do its diplomatic legwork." It was by now clear to her why UtkalDar preferred a mechanical form. The intimidation of ambiguity was one reason - even though physically smaller, the Director had the advantage now - but, more than that, it must have been a matter of economy. Whatever it might have been, UtkalDar was certainly not a deviant by Qiormu standards.

"In addition," Issrin quietly swayed her tense lower arms, as if almost about to strike those odious blank eyes, but subdued the motion and let the Director's remark slide, "We offer an immediate return investment." She was about to make an inviting pause again, but, thinking of UtkalDar's remark, decided against it. The worm was a little too good at taking opportunities. "A selection of mercenary units, free of taxation, for the Assembly's uses. Some Tkarixxi."

As could be expected, there was no noticeable change in the Director's countenance. Nor was there any delay before its answer, though it must have been calculating a series of more or less optimistic estimates based on contextual data. "You have detailed information."

Issrin gestured affirmatively and produced a sleek storage spine from her side-sac. UtkalDar took it with a flawlessly smooth motion - she did not even feel the weight of its talons pulling away the item - and stabbed it into a small fissure in its steel carapace. "Provisional. Satisfactory in that function." The body's eyes seemed to grow even dimmer for a moment, though that might have been an impression. "The Assembly's projections have been factored. The Directors will consider its proposals."

Issrin rose, knowing this was all she would get from the Qiormu. From what she could see, Excor-Tek accepting the entirety of the Assembly's conditions, and perhaps remaining open to further negotiation, was, if not a certainty, very likely at the least. Yet something else remained unclear. Nothing she had said to the Director could not have been relayed remotely, even without a direct communication. Even the information of the spine was nothing so sensitive it could not risk a virtual transfer. And yet, the Assembly, despite obviously being short on people, had decided to send someone in person. Unless there was, somewhere along the administrative line, an improbable knot of laziness and incredibly bad terminal interfaces, she could think of no better explanation than someone high above was scraping together everything there was left for some greater purpose. Times being what they were, this did not seem unlikely.

All things considered, she had done well to tell her nest she might be offworld for a while.

This place has autosave

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Dark Matters (Open)

Confederate Free Nests

The Confederate Free Nests

Brief Description: The Confederate Free Nests are a collection of largely non-human populations dwelling in the Outer Arm Vacuus, sparsely banded together under a lax, mostly democratic governance. While mostly descended from exiles and refugees who fled the Zuukid wars, their numbers include aggregated and absorbed local dominions, as well as the occasional group “liberated” and extradited from chaotic regions of the galaxy. The relative extension and demographic scarcity of the CFN have led to cloning being widely adopted as a solution to the general lack of xenopower, and a sizeable part of its citizens (and not) are to date vat-grown.

Claim:

Government: Although the Free Nests technically operate under the direction of a national government, the latter’s impact on the day-to-day life and business of most of their inhabitants is minor. The great majority of non-core worlds are administered by local authorities, which, being appointed by the often ethnically and culturally diverse citizenry in accordance with its own customs and traditions, tend to vary greatly in both scale and form. Thus, one may often find such things as a continent-spanning hierarchical theocracy under the rule of an Ulthari High Skotarch flanked by a collection of regional Zsresriir corporate holdings on a planet orbited by Scorpine tribal habitats. The relative abundance of territory relatively to the exiguity of the Nests’ overall population allows those micro-states to coexist without conflict, the coveted territories of a core world can occasionally become the prize of subtle political confrontations.

Overlooking this largely even conglomeration is the Transstellar Assembly, a sprawling parliamentary body comprised of representatives from (ideally) all formant sub-governments, as well as what amount to officially recognised lobby groups of major corporate entities based in Nest space. The Assembly’s functions include deliberating on and sanctioning policies of nation-spanning effect, maintaining the central codex of laws that regulates the activity of the sub-governments, and acting as direction and point of reference in foreign policy. Effective executive power is detained by distinct bodies subordinate to the Assembly. Those include the Pacifiers, which have gradually assimilated, in the interest of efficiency, organisations such as the CFN military, peacekeeping organs, corporate mercenary syndicates and intelligence gatherers; and the Repopulators, a more vaguely defined, but possibly also more far-reaching entity responsible for the supervision and at times direction of large-scale applications of the almost ubiquitous cloning technologies.

History: The ancestors of what would become the core of the Confederate Free Nests, non-humans of the Perseus Arm, have for the most part a history of grievances with the Orionic Empire. Many of the early Zsresriir interplanetary states, whose irrationally furious defense of their independence was virtually encoded in their genetic memory, famously refused to submit to imperial rule even when threatened with forceful invasion by their superior foe. Reasoning that it was more practical to appease the uncooperative aliens than waste time and resources in subjugating them, the young Empire offered them the nominal status of tributaries, which they were forced to accept in the face of threats of trade embargoes and isolation. While this position officially guaranteed their continued freedom, in practice the Zsresriir eventually found themselves under tacit Orionic control, and, due to their unruly nature, were quietly marginalised and pushed towards the outer fringes of the galaxy.

The second majority species of the CFN, the Ulthari, fared little better. Already not very widespread due to their stringent environmental preferences, the Yre-Kelthan faith that many of them professed became fairly popular among some of the populations they had come in contact with (the Zsresriir among them). This lead to an unfortunate perception by some of the more devout imperial officials that they intended to wholly supplant Kineticism as part of a subversive ploy, and an equally unfortunate generalisation that every Ulthari was a Yre-Kelthan. As a result, practically the entire species was considered suspect, and attempts at further expansion on its part were curtailed.

Harsh though the conditions of these aliens, and various others besides, might have been under Orionic rule, their positions were at least stable. This changed with the Zuukid coreward crusade and the ensuing wake of destruction that swept over the galaxy. While few actual invaders reached the outwards regions they inhabited, that space was soon overrun by raiders, rebelling subjects and would-be usurpers. The Perseus Arm vassals, many of whom had been wiped out in the first years on the collapse, chose not to try their chances any further, and fled in mass on a flotilla of captured or repurposed ships and hastily built evacuation arks. Their destination was the southern void of the Outer Arm, a zone known to be forsaken, forgotten and virtually empty save for a handful of exiles.

With much of the Orionic interstellar infrastructure having collapsed, and their goal never having had any to begin with, the journey was long, and further whittled down the numbers of the fugitives. When they finally left the old edges of the Empire behind, they found that their promised space was infested by renegade Scorpine warlords and other assorted outlaws. Though exhausted, the self-exiled motley were hardened by the perils of their way, and their enemies were disorganised and largely occupied in warring among themselves. Having beaten back some of the locals and struck truces with others, they began to settle the Vacuus in a somewhat sparse fashion, thus laying the foundations of what would in time become the CFN.

Centuries later, the Nests had not lost their initial unity - in fact, it had even grown, such as it was - and spread to cover an area of space rivalling the territories of more solid governances, but they remained a nation in the building. Their numbers had still not recouped from the disastrous events of the collapse, and even the assimilation of some Vacuus dwellers and the ample introduction of cloning, expected by many to be a miraculous solution to their problems, did not suffice to fully consolidate their new position. Thus, though they might have found a home, the peoples of the Nests continue to seek for more.

Military: With the Nests’ population being numerically far from impressive, their founders deemed further depleting it through drafts either in war- or peacetime to be inadvisable. Thus, the Pacifiers serving as the Assembly’s strong limb were born and grew as a professional force, with largely voluntary admission save for its clone troops - although cases exist where one is given little choice in enrolling, such as being constrained by debts. Service is, however, rather lengthy, and even at its end the able-bodied are considered as remaining in reserve and may be recalled at the high command’s discretion.

Planetary Forces

Infantry

Vat-Swarm Infantry



Hybrid clone soldiers molded on the base of the feral Zsresriir genetic template form the backbone of the Nests’ ground armies. They are typically organised in groups of six to eight, individually directed by sub-officers nicknamed “queens” or “mothers”. While physically strong and capable with their burst energy rifles, these troops are highly dependent on their leaders to operate efficiently, and are easily disoriented if left without directions.

Confederate Pacifier Unit







While unintelligent clones are the bulk of the CFN planetary forces, the latter’s true strength lies in these specialist units. Cognizant members of the Pacifiers are organised and trained depending on their background’s traditional military customs, which they usually perform best in. Depending on the situation’s needs, they are then either assembled in uniform groups for greater efficiency, or mixed ones to increase versatility. Thus, one may easily find Ulthari electro-troopers fighting alongside Scorpine railgunners, among others. Pictured above are Zsresriir commandos and various Qiormu war-forms.

Vat-Breacher Heavy Infantry



For the most part, even hybrid clones can be visually traced back to their component species. This is not the case for vat-breachers, hulking monstrosities standing as high as some nations’ mechanical combat suits, and with muscular strength to match. These brutes wield heavy railguns capable of piercing moderate armour, and equipped with bayonet-like incandescent buzzsaws that make them fearsome at close range. However, the very size that gives them their advantage also makes the vault-breachers visible targets.

Skorr Guard



In the days of the old Zsresriir stellar nations, the Skorr Guard earned a legendary reputation in the skirmishes with the nascent Orionic Empire. This body of veteran soldiers distinguished itself for its ruthless efficiency on the battlefield, and the greatest fault most could find with it was its excess of zeal in pursuing and eliminating enemies, combatant or not. Throughout the centuries, its name never truly died, flaring up again during the collapse when its members strenuously led the defense against the waves of marauders that washed over the Perseus Arm, and later when they shattered the bulk of the opposition the Confederate fugitives met in the Vacuus. To this day, Skorr Guards epitomise the elite of the Nests’ ground forces, being experienced and well-armed to a xeno, and their mere presence on the battlefield is often enough to rouse the spirits of the most battered of troops.

Armour

Despoiler War-Leaper



A small, light vehicle, intended primarily for scouting and skirmishing purposes. Though not very effective in a direct confrontation, War-Leapers are good raiders and harassers, their agility and long striking range allowing them to mount rapid assaults on vulnerable targets and withdraw before reinforcements arrive.

Pestilent War-Skulker



The slower, stealthier relative of the War-Leaper, this crawler is built to operate in exceedingly difficult terrain, such as bogs and forests. While nowhere as fast as its counterpart, it has far greater mimetic capabilities, making it ideal for traps and ambushes in strategic spots.

Savage War-Shredder



The closest the Nests have to a mainline battle tank, the War-Shredder is a robust, versatile machine, capable of contending with enemy armour and infantry alike thanks to its diverse armaments. Its main disadvantage is its relatively slow movement speed, which it sacrifices in favour of better terrain viability.

Ululant War-Breaker



A tank and artillery platform in one body, the War-Breaker is the Nests’ response to both atmospheric support and large armoured engines. Its dorsal energy cannon can strike at impressive ranges with precision, and its heavy base makes it a difficult foe to engage frontally. These strengths come at the expense of mobility, which, however, ought to be offset under the lead of a capable commander.

Steel Hunter Armatures

Due to the abundance of mechanical battle-suits on the galactic battlegrounds, the Pacifiers have for once deviated from their formula of emphasising versatility above all and devised a specialised weapon to confront this sort of adversaries. Steel Hunters are designed to engage enemy suits at close range, shredding their armour in such a fashion as to leave it in salvageable condition - metal is, after all, a good an interstellar nation is always in need of.

Sanguinary Gash-Claw



Fairly small in comparison to most battlesuits, the Gash-Claw is a nightmarish sight to face up close, being capable of striking with any of its sharpened limbs at dizzying speed or ramming unstable armours with its considerable weight. Variant models exist, either providing it with supplementary limbs to engage larger foes, or giving it a form considered easier for the acclimatisation of Scorpine pilots, complete with a dorsal weapon suited for targeted strikes against vulnerable cockpits.

Cruel Steel Bonebreaker



A more direct analogue to the bipedal suits seen elsewhere in the galaxy, the Bonebreaker is designed to grapple with that sort of enemies, incapacitating them and damaging their weapons while carving through their plating to expose the pilots. As such, it is faster and more agile than most such machines, but lacks any meaningful long-range striking ability.

Irregular Special Forces

Tkarixxi



While the mercenary market of the Nests is a thriving one in these times of strife, few in it can compete with the Tkarixxi. Less of a coherent organisation than a loose trade union, informal association, or, in some views, even a subculture, these fearsome combatants are found in the employ of various corporations, who are entitled to a share of the mercenaries' hefty fees in exchange for marketing their skills to clients. Having little to unify them, Tkarixxi are extremely varied in their equipment, but all possess extensive cybernetic and biological augmentations and high-quality personal stealth devices. Preferring subtlety and silence over the brutal onslaught tactics of Pacifier elite forces, they operate alone or in small groups, but are no less deadly for it.

Flux Reavers



An enigma to even the most experienced inhabitants of the Vacuus, the Flux Reavers are technically not affiliated with the CFN, though they are often employed by the latter and some suspect them of being the product of a secret Repopulator project. What is known is that all their members encountered to date are outwardly identical, suggesting they might be single-matrix hybrid clones, and wield technology of an unknown sort. While not ostensibly superior to what is used by the Nests, their equipment makes use of electromagnetic fields and charged plasma in unusual ways, most visibly manifested in their distinctive implosive blast charges and so-called "vortex lances". While reluctant to share their designs, the Reavers have proven to be a reliable mercenary force of close-quarters specialists, famous for always being "as many as they need to be".

Aberrant



Unlike dubious cases such as the Flux Reavers, these strange and often horrifying amalgams of metal and organic matter are well-known to have issued from secret Repopulator bio-plants. Many Aberrant appear to be rejected experiments, possibly failures of a rumoured project supposedly aiming to create hybrid beings with universally superior physical and mental attributes; others, however, are so bizarre that they could not conceivably be related to such a goal. Their original purpose notwithstanding, these creatures usually serve as enforcers and security detail for their creators, and known individuals, whether feral or possessed of an intellect, have time and again proved to be lethally efficient in those functions.

Apex Hybrids



If the Aberrant are indeed failed prototypes, the Apex Hybrids can only be at least partial successes in those same endeavours. Similarly chimeric in nature, but far more streamlined, the rare few of them that have been recorded in action displayed incredible abilities, albeit it remains unclear how much of their performance was owing to non-inbuilt equipment. Despite this, Apex Hybrids are an extremely uncommon sight, either being deployed sparingly by the Repopulators or holding positions of authority within the organisation themselves.

Spaceborne Forces

The CFN fleets, not unlike their planetary counterparts, are built for versatility, in this case translating to improved mobility and hybrid fighter designs. The tactics they adopt tend to emphasise these aspects, relying on targeting vulnerable segments of an enemy force to disrupt its formation with minimal losses to their own numbers.

Ve’rssesk Screamer



The baseline CFN superiority fighter, the Screamer can operate both within and without an atmosphere, often proving equally deadly in both cases. Though boasting solid armour and good manoeuvrability, it is, ironically, not as fast as various of its foreign equivalents, and must often rely on the range of its armaments to close early gaps.

Ve’sstral Howler



A general-purpose bomber, the Howler is most often seen supporting troops planetside, but can, if the situation requires, assault large ships in droves. Being fairly large for a fighter craft, it can deal impressive damage while not remaining entirely defenseless against interceptors, but can easily become an inviting target for enemy defense systems.

Ve’insir Skynest



A lightly armed, but well-armoured hybrid craft, the Skynest serves as the Pacifiers’ dropship, a role which it has been observed to perform admirably even in more perilous zones. Being comparatively ill-suited for overt combat, Skynests are usually accompanied by Screamer wings, which tend to scatter as the transport is about to land in order to conceal its exact deployment spot if necessary.

Vsar’isske Tremor



Straddling the line between heavy fighter and small corvette, the Tremor can fill either of these functions as the situation requires, all while being equally capable of doubling as a gunship in atmospheric conditions. The obvious downside is that it tends to be less effective than dedicated craft, although its ability to contend with larger ships on an almost even footing slightly offsets its disadvantages.

Sar’ussk Predator



Unlike most destroyers, the Predator is known for its aptitude in damaging capital vessels, which a combination of fluid lateral manoeuvering and impressive range and power in its cannons allow it to engage surprisingly well. In sufficiently large numbers, these unassuming ships can be deadly for anything larger than a light cruiser, though they are markedly less effective in dealing with destroyers or other smaller ships.

Sar’serek Voidnest



The staple carrier of the CFN fleets, the Voidnest’s hangar “mouth” is of proverbial capacity, and its armour is sufficient to grant it some survivability if it should somehow find itself in the line of fire. Nevertheless, these ships are clearly not built for direct confrontations, and will move elusively behind the screen of their more robust comrades in most cases.

Sar’issrar Armbreaker



The manifestation of the sum of the Pacifiers’ naval doctrine, the Armbreaker, despite being easily as large as most cruisers of the line, attacks in rapid dives and strikes against exposed targets in the enemy’s array, inflicting heavy damage with its almost omnidirectional armaments before retreating. While its strength lies in its fast and powerful blows, therein is also its weakness - if confronted by an equally larger ship in sustained combat, an Armbreaker is almost surprisingly easy to destroy. These vessels will therefore avoid confrontations that have a risk of devolving into a match of endurance, paradoxically enough for their reputation as reckless chargers.

Sar’vassre Eradicator



The polar opposite of the Predator, the Eradicator is a large ship armed to destroy swarms of smaller ones, be they fighters, corvettes or even frigates. These imposing vessels tend to assume forward defensive positions, screening the rest of the fleet from an opening assault and paving the way for a counterattack. Since such a stance tends to draw the attention of most of an opposing force, Eradicators are not entirely unqualified to clash with larger foes; however, beyond their durability and the shock and awe of their attacks, they are not much of a threat to a heavy enough ship, and can be usually disregarded in favour of more dangerous targets - albeit ignoring one altogether is never a wise choice.

Tkkalk-Ukor Dreadnought



Relics of a better age, the Tkkalk-Ukor dreadnoughts are the last surviving great Ulthari warships. Despite the age of their design, their combat capabilities are tremendous, with their array of colossal weapons being capable of wreaking untold devastation on the most hardened of adversaries. However, the sheer cost of building and maintaining something so enormous means that there are no dedicated assembly structures for the production of these leviathans, and the restaurated ancient models form the majority of their existing number. As such, they are rarely ever deployed, the risk of the potential monumental loss outweighing any tactical advantage they may bring to bear.

Religion/Culture: Given the diversity of species, cultures and heritages gathered in the Nests, it is inevitable that the resulting picture should be much too varied and at times incongruous to comprehensively portray in brief. Nonetheless, some general tendencies have emerged within their society, and some traits have by transmission become widespread enough that, to an outsider, they might appear to be distinctive of the CFN as a whole.

Ideologically, the Nests’ more politically-minded inhabitants are roughly split into two categories, or rather currents of thought, known as the Constructors and the Vindicators. The Constructors argue for the CFN’s efforts to be directed towards establishing themselves in their home space, mostly without avoidable conflicts, and resolving their internal issues and troubles before turning outwards too much. The more radical of them are generally opposed to involvement in foreign affairs, and advocate an altogether peaceful, if isolationist style of existence. The Vindicators, on the other hand, claim that the CFN must take active measures to prevent a new overgrown, stifling empire from rising again, calling for outward safety before inward satisfaction. Some go as far as to say that the only way of reliably accomplishing this would be to bring the galaxy under Nest rule and maintain it under control, while others promote the disruption of other nations’ activities. While the extremes of those movements are easy enough to recognise, the distinction becomes blurred towards the center, where they often mingle or recognise at least some of each other’s points as valid. It is nevertheless possible to discern that the Constructors are currently the dominant “faction” both in the Assembly and among the public at large, while the Vindicators are for the most part in the opposition.

Religious practices are somewhat more difficult to accurately describe. Upon a first impression, it would appear that Yre-Kelthanism is dominant; however, its permutations are so numerous and mixed with different faiths that it is impossible to be certain. In its most basic form, the Ulthari religion teaches that the universe is the physical manifestation of the power of the deity Yre-Keltha, which is so vast that this is the only possible form in which one could begin to comprehend it. Beyond this point, interpretations vary. Most Ulthari consider it an exhortation to explore and contemplate the marvels of nature and the cosmos in order to better understand their god. Many Zsresriir, on the contrary, view Yre-Keltha as a distant creator and adopt a gnostic approach to the doctrine, inventing a demiurgic figure responsible for wisely guiding the course of natural events, such as their own providential evolution (an interpretation that traditionalist Ulthari find rather simplistic). Others yet see in this an invitation to a spartan lifestyle, dedicated to enhancing their own strength and honouring the god through feats of courage and endurance. Nor have the imperial religions remained untouched; the Kineticism practiced by the Nests’ human minority has nowadays little in common with that of their forebears. Some combine originally separate teachings, worshipping Yre-Keltha as the Universal Spiritus and the Zsresriir demiurge as its Divine face. Others have proclaimed themselves oracles and prophets, preaching messages of cooperation and tolerance, or simply their own more or less complex contributions to theology.

Even aside from religious aspects, the Zsresriir way of life, being found everywhere and at every level of the Nests, has gradually seeped into popular consciousness and spawned some quantity of imitations. The family (the archetypal “nest”) is seen as a vital component of society to quite extreme extents - it is not uncommon for some relatives and mates to be collectively invested with certain authorities and duties of a position, and often they are seen as interchangeable, both by themselves and others, when interacting with outsiders. Large, typically polygamous families are the norm, though the inverse has also been occasionally observed, with Zsresriir pairs deciding to adopt a monogamous lifestyle. A natural exception to all of this are the Ulthari and other species whose biology is not conducive to the formation of family units.

A socially relevant subject which has arisen in relatively recent times is the role of clones. Vat-grown individuals (not always replicas of a matrix; the mixing of genetic codes allows for the design of newborn equivalents, as well as normally impossible multi-species hybrids) have become an integral part of the Nests’ populations in an attempt to accelerate the settling of the Vacuus. While many of them are granted full control of their senses and function as ordinary members of society, this is not always the case; clones bred for basic military purposes or hazardous occupations are often restricted to functioning as mindless, animalistic drones following implanted instructions or rote commands. This has caused no little controversy, especially among Zsresriir, who so greatly value personal freedom, and given rise to a number of clone rights movements. Opponents of these advocates either disagree with their positions on utilitarian grounds, or point out that many of the clones in question are constructed from the genetic templates of feral Zsresriir, who by nature lack individual self-determination. Rebuttals notwithstanding, the argument continues to be contested to this day, and has even made its way into the Assembly.

Demographics:

Zsresriir - 23%
Ulthari - 12%
Scorpine - 16%
Clones (includes hybrids) - 20%
Qiormu - 8%
Cultors - 8%
Humans - 5%
Zuukind (Forensakai, Lonoxi, Rekshai) - 3%
Others (various) - 5%

Characters: (You don't need to go that in depth in the NS, but once we get to IC, definitely have them fleshed out, at least mentally.)

Relations:

Martian State and Coalition: Though effectively somewhat wary of the strength and significance accumulated by the Martians, the Nests consider both them and the Coalition at large to be allies of opportunity. Secretly from most of the population, the Constructor majority likewise makes use of the two states' relations to weaken the more radical elements of its Vindicator opponents and prevent them from assuming greater power.

The Great Resurrection: With many of their citizens being Scorpine, the Nests had little choice but to officially condemn the actions of the Resurrectionists, already viewed with distaste by Vacuus aliens and humans alike. Further yet, many suspect that the movement's claim to the Orion Arm is but a pretext for greater galactic conquest. Support to the Neo-Scorpine Empire has thus been slight, but steady on the CFN's part.

Zuukid Remnants: With the Zuukid having been the original cause for the decimation and displacement of the Nests' predecessors, it is unsurprising that their memory should not be regarded with much sympathy. Nevertheless, the Nests consider some of the fragmented empire's former subjects to be potentially contributive members of their society, and have taken it upon them to "liberate" any willing (usually) ones from the warzones left in its wake.

Habitation: In terms of demographics and infrastructure, it is fairly simple to separate CFN worlds into two distinct categories: the original colonies, now known as core worlds, and more recently settled planets. The former, while still dotted with gaping stretches of wilderness easily visible from orbit to the naked eye, are relatively heavily urbanised, boasting large metropolises and industrial centers connected by a stable transport network, though there is always someone complaining that the magnetic convoys don’t run on time. The appearance and conformation of each cluster varies depending on its inhabitants: thus, Zsresriir will live in tubular constructions riddled with den-like holes, Ulthari burrow in shallow caverns and well-humidified subterranean chambers, Scorpine inhabit flat, dry expanses of squat buildings and so forth.

The second class is far more numerous, and far more sparsely inhabited. Cities are either small and scattered, or gathered in a single sprawling bulk; transportation is either scarce, or entirely left to the means of individual inhabitants. Colonies of feral Zsresriir are often released into the wilds of untamed planets, often with deleterious effects on the rare, but sometimes present local fauna.

One noteworthy detail is that the terraforming practices of the Nests attempt to strike an equilibrium between the biochemical needs of its majority species. While a form of fragile balance has been found, albeit one involving some rather jarring variations between biomes, minorities are not equally favoured. As such, when travelling outside their dwellings, most are required to don an usually standard-issue (it being the cheapest alternative) respiratory apparatus, which may give them a distinct image in the eyes of their kin elsewhere in the galaxy.