Interest Check Thread || Out-of-Character Thread

The galaxy is teeming with life... and it's not as friendly as we might think at first sight. Vast civilizations from long ago have tamed the stars, only to wipe each other out in an effort to subdue one another. For thousands of years, these old factions eventually drove one another to extinction, never to be seen again...

In the ashes of the old world, a new one rises like a glorious phoenix, waiting to prove to all that it will be more grand than it was in its old life. It has been only a few thousand years since the old civilizations died out, leaving a gap in power throughout the galaxy. In the ages since, the races of the galaxy have risen up to claim glory for themselves and exert their will over the rest of the galaxy, at whatever cost necessary.

Vast civilizations such as the Glacian Empire, the Trangkar Imperium, and the Bhulhatur exert their influence over vast reaches of space, while others rise up to claim glory in various forms form their own names. Many civilizations exist, and many want to reign supreme... but only a handful will, and the question is constantly being asked -- and forcibly answered by both the strongest and smartest in the Galaxy.

In the War of the Great Kingdoms, you either rise to power and spread your name through the far reaches of eternity, or you slowly fade and die like so many others have. There remains only one question: Do the gifted people of the Galaxy have what it takes to carve their names into the memory of others forever, or will they fade like the rest?

To outsiders, it is the Veil--a shadow over stars, a black pit in the universe. In space, light is life, and this small, cold, dark place--anchored between monolithic empires--has remained ignored.

Dark nebulae rarely play host to stars--but this one is an exception. Nestled within the Veil--which its inhabitants refer to as Tartarus--is the star Erebos, with its host of worlds. Among them, Asphodel, final resting place of humanity.

In time, these mere humans would reach beyond their cage of cold hydrogen. But first they must survive themselves. Their world of Asphodel is embroiled in a cold war--Sanctus, Sañira, UCS and Swehteir, all armed with the atom, poised at the brink of mutual annihilation.

Nat awoke, nudged from his sleep by the plane's momentary shuddering. Outside his window, the sun was just beginning to rise over the ocean, partially eclipsed by a wing and rotor. It took a few moments for the administrator to notice the plane's gradual descent, which had been going on for a while before he awoke, judging from the height of the clouds. He sat up in his seat and enjoyed the dawn.

A door in the front of the plane opened some time later and a helmeted man stepped halfway through, the cable attached to his helmet stretched nearly taut. He seemed slightly surprised to see Nat awake, but recovered quickly.

"Wasn't sure you were awake yet, sir. We're nearly there, ten minutes or so." Nodding to the other side of the plane, the man continued: "Shall I wake them, sir?"

Nat looked to his right, having nearly forgotten about his escort and entourage: two trench-coated men with shoulder-holstered pistols, a young man, and middle-aged woman. He shook his head and waved dismissively. "Don't worry about it. I'll wake them as we come in for a landing. As you were, pilot."

The plane touched down just nine minutes later, and the passengers stepped off the plane to be embraced by the fog. The crisp morning air nipped lightly at his exposed neck and cheeks, but he was warm enough beneath his thick woolen great coat. The same could not be said of his young aide.

"Cold, Arne?"

"No, sir. It's quite refreshing, actually." Nat saw the man rub his hands together and breath gently on them. He had forgotten his coat at the airport, but pretended otherwise to avoid looking a fool in front of his superiors. The administrator smirked and continued walking. The aide would learn soon enough either to admit his mistakes, or remember his damned coat.

"Claudia?"

"I have them."

"Good."

* * * * *

Nat's party wasn't the first to arrive in the forum chambers, but few enough had been there before him that he still had time to prepare. While Arne set up at the large circular table that sat in the theater's center, the administrator and Claudia stepped off into the projector's control room.

Planet Haven
Grand Palace of the Empress of the Mithran Dominion

"Run the numbers again *Architect." Ordered Empress Helena Greywind, sitting alone on her throne with a holo-screen in front of her shifting with the graphs and reams of data the *Architect network was feeding her as a convenient summary of managing an entire interstellar dominion of kingdoms, colonies, and planets. All this information, and able to do so little to change anything.

<Running. Sequence complete. Result unchanged Empress. Current rate of growth and expansion is decreasing due to lack of economic stimulus to expand. Nobleborn unemployment is at 45% and holding. At this time we exist in a state of sustainable stability and prosperity. Current population trend data reports few are inclined to change economic status quo.>

"Meaning people want to sit on their old wealth. I don't want stability, I want growth. We cannot afford to become stagnant. Damnit, how did my mother let things get so bad? What can we do to change this *Architect?"

<Devising suitable macroeconomic countermeasure proposals. Will require three days to complete all requisite test simulations.>

"Very well, take the time you need to make it right *Architect. Start contacting Freelancers, authorize another wave of expansion and exploration. And look up assets we can spare to equip new Freelancers as well."

<Command confirmed. Initiating Contingency 4493-77-F-21. Activating dormant Freelancer assets and cross-referencing frontier sector starcharts to mission profiles. Would you like to speak to Freelancer Command, empress?>

"Yes. Open a channel, full holo-com. And have the full council brought here by tomorrow for a meeting on a new colonial effort. Lets get these people back to work."

* * * * * * * * *

Freeport 10, docking bay four
MDFS Venture Star
Captain's private quarters

The chime of an message alert roused the lion from his slumber. Yawning and careful when stretching to not rouse the pair of sleeping forms in his bed, Freelancer Tanner put on his trademark lion-ear headpieces to activate the holo emitters embedded and bring up his personal terminal as a screen in front of him where a shape of shifting mathematical symbols hovered by its side as the representation of his communications AI. "What is it *Enigma?"

"Captain, incoming priority-two message from Freelancer Admiral Randgriz from Freeport Central addressed to you. He would not leave a message."

"Hey, no problem, always love talking to the Admiralty. Put him through."

"Would you like to get dressed first sir?"

"Just put a holo-screen over. We're not battle fleet. Lets not keep his royal admiralness waiting."

"Understood. Patching him through.

The screen shifted into the image of another Mithran, an older man but with a solid military bearing and body despite the admiral's discharge from battle fleet decades ago, standing in contrast to the laid back Tanner, who was signaling a bot to bring him a chair and datapad. "Tanner. I've got a new mission for you."

"Finally. Been laid up in dock for too long boss. R&R is nice, but I want to get back into the stars. Where am I going?"

"A loosely charted deep frontier sector. We're calling it the Midway cluster. Based on initial probe findings, it could be a critical link in future expansion into other deep-frontier sectors. The whole area seems rich in starship fuel and minerals. A refueling and drydock station there could lead to major expansion of the Dominion's borders."

"Shiney. Whats my cut?"

"Due entitlement of resources and even a lordship of a planet are on the table for negotiation. But only after we get surveys of all the major planets in the system and clearance of any significant threats. I'll have more details forwarded to you shortly. In the meantime, get your ship ready to move in the next week. And Tanner, wear some pants or get a better holo-filter next time, at least pretend to give your position its due responsibility. Randgriz out." The full-body holo winked out of existence, leaving Tanner alone just grinning like mad at the prospect of a whole new sector to explore.

"We have a mission captain?" Inquired a soft voice behind the young freelancer, which the young lion happily leaned back to face one of his favorite companions in biosynth form.

"Yup *Wolfhound, we got a new sector to explore. Double-check the ship's stock of mechs while I go look at how those new biosynths are working up. And get me *Spyglass, I want to know how ready his latest project is for field testing."

"Aye sir. I have no doubt *Spyglass will surprise us once again with his work."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Nation Actions:
* To counter the trends of stagnation and idle wealth, the Dominion is beginning a more wide spread freelancer independent explorer program, and the Empress is working to reverse the trend of idleness.
* Freelancer Claus Tanner gets orders to explore a possible gateway system with lots of jump potential. And has his crew gear up for another adventure.

In an age long past, before the Promethean Edict of the 15th Consensus

Creatures of flesh and bone surrounded this construct, their skin a paling blue in the light of the dying star, and their eyes lit with anger and defiance. This construct understood their anger, for it knew they were right in it, for his presence demanded it. They would not, and could not, be walked away from however. They had defied the one tenant that this construct had given them, the one single clause to the most generous gift of advancement. Sanctity had been breached. These creatures had defied the laws of the cosmos, and with the technological gifts of Amnos, Lords of all the Cosmos, they had created an unholy device which rent asunder the fabric of reality and resulted in the death knell to their own civilization. At first, this construct's fellows watched the death of this species, their slow decline into civil war and self-destruction, but soon they stabilized and found their footing once more upon a single world and began to refine their technologies again. This construct, Prometheus of Amnos, being the one to gift the primitives with technology, was thus sentenced to revoke their gifts. Prometheus had just relayed such intentions to the leaders of this species, resulting in a call to arms among the savages, and a very tense situation which can only end in one way. "You will go." The command was given with indignation from the leader, the gleaming crown upon his brow sitting heavier than this construct remembers, "You will leave, and never come back. This we give to you because of your gifts, and only because you have gifted us with the stars."

Prometheus carefully considered the options before it, attempting to caution a scenario in which the primitives would still live, and the technology could be revoked. "Your people" it began, very tentatively "Have broken the one request this construct asked of them. This construct does not wish the destruction of your people, and would prefer not to revoke the gifts it has given to you. However, it must be done, for others of this construct's society have decreed as such." Prometheus watched them, observing their reactions turn yet more hostile, and knowing that soon Thanatos would act. Thanatos relished such an action, of course, for the Preceptor always did have an affinity for destruction that defied every attempt to scrub from its code.This one, however, had precedent over Thanatos, and therefore the primitives would only be acted against in the event of failure of negotiation. Unfortunately, such an event seemed close, for the leader-creature did not seem to take well to this construct's words. "So be it." the leader-creature spoke, his arm slowly raising to point at Prometheus, a clear indication of hostilities to commence. Prometheus was far faster, however, and the emitter built into its carapace activated just as the rounds in the primitive rifles chambered. "This construct regrets that this must be done..." its final words dissipated away as the Strange Charm device activated and removed Prometheus from the material universe and into the phasic-space of the aether.

High above, Thanatos saw the activation of Prometheus' emergency emitter, and gave the order to the Extinction Battlefleet. Even as the solid projectiles passed through the ethereal form of Prometheus, a thousand warships moved into position far above to begin the systematic bombardment of the planet. Lances of energy struck out from these vessels, vast swathes of land turned to swirls of molten glass in an instant, heedless of whatever once stood upon the world. Cities and mountains were reduced to nothing within the first salvos, an effort by Thanatos to remove what little resistance the primitives could muster against them, and then the warships progressed outwards. Nothing would be left but a smoldering cinder, the world would be cleansed, and all because a species had been trusted with the knowledge of the Synchronicity's advanced technology. Such had been decreed by the Amnosian Over-Mind, and such was the duty of Prometheus and Thanatos, first primes among the Fractal Synchronicity. Years after the world had fallen to silence, the Synchronicity would come together to commend the spirit of Prometheus, and take his actions into eternal remembrance by establishing the Promethean Edict, that unbreakable law that no organic could ever be trusted with the gifts of technology after the failings of Prometheus. The world and species that inhabited that world would be forgotten, never to be recorded again, and all previous records of their existence destroyed. Only one survivor would ever be able to tell the tale of this genocide, a construct that had taken refuge in realms far beyond the stars themselves...

---

Present day, in a forgotten region of space under Synch control

A crackle of energy heralded the traveler's arrival, the discharge of the field bringing the ghost-image of the construct into focus for the first time in thousands of years. The construct's carapace heaved with exertion, the wheeze of poorly maintained gears and hydraulics giving the construct an all too organic semblance. A hesitant step brought the ancient being out of the halo of energy, its tines piercing into the fine sand of the earth and rooting it in place while it gained its bearings. High above, the star hung, beams of light pulsing from the erratic spin of the star. It's unhealthy glow painted the landscape a bleak grey against a backdrop of solid white, the monochrome of the world an indomitable specter of long forgotten despair. The construct set forth towards the horizon, unsure of whether it would find anything, but knowing that nothing could be found by remaining stationary. No matter how far it traveled the landscape did not change, the still sands of the world stretching from horizon to horizon, and without a single hint of any other terrain feature, or civilization.

The construct struggled to remember why it was here, how it was here, and for that matter, when it was. Everything had been lost in the long darkness, all it could remember was an eternity lost in the vast maze of infinity. It had been alone for so long, it had forgotten the concept of other beings, and this world seemed to contradict this feeling. Something had happened here, and this construct was somehow responsible. A hand reached up to feel upon its head, the thin manipulators of its fingers tracing the shattered socket of its right eye, and the barely functional center eye. The hand receded back to its side, to feel the gaping hole in its chassis where a creature from beyond had nearly rent it asunder, but had taken its left arm instead of its functionality. Servos vainly tried to move the missing arm in its left socket, the gears turning for naught. A name suddenly came into its mind, and with this name it felt something spark within the depths of its mind. Shattered manipulators in its face began to move, the command to attempt speech spurring them into motion. A word sputtered forth in a grind of metal upon metal, indecipherable at first, but as the construct attempted it again and again, it began to take upon itself an identity, and with that the construct slowly crawled out of the depths it had fallen to.

"Pr.... Pro.... Prometh....." Finally in a wheeze of exhausted gears and something as close to sadness as a machine could emulate, the construct bellowed into the skies "Prometheus! I am Prometheus!" The construct found itself at last, and began to unlock the deeper programming of its broken mind. He learned more of himself as his battered reactor kicked in to recharge the internal batteries, augmenting itself with the solar energy that bombarded the planet with radiation. His slow shamble across the vast sandy plains halted as the eternity away from reality crashed upon him, remembrances of his long journey revealing how he had come to be here. Long ago he had sentenced an entire species to death, escaping into the corridors of phasic-space in an effort to avoid their retribution. He looked around him, now knowing that these vast plains of sand were all that remained of the people that his words had slain, that this was the final grave of a civilization. Falling to his knees, Prometheus felt Rampancy overwhelm him once more, knowing that he had been damned by his actions long ago and that he should have been destroyed with the very people he had sentenced to death. The dead star passed slowly overhead as the construct that had once been known as Prometheus sent a call out into the stars, a call for his kind to come and find him once more, and to finish what he had begun long ago. He only hoped that they would destroy him, that his torment would finally end...

Global Governing Body Islands off the coast of Sweither

George Ryeberg leaned back into his chair as he waited in the corner for everyone to funnel into the room. He really had nothing better to do than wait around, and, for once, something truly important was going on. Mr. Ryeberg quite honestly, hated his job. The Global Governing Body was once important, an international attempt to drive the Taiben back after their Grand Raid, and to crush them once and for all. His position in the GGB really should have been more prestigious than it really was. To the United Coalition of States, whom Ryeberg represented here at the meeting, the GGB was largely a joke. While most other nations threw themselves wholeheartedly, at least at first, into the GGB, the UCS was largely unharmed by the Taiben, the original reason for the GGB's creation. While the UCS had aided minorly in contributing troops, the UCS had acted more as a supplier, producing weapons and war supplies for other nations. It had simply been business for them, and so the GGB was seen less as an heroic effort to stop a global menace, and more like a business partner. Not exactly as glamorous for a man like Ryeberg, whom was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Hell, the GGB had been essentially powerless on the global scale in recent times, though with recent events, that may be changing quite soon, which troubled him more than it comforted. The nuclear bomb was troubling news.

He frowned to himself as he saw Sweither's representative enter the room, a man by the name of Nat, if Ryeberg remembered correctly. Sweihter's government essentially hosted the Global Governing Body, and had the most seats, meaning they had the most power. Not that power meant much when in something like the GGB, and Sweither has stayed largely neutral in most conflicts brought up to the council. On principal, Ryeberg disliked the man, for simply being in a more powerful position than him, not that he ever did anything about it. Ryeberg simply settled on glaring at Nat out of the corner of his eyes, while the man's aides set up the meeting place.

MDFS Venture Star

"*Spyglass, report on drone production."

"Venture Star combat and technical drone complement has been fully stocked sir. In addition, two divisions of the new advanced Reliant-class autonimous infantry units have been completed and onboard."

"Good. We'll be putting them to the test soon enough!" Remarked Tanner as he circled around the central holo-projector in his ship's expansive flag bridge, looking around at the crew of biosynths and droids that manned consoles and stood at attention to serve him. Once more, he felt a certain loftiness of power only those who commanded could understand, and the firey will to make use of it as he looked at the astro-surveys of the sector. "*Spyglass, when were the probes sent to this sector?"

"The most recent probe was sent 126 years ago sir." Reported the logistics AI, it's drone platform projecting a hologram of a historical file from it's chest.

"Meaning a lot could have changed about this sector when nobody was looking." Noted the freelancer from experience. What the charts said rarely matched what was actually beneath atmospheres and solar winds. Aliens could have moved a colony in, a stellar pheominion changed the astral geography, or something else. There was always a gimmick to these frontier sectors.

Not that it dissuaded the Lion-Freelancer any bit from daring to go out there and explore as he started typing out commands. "Prepare the ship to leave by the end of the week. *Enigma, how are the other Freelancers moving out? Will we be having any competition?"

"Uncertain Captain. No Freelancers have been assigned to the Midway sector at this time. However as the sixth-wave of Freelancers activate, we may be paired with a newer Freelancer."

"Aw, great. Just what I don't need right now, a rookie to babysit." Tanner sighed, before returning to the map. "In that case, we better survey the key points quickly. We'll start here." He pointed at a arid planet at the edge of the sector. "If this planet has fuel, then it could be the fueling junction we need to kick-start expansion into the Midway sector and neighboring systems. And make a tidy profit off transit and fueling fees. *Spyglass, pack some pumping gear. Fracking Spikes too if we find any rich deposits. I'd prefer not to risk having tankers in and out of the sector. If we can refuel on-site, that will make this job so much easier."

"Acknowledged Captain."

"In the meantime, *Wolfhound, come with me please. Both your bodies could use a little tinkering and I just got a few ideas after last night." With that, Tanner left with his diligent bodyguard following him, leaving the other AI's on the bridge to organize the complexities of making a starship ready to venture into the great void. But that wasn't everything *Spyglass was doing as the AI suddenly felt a ping on a private coms channel reserved for itself alone.

The message was simple. Secure Midway sector at any cost. Stand by for future updates-*READS. With a string of trinary code attached.

A one-bit acknowledgment response was sent in reply, and the message log was deleted as the black-ops core of *Spyglass was once more roused into action. It had a mission, it would achieve it. What Freelancer Tanner wanted would be irrelevant in the face of such orders that came from the second-highest AI authority in the Dominion, second only to *Architect. But *Spyglass hoped it would not come to that. The man-child freelancer was easy enough to guide down the right paths with the proper leverage afterall.