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This RP is getting more sexual by the minute haha. Great posts, guys. Go Team Hoyle!
Zivaria – Jawr, Zeven
Ariad stumbled as the soldier shoved her forward. Cuts and bruised blemished the pale skin of her arms and legs and her peasant clothes were torn and ragged. Tears wet her face and puffed her eyes. She was so very frightened. All she wanted was to go home. The girl wiped her eyes to get a clear view of what – who – stood before her.
Steps led to a high dais upon which a throne was set. It seemed to be worked from iron, and festooned with a dark green seaweed with leafy fronds. Depictions of a monstrous shark devouring men and beast alike engraved the backrest and featured again on the arms as bustlike shark heads, jaws wide open displaying rows of jagged metal teeth. A large figure sat down on it as Ariad looked and peered down at her through cloudy white eyes. It was not human.
The air caught in the girl’s throat at the terror of the situation and she sobbed again.
Another of his species stood in front of her and talked in an alien tongue to the one on the throne. As their conversation and Ariad’s weeping continued, she heard the jingle of metal on metal and saw through tear-soaked eyes the glimmer of silver. This seemed to interest the one on the dais and it uttered a word she understood. “Sil-ver.” The arr sound rolled out like the deep growl of one of the great wolves the goblins took to ride.
Their discussion ended after what seemed like hours to Ariad and the emissary stood to the side, exposing the girl to the leader’s gaze. She trembled and let out another wail.
“Do not cry, child,” a voice like steel on a grindstone rasped. “Tell me what I want and you shall be spared.”
It shocked Ariad to hear it speak in her language. She somehow found it in herself to stop crying and look up again at her captor. He – she guessed – was like a cross between two creatures: shark and elf. Its ears were long and pointed and features generally humanoid like an elf but the shape of its neck and scalp was elongated like a cat’s and facial features sharp. Its eyes held no colour, the pupils only slightly distinguishable by a circle of milky white. Ridges ran deep through the sections of visible ear and slitted either side of the neck like gills. Wait – they were gills. Ariad hadn’t noticed them on the bodies of the ones that had brought her but as she wheeled around hysterically they had them too. What in the names of the Horned Lord and Lady of Wind and Water are these monsters? she wondered.
“Now then,” the figurehead continued, ignoring her lack of response, “Where were the soldiers of your village when the Zivar raided it?”
Ariad looked back to the circumstances that had brought her here. It had been a normal day, she’d helped her mother bring in the catch and wash the cockles for the broth. Then those creatures had come – the Zivar, was it? – bursting in through their door and grabbing and hauling her off by the hair as she screamed and the village burned. She’d been thrown in a longboat, gagged and tied up with rope and left to shiver and cry quietly as the ship left the shores of her home. Many hours later, she’d been dragged up the winding steps of a hilly island and through blood-stained streets towards the castle she now lay in.
“I… I don’t know… The men were called to the court of Lord Taelyc. To arms.”
This seemed to interest the Zivar. “Tae-lyc? I know not this man. Who is he?”
“He is our lord… my lord, the saviour who led us from Ordov.”
“Hmm…” The shark-elf rumbled, stroking the underside of its chin with a webbed hand. “Ordov I know. Why does he call soldiers?”
“I… I don’t know.” Ariad burst again into fitful crying. “I… I don’t know, please believe me!”
He looked at her with an unreadable face through Ariad’s watery eyes. There was a painful pause as she cried and cried.
“It matters not. I, King Ga’ap, thank you for your aid. You are free to go.”
A rush of relief washed over Ariad as she floundered before the king. “Thank you… Oh, thank you, gracious king!”
The King spoke again in the strange language to the soldier behind her, for escort. She turned just as his jaws clamped around her face, spraying her blood and tissue across the court floor.
Ariad stumbled as the soldier shoved her forward. Cuts and bruised blemished the pale skin of her arms and legs and her peasant clothes were torn and ragged. Tears wet her face and puffed her eyes. She was so very frightened. All she wanted was to go home. The girl wiped her eyes to get a clear view of what – who – stood before her.
Steps led to a high dais upon which a throne was set. It seemed to be worked from iron, and festooned with a dark green seaweed with leafy fronds. Depictions of a monstrous shark devouring men and beast alike engraved the backrest and featured again on the arms as bustlike shark heads, jaws wide open displaying rows of jagged metal teeth. A large figure sat down on it as Ariad looked and peered down at her through cloudy white eyes. It was not human.
The air caught in the girl’s throat at the terror of the situation and she sobbed again.
Another of his species stood in front of her and talked in an alien tongue to the one on the throne. As their conversation and Ariad’s weeping continued, she heard the jingle of metal on metal and saw through tear-soaked eyes the glimmer of silver. This seemed to interest the one on the dais and it uttered a word she understood. “Sil-ver.” The arr sound rolled out like the deep growl of one of the great wolves the goblins took to ride.
Their discussion ended after what seemed like hours to Ariad and the emissary stood to the side, exposing the girl to the leader’s gaze. She trembled and let out another wail.
“Do not cry, child,” a voice like steel on a grindstone rasped. “Tell me what I want and you shall be spared.”
It shocked Ariad to hear it speak in her language. She somehow found it in herself to stop crying and look up again at her captor. He – she guessed – was like a cross between two creatures: shark and elf. Its ears were long and pointed and features generally humanoid like an elf but the shape of its neck and scalp was elongated like a cat’s and facial features sharp. Its eyes held no colour, the pupils only slightly distinguishable by a circle of milky white. Ridges ran deep through the sections of visible ear and slitted either side of the neck like gills. Wait – they were gills. Ariad hadn’t noticed them on the bodies of the ones that had brought her but as she wheeled around hysterically they had them too. What in the names of the Horned Lord and Lady of Wind and Water are these monsters? she wondered.
“Now then,” the figurehead continued, ignoring her lack of response, “Where were the soldiers of your village when the Zivar raided it?”
Ariad looked back to the circumstances that had brought her here. It had been a normal day, she’d helped her mother bring in the catch and wash the cockles for the broth. Then those creatures had come – the Zivar, was it? – bursting in through their door and grabbing and hauling her off by the hair as she screamed and the village burned. She’d been thrown in a longboat, gagged and tied up with rope and left to shiver and cry quietly as the ship left the shores of her home. Many hours later, she’d been dragged up the winding steps of a hilly island and through blood-stained streets towards the castle she now lay in.
“I… I don’t know… The men were called to the court of Lord Taelyc. To arms.”
This seemed to interest the Zivar. “Tae-lyc? I know not this man. Who is he?”
“He is our lord… my lord, the saviour who led us from Ordov.”
“Hmm…” The shark-elf rumbled, stroking the underside of its chin with a webbed hand. “Ordov I know. Why does he call soldiers?”
“I… I don’t know.” Ariad burst again into fitful crying. “I… I don’t know, please believe me!”
He looked at her with an unreadable face through Ariad’s watery eyes. There was a painful pause as she cried and cried.
“It matters not. I, King Ga’ap, thank you for your aid. You are free to go.”
A rush of relief washed over Ariad as she floundered before the king. “Thank you… Oh, thank you, gracious king!”
The King spoke again in the strange language to the soldier behind her, for escort. She turned just as his jaws clamped around her face, spraying her blood and tissue across the court floor.
I like islands. I chose islands. I am happy.
AmongHeroes said
Congratulations everyone! I've done some looking, and Pieces of 8 currently holds the third most IC posts of any Advanced RP on this site. To make it even better, our RP is a lot younger than the two ahead of us . I wanted to say to all of you for putting in such great work and time for this RP. It means a great deal to me to have you here and enjoying yourselves. Carry on!
Yayyy! Nothing makes me happier than unicorns vomiting rainbows :D
I've posted. Sorry, I totally chickened out of sealing Aislinn's fate. I'll try and have more conviction next time!
There's a very Victorian fog settled around where I am this evening. Was half expecting Jack the Ripper to jump out of a bush as I walked my dog :P Eep!
There's a very Victorian fog settled around where I am this evening. Was half expecting Jack the Ripper to jump out of a bush as I walked my dog :P Eep!
Raleigh watched closely as the young vampiress prowled towards him. The way she moved was entrancing, almost hypnotic. His eyes wandered to her lips, plush and delicate as her fang sank deeper and deeper into their soft flesh. He looked into her eyes, pools of blue ambrosia. They held him as she drew close and looped and fastened her scarf around his bare neck. It was soft and smelt of flowers, lilacs. They were his favourite.
“Thank you,” he responded, watching as Siya skulked away, devilry in the sway of her feminine hips. His stare lingered as she shifted into the shadows.
Laughter sobered Raleigh from the trance. He turned to see Henry kindly toss him some clothes. He knew the siren’s name, which he’d overheard during the Ardgroom meeting, from the Company, wasn’t he second-in-command at the Boston Branch? Raleigh caught the clothes in his arms and smiled to his saviour. “Cheers, mate. I owe you one.”
As the others went off to follow Atticus, Raleigh quickly dressed. Henry was right; the shirt did go with the scarf. He readjusted it over the top, getting a fresh waft of flowers, reminding him of Siya.
He walked after the group. He could only pray Mr. Hoyle’s sister wouldn’t mind his bare feet. They slapped against the cold stone of the cave, echoing off the walls.
The walk was short and they soon turned the corner into the antechamber. He was on guard in credence to Atticus’ advice. But little could prepare him for the scene before them.
Raleigh’s spirit bristled in the presence of the Nixies. There was something deeply sinister about them, even before he noticed the knife at the elderly shewolf’s throat. The other was certainly weaving magic against the poor woman.
Mr. Hoyle’s wavering voice added a heart-wrenching pitch to the deathly melody. Raleigh edged forward.
The water spirit’s voice was sickening to Raleigh’s ears, stirring up the bile in the pit of his stomach.
He sprung without thought, pure instinct taking hold. He transformed—taking care this time to ward his clothes first—mid-air in a regal bound, lowering his antlered head towards the Nixie with the knife. The blade slid as he inched closer.
Sorry to disappoint, these guys ate all the crabs.
Country Name: Zivaria
Government type: Absolute monarchy
Ruler: King Ga’ap
Location:
Capital City: Jawr, on the island of Zeven
Language: Zivarian
Species: Zivar
Army: 20% [horde faction]
History: The Zivar ruled the island of Zeven for centuries but two hundred years ago human colonists arrived who took advantage of their poor intellect to enslave them. The humans found the Zivar to be competent workers and bid them do intensive manual labour with little reward. The humans extended their rule to the three surrounding islands and spread the Zivar workers around them. They mined in the mountains, hunted for food, fought in gladiatorial battles and generally waited on hand and foot for their masters. They were forced to live in squalid encampments whilst they built cities and monuments for the humans. This changed just ten years ago when a single Zivar denied the humans and raised a rebellion. He was more intelligent and cunning than the others; a new breed. This individual was the now-king, Ga’ap.
It started in Jawr, the islands’ largest city, where the streets ran red with blood and the bloodthirsty Zivar gorged on the meat of humans. The rebellion spread like wildfire to the other islands, where the humans were no match for the physically superior species, made stronger by the labour they had them do. The human presence was crushed within weeks and Ga’ap anointed himself king and ruler of the Zivar.
King Ga’ap found the Zivar easy to temper and bend to his will as the colonists before him had. He was and still is loved among his subjects and rules with an iron fist, over the last decade bringing stability to the Zivar society and developing a military force, hungry for more power and conquest.
Pic:
Religion: Leviathan – The Zivar believe in an ancient deity who resides in the deep ocean called Leviathan. Leviathan appears as a colossal shark with the power to split oceans and raise terrible floods of fire [lava] and water. The Zivar revere its power and follow its teachings of becoming the strongest and bringing violent rage to those who oppose you.
Population: 51,000
Species Form
Name: Zivar
Physical Features: The Zivar are an extant species of elves who millennia ago took to the ocean for habitation. This resulted in them adapting sharklike features and amphibious capabilities, able to breathe both on land through lungs and in water through gills. Their gills are located on either side of their neck. Their bodies are typically lean and toned to better streamline themselves, height ranging from 5’11–6’7, with an elongated cranium almost like a seal. Their skin colour ranges from light grey to black and is spongy with muscle to the touch. Their ears are longer and pointed and ridged with cartilage to better detect sound. Their eyes lack pigment and eyelids. Noses are typically sharp for further streamlining. Their teeth are all sharp incisors due to their purely carnivorous eating habits. The Zivar have webbed fingers and feet and a large sharp dorsal fin for swimming. The differences between sexes are akin to humans with similar genitalia and females having breasts.
Other Features: The Zivar sacrificed intelligence for hunting prowess, resulting in a savage society with the strongest at the apex. There is no gender discrimination however as female Zivar can be just as dangerous and powerful as a male.
The Zivar reproduce as a mammal would but give birth in embryonic egg cases. On average, a pregnant Zivar lays one egg per week for a period of two months after a gestation period of nine months.
The Zivar don't have a flag per se, but hang large clumps of kelp from poles smeared with the blood of their dead enemies.
Country Name: Zivaria
Government type: Absolute monarchy
Ruler: King Ga’ap
Location:
Capital City: Jawr, on the island of Zeven
Language: Zivarian
Species: Zivar
Army: 20% [horde faction]
History: The Zivar ruled the island of Zeven for centuries but two hundred years ago human colonists arrived who took advantage of their poor intellect to enslave them. The humans found the Zivar to be competent workers and bid them do intensive manual labour with little reward. The humans extended their rule to the three surrounding islands and spread the Zivar workers around them. They mined in the mountains, hunted for food, fought in gladiatorial battles and generally waited on hand and foot for their masters. They were forced to live in squalid encampments whilst they built cities and monuments for the humans. This changed just ten years ago when a single Zivar denied the humans and raised a rebellion. He was more intelligent and cunning than the others; a new breed. This individual was the now-king, Ga’ap.
It started in Jawr, the islands’ largest city, where the streets ran red with blood and the bloodthirsty Zivar gorged on the meat of humans. The rebellion spread like wildfire to the other islands, where the humans were no match for the physically superior species, made stronger by the labour they had them do. The human presence was crushed within weeks and Ga’ap anointed himself king and ruler of the Zivar.
King Ga’ap found the Zivar easy to temper and bend to his will as the colonists before him had. He was and still is loved among his subjects and rules with an iron fist, over the last decade bringing stability to the Zivar society and developing a military force, hungry for more power and conquest.
Pic:
Religion: Leviathan – The Zivar believe in an ancient deity who resides in the deep ocean called Leviathan. Leviathan appears as a colossal shark with the power to split oceans and raise terrible floods of fire [lava] and water. The Zivar revere its power and follow its teachings of becoming the strongest and bringing violent rage to those who oppose you.
Population: 51,000
Species Form
Name: Zivar
Physical Features: The Zivar are an extant species of elves who millennia ago took to the ocean for habitation. This resulted in them adapting sharklike features and amphibious capabilities, able to breathe both on land through lungs and in water through gills. Their gills are located on either side of their neck. Their bodies are typically lean and toned to better streamline themselves, height ranging from 5’11–6’7, with an elongated cranium almost like a seal. Their skin colour ranges from light grey to black and is spongy with muscle to the touch. Their ears are longer and pointed and ridged with cartilage to better detect sound. Their eyes lack pigment and eyelids. Noses are typically sharp for further streamlining. Their teeth are all sharp incisors due to their purely carnivorous eating habits. The Zivar have webbed fingers and feet and a large sharp dorsal fin for swimming. The differences between sexes are akin to humans with similar genitalia and females having breasts.
Other Features: The Zivar sacrificed intelligence for hunting prowess, resulting in a savage society with the strongest at the apex. There is no gender discrimination however as female Zivar can be just as dangerous and powerful as a male.
The Zivar reproduce as a mammal would but give birth in embryonic egg cases. On average, a pregnant Zivar lays one egg per week for a period of two months after a gestation period of nine months.
The Zivar don't have a flag per se, but hang large clumps of kelp from poles smeared with the blood of their dead enemies.
This looks fun, I'll have an app up later :D
The arena will get fishier.
AlienBastard said
Looks like the arenas in my kingdom have the potential to be very interesting.Jaguar men vs some goblins.Fighting for the amusement of Thernopolesia!
The arena will get fishier.
UNIS Olympus – Violet Sector: Military Hangar
110,000 Miles/117,000 Kilometres from Invictus
January 9, 2212 – The Fall of Olympus
“All systems are optimal. Requesting permission to disengage clamps.”
“Permission granted, Demoiselle.” Hydraulics groaned as the mechanical arms loosed from around the ship. “You are set and ready for takeoff.”
“Roger that, flight control.” The lieutenant pressed a button on the console. “Hoverfly, Brown Hawker, what is your status?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Primed and ready, sir.”
“Okay then boys, follow my lead.”
The boarding platform at the rear of the ship folded upwards to meet the lip of the cabin ceiling, sealing the exit. The landing gear did likewise as the ventral thrusters burst into life, pushing the craft into a hover a few feet off the hangar floor.
The damselfly-class vessel was as much a piece of art as it was a vehicle. It was uncannily insectlike, from a distance appearing almost organic, wrought in the likeness of its namesake. Stretching 60 feet long and 16 feet high, the damselfly had a long streamlined fuselage terminating at the front in a spacious cockpit with a domed plexiglass window. This provided 180 degree vision and looked similar to the compound eyes of an odonate. The cockpit comfortably sat the pilot to the right and the Naval Aviator Astronaut to the left before a complex flight console. The ship was fully weaponised, sporting twin missile drums either side just under the cockpit and a Gatling gun under the front of the cockpit. Most notable were the two sets of rotatable pectoral wings centred either side of the fuselage. These doubled as flaps when rotated 90 degrees, their controls manually operated by the pilot, and their surfaces were solar paneled for auxiliary power.
The damselfly was one of the most efficient multi-purpose military ships. Able to withstand extreme atmospheric pressures, it was both a submersible and an aircraft, and safe to fly up to ionospheric heights.
Lt. Titus Blake flicked on the Demoiselle’s navigation lights, casting a green glow over the vessel’s turquoise-finished body. He pushed two sliders on the console, fanning out the expansive wings. Above the sliders four small wheels were rolled to rotate the wings laterally. With a final pull of a gearstick, the two rear thrusters roared and blasted the Demoiselle out into the black of space.
Titus allowed himself a brief look at his new home. The gargantuan mottled sphere of Invictus loomed before him, clouds swirling over the vast terrains of reds, greens and yellows. It was like nothing he had seen before. He imagined this was how Earth appeared centuries ago before humanity had marred its natural beauty. Invictus was an unspoiled paradise. It felt almost a sin to taint it with human presence. Titus looked down eagerly.
“Beautiful, ain’t' it, mate?” came an Australian twang.
The lieutenant turned to his co-pilot and grinned beneath his visor. “Sure is, Mickey.”
“We’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.”
Titus sighed. Mickey’s obsession with 20th Century cinema was insatiable and he was constantly quoting them. Titus scarcely got half the references; those films were so primitive. Who the hell is Toto? he thought.
The pilot turned back and returned to his job.
“Trajectory vision, on,” Titus commanded, the shaded view from his visor now illuminated by green squares and dots and coordinates in the top left corner. These guided him where to go, following the dots through the squares like checkpoints in a computer game. It took the fun out of flying, but this was a dire situation and they had important cargo aboard.
Titus still couldn’t believe the Colonel had chosen his ship to make touchdown in. The cabin was cramped at best; the gangway running from the cockpit to the rear exit was narrow and packed tightly on either side with equipment and provisions. There were three crude seats embedded into the walls either side with safety harnesses, but you’d get a numb arse just sitting in it for three minutes. Though Titus supposed these men were made of sturdier stuff, buns trained to peak physical condition to steel against the elements, and chairs.
Joking aside, this lot were not to be crossed; they looked like they’d sooner kill you than look at you. The six marines sat silently in the fuselage staring at the floor, one digging out the dirt from his fingernails with a hunting knife. They looked to all be of oriental descent, no doubt all consigned to Colonel Xing via his instruction. The Colonel was a tall man, clad in khaki uniform and a superior officer’s cap, insignia emblazoned upon his right lapel. His stern deeply lined face indicated an age in the late fifties, greying hairs combed close to his scalp. The man had a fearsome reputation and he suffered no sleights. Rumour had it he’d had a private beaten bloody on the Olympus for scuffing his shoe. Titus would have to tread carefully.
The Hoverfly and Brown Hawker swooped either side of the Demoiselle as the squadron hurtled earthward. The lieutenant’s plan was to outpace the other dropships to avoid any incidence and allow the Colonel to establish a safe point on the surface for the colonists. The shuttles and gliders weren’t the issue, it was the pods. They were unpredictable vessels and could reach alarming velocities when poorly controlled. With the rife panic on the Olympus, poor piloting was to be expected and there would be casualties. It was a good thing the damselflies were pre-packed and fueled for a swift exit from the mothership. Titus only hoped this leg of the voyage would be as smooth as the escape.
“How’s my tail, Mickey?”
“All clear. Stay frosty.”
Who says that? Titus’ mind drifted to the connotations of the word “frosty” when…
((You gonna die music))
“Woah! What the fuck was that?!”
A huge bullet had zoomed past near metres from the Demoiselle’s right wings. It burned like molten iron in the distance, superheated by its speedy projection through the Invictan atmosphere.
“A pod! The radar didn’t even pick it up!”
A band of sweat formed on Titus’ brow as his hand drifted to the commlink.
“Hoverfly, Brown Hawker, fold in your wings. Commence full speed thro…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Titus saw Brown Hawker lanced by a speeding pod and drop off trajectory.
“Brown Hawker is down. Repeat, Brown Hawker is down!” Titus folded in the wings and freefell towards the planet, thrusters at full capacity. He gripped the joystick with both hands, wrestling against the turbulence. Thermals blazed off the reinforced plexiglass, filling Titus’ vision with scarlet red. The trajectory vision pervaded through it like some guiding phantom, the distance meter in the corner blurring downwards.
“Mickey, we’re coming in too hot! Reprogram the destination to that sea west of Landfall!”
“Copy! Triangulating now!”
The coordinates reset and the trajectory dots and squares violently shunted in another direction. Titus yanked with all his might on the joystick and engaged the wing flaps when the velocity was low enough not for them to be instantly blown off. Unstably, the craft jolted round and plummeted through the cloud layer, wings folding back into default. Hoverfly was nowhere to be seen. White fogged the window as Titus tried to slow his breathing. It was make or break time.
They suddenly burst from the clouds and were greeted with the scene of a vast blue sea. Titus struggled with the joystick to pull up and get a good angle. Mickey punched the loudspeaker button and announced:
“Brace for impact! Brace for impact!”
He didn’t have time to do a countdown. The Demoiselle darted over the Invictan waters and plunged into the sea, vaporising the surf. Mist and water erupted high into the air as the ship disappeared from view.
110,000 Miles/117,000 Kilometres from Invictus
January 9, 2212 – The Fall of Olympus
“All systems are optimal. Requesting permission to disengage clamps.”
“Permission granted, Demoiselle.” Hydraulics groaned as the mechanical arms loosed from around the ship. “You are set and ready for takeoff.”
“Roger that, flight control.” The lieutenant pressed a button on the console. “Hoverfly, Brown Hawker, what is your status?”
“Ready, sir.”
“Primed and ready, sir.”
“Okay then boys, follow my lead.”
The boarding platform at the rear of the ship folded upwards to meet the lip of the cabin ceiling, sealing the exit. The landing gear did likewise as the ventral thrusters burst into life, pushing the craft into a hover a few feet off the hangar floor.
The damselfly-class vessel was as much a piece of art as it was a vehicle. It was uncannily insectlike, from a distance appearing almost organic, wrought in the likeness of its namesake. Stretching 60 feet long and 16 feet high, the damselfly had a long streamlined fuselage terminating at the front in a spacious cockpit with a domed plexiglass window. This provided 180 degree vision and looked similar to the compound eyes of an odonate. The cockpit comfortably sat the pilot to the right and the Naval Aviator Astronaut to the left before a complex flight console. The ship was fully weaponised, sporting twin missile drums either side just under the cockpit and a Gatling gun under the front of the cockpit. Most notable were the two sets of rotatable pectoral wings centred either side of the fuselage. These doubled as flaps when rotated 90 degrees, their controls manually operated by the pilot, and their surfaces were solar paneled for auxiliary power.
The damselfly was one of the most efficient multi-purpose military ships. Able to withstand extreme atmospheric pressures, it was both a submersible and an aircraft, and safe to fly up to ionospheric heights.
Lt. Titus Blake flicked on the Demoiselle’s navigation lights, casting a green glow over the vessel’s turquoise-finished body. He pushed two sliders on the console, fanning out the expansive wings. Above the sliders four small wheels were rolled to rotate the wings laterally. With a final pull of a gearstick, the two rear thrusters roared and blasted the Demoiselle out into the black of space.
Titus allowed himself a brief look at his new home. The gargantuan mottled sphere of Invictus loomed before him, clouds swirling over the vast terrains of reds, greens and yellows. It was like nothing he had seen before. He imagined this was how Earth appeared centuries ago before humanity had marred its natural beauty. Invictus was an unspoiled paradise. It felt almost a sin to taint it with human presence. Titus looked down eagerly.
“Beautiful, ain’t' it, mate?” came an Australian twang.
The lieutenant turned to his co-pilot and grinned beneath his visor. “Sure is, Mickey.”
“We’re not in Kansas any more, Toto.”
Titus sighed. Mickey’s obsession with 20th Century cinema was insatiable and he was constantly quoting them. Titus scarcely got half the references; those films were so primitive. Who the hell is Toto? he thought.
The pilot turned back and returned to his job.
“Trajectory vision, on,” Titus commanded, the shaded view from his visor now illuminated by green squares and dots and coordinates in the top left corner. These guided him where to go, following the dots through the squares like checkpoints in a computer game. It took the fun out of flying, but this was a dire situation and they had important cargo aboard.
Titus still couldn’t believe the Colonel had chosen his ship to make touchdown in. The cabin was cramped at best; the gangway running from the cockpit to the rear exit was narrow and packed tightly on either side with equipment and provisions. There were three crude seats embedded into the walls either side with safety harnesses, but you’d get a numb arse just sitting in it for three minutes. Though Titus supposed these men were made of sturdier stuff, buns trained to peak physical condition to steel against the elements, and chairs.
Joking aside, this lot were not to be crossed; they looked like they’d sooner kill you than look at you. The six marines sat silently in the fuselage staring at the floor, one digging out the dirt from his fingernails with a hunting knife. They looked to all be of oriental descent, no doubt all consigned to Colonel Xing via his instruction. The Colonel was a tall man, clad in khaki uniform and a superior officer’s cap, insignia emblazoned upon his right lapel. His stern deeply lined face indicated an age in the late fifties, greying hairs combed close to his scalp. The man had a fearsome reputation and he suffered no sleights. Rumour had it he’d had a private beaten bloody on the Olympus for scuffing his shoe. Titus would have to tread carefully.
The Hoverfly and Brown Hawker swooped either side of the Demoiselle as the squadron hurtled earthward. The lieutenant’s plan was to outpace the other dropships to avoid any incidence and allow the Colonel to establish a safe point on the surface for the colonists. The shuttles and gliders weren’t the issue, it was the pods. They were unpredictable vessels and could reach alarming velocities when poorly controlled. With the rife panic on the Olympus, poor piloting was to be expected and there would be casualties. It was a good thing the damselflies were pre-packed and fueled for a swift exit from the mothership. Titus only hoped this leg of the voyage would be as smooth as the escape.
“How’s my tail, Mickey?”
“All clear. Stay frosty.”
Who says that? Titus’ mind drifted to the connotations of the word “frosty” when…
((You gonna die music))
“Woah! What the fuck was that?!”
A huge bullet had zoomed past near metres from the Demoiselle’s right wings. It burned like molten iron in the distance, superheated by its speedy projection through the Invictan atmosphere.
“A pod! The radar didn’t even pick it up!”
A band of sweat formed on Titus’ brow as his hand drifted to the commlink.
“Hoverfly, Brown Hawker, fold in your wings. Commence full speed thro…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Titus saw Brown Hawker lanced by a speeding pod and drop off trajectory.
“Brown Hawker is down. Repeat, Brown Hawker is down!” Titus folded in the wings and freefell towards the planet, thrusters at full capacity. He gripped the joystick with both hands, wrestling against the turbulence. Thermals blazed off the reinforced plexiglass, filling Titus’ vision with scarlet red. The trajectory vision pervaded through it like some guiding phantom, the distance meter in the corner blurring downwards.
“Mickey, we’re coming in too hot! Reprogram the destination to that sea west of Landfall!”
“Copy! Triangulating now!”
The coordinates reset and the trajectory dots and squares violently shunted in another direction. Titus yanked with all his might on the joystick and engaged the wing flaps when the velocity was low enough not for them to be instantly blown off. Unstably, the craft jolted round and plummeted through the cloud layer, wings folding back into default. Hoverfly was nowhere to be seen. White fogged the window as Titus tried to slow his breathing. It was make or break time.
They suddenly burst from the clouds and were greeted with the scene of a vast blue sea. Titus struggled with the joystick to pull up and get a good angle. Mickey punched the loudspeaker button and announced:
“Brace for impact! Brace for impact!”
He didn’t have time to do a countdown. The Demoiselle darted over the Invictan waters and plunged into the sea, vaporising the surf. Mist and water erupted high into the air as the ship disappeared from view.
:D
Name: Lt. Titus Blake
Occupation: Air force pilot & officer
Bio: Titus was born to an affluent family in Great Britain. He grew up in New London in the Cloud District, high above the tideline. The family lived in a skyscraper overlooking the vast landscape and Titus became fascinated with the world that unfolded endlessly before him, desiring nothing more than to explore the vistas and cosmos, idolising the explorers of old. Earth was all but discovered, vehicles for exploring the depths of the ocean long since developed.
He received a private education and went onto train in the UN Air Force under a special scheme to pilot the newly-developed all-purpose ‘damselfly’. These ships were built to function both underwater and in the sky, resilient to intense atmospheric pressures and weaponised. The niche specialism allowed Titus to swoop immediately from graduation into work, jetted off halfway around the world to the large naval base in Sasebo, Japan.
Titus worked in the Pacific Rim for eight years, fighting in the Columbian War over Micronesia. Four years in, he took his officer examinations and became a lieutenant, captaining his own squadron of damselflies.
When the situation began to settle in the Pacific, Titus found his unit being used less and less. It was around this time an opportunity arose on Lunar. Titus was fascinated with space and was eager to explore the great crater lakes of the moon. He had built up a good reputation and was recommended by his superiors for the placement.
Though there was not much more action here than in the Pacific. His unit operated largely in a reconnaissance capacity, the damselfly useful for reaching the depths of the lakes and quickly flying to the next. It was important work but largely uneventful.
Four years after his initiation here, Titus learnt of the impending mission to Invictus. Military personnel were required for the trip and he eagerly snatched up the chance. There was nothing to hold him back: he had grown distant from his family and had no spouse. It was the perfect chance to explore; explore a landscape few or none had ever seen before.
Starting Location: Western waters of the sea to the west
Name: Lt. Titus Blake
Occupation: Air force pilot & officer
Bio: Titus was born to an affluent family in Great Britain. He grew up in New London in the Cloud District, high above the tideline. The family lived in a skyscraper overlooking the vast landscape and Titus became fascinated with the world that unfolded endlessly before him, desiring nothing more than to explore the vistas and cosmos, idolising the explorers of old. Earth was all but discovered, vehicles for exploring the depths of the ocean long since developed.
He received a private education and went onto train in the UN Air Force under a special scheme to pilot the newly-developed all-purpose ‘damselfly’. These ships were built to function both underwater and in the sky, resilient to intense atmospheric pressures and weaponised. The niche specialism allowed Titus to swoop immediately from graduation into work, jetted off halfway around the world to the large naval base in Sasebo, Japan.
Titus worked in the Pacific Rim for eight years, fighting in the Columbian War over Micronesia. Four years in, he took his officer examinations and became a lieutenant, captaining his own squadron of damselflies.
When the situation began to settle in the Pacific, Titus found his unit being used less and less. It was around this time an opportunity arose on Lunar. Titus was fascinated with space and was eager to explore the great crater lakes of the moon. He had built up a good reputation and was recommended by his superiors for the placement.
Though there was not much more action here than in the Pacific. His unit operated largely in a reconnaissance capacity, the damselfly useful for reaching the depths of the lakes and quickly flying to the next. It was important work but largely uneventful.
Four years after his initiation here, Titus learnt of the impending mission to Invictus. Military personnel were required for the trip and he eagerly snatched up the chance. There was nothing to hold him back: he had grown distant from his family and had no spouse. It was the perfect chance to explore; explore a landscape few or none had ever seen before.
Starting Location: Western waters of the sea to the west
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