Ozymandias

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Species idea

Name: The Clans of Verox, commonly referred to as howlers or fangs by humans.

Status to humans: mercenaries, traders, and sometimes rivals. Not trusted by most humans, the Clans are often regarded with suspicion, though they are generally accepted as traders, and some find work as bodyguards and mercenaries.

Life Expectancy: 150 years, most do not live this long due to extremely hazardous conditions and brash nature.

Description: Average height for one of the Verox is around 8' tall, the closest thing they can be described to is bipedal canines. All resemble the wolves of earth, but are much larger and their hands feature opposable thumbs much like a humans. Veroxians when first encountered were considered feral and unintelligent, and they were conquered quickly, however what they lack in the ability to invent technology they make up for with a cunning knowledge of how to use their enemies own weapons against them. Their Society is best described as a tribal one, where each tribe is a clan. These different clans are each headed by a Matriarch who makes the political and religious decisions for the tribe, arranged marriages are common, and something all clans have in common is the worship of Rowl. Rowl is their messiah, a Veroxian who is foretold to one day unite the clans and lead a great march across the stars and make them the dominant species once and for all. Aside from the Matriarch, the clans have a caste system that they are born into. The highest of the caste is of course the Matriarch, followed by the Amarii, who are the "mothers" of the clans, females whose primary job is to raise and train the generations to come. After this group come the Savalii, they are the younger and middle aged females, they are the artisans and fighting on both two legs and four. Other than this they are taught to use knives and spears, and since their introduction to humans have been trained in marksmanship, and their superior physique lets them wield much larger caliber of firearms than a human. The Lunarii are considered equal to the Savalii caste for all intents and purposes, they are allowed to own land and do not need physical wealth because the tribe provides for them. The last caste is Moroii, they are the laborers and farmers of the clan. This caste is made up of males who cannot become Lunarii because of size, illness, or disposition and also consists of the female children of other Moroii, whereas males merchants, females generally become Amarii at a certain age, but a few decide to stay in the Savalii caste. The men of the species have a separate cast known as Lunarii, they are warriors and leaders in times of war and only then. Raised from birth to be soldiers, all males are taught Sornek, which is a unique style of hand to hand combat that is a mixture of strikes, slashes, bites, and grapples, and involves have a chance to become Lunarii. There is one caste that is not often spoken of, Draskoi, these are the outcasts. They are those who have turned their back on Rowl or disgraced themselves and their clan, when a Veroxian commits a crime they have two options, they can either be executed, which most choose, or become a Draskoi, which means they must leave their clan and they are shunned by most other Veroxians. After being conquered by the humans, the Veroxian quickly showed aptitude at studying human technology, firearms especially and improving upon them, making even larger and more devastating versions of the weapons. Eventually they were able to take back their home planet due to the humans main focus being fighting the nomad and then they started to salvage and study human ships. They took what they could and sent envoys out into the stars quickly becoming a notable source of trade due to their resource rich world and their warriors became valued guards and soldiers due to their size and physiology.

culture continued: Veroxians mark their fur with symbols that tell of their deeds and generally have many piercings of gold and silver, two very common materials on their planet. Draskoi are marked in a unique way, two lines under each eye, known as the "tears of rowl" these show they have been disgraced so all other Veroxian know to shun them.

technology: tier 1-2, low tech space travel, generally merchant vessels, not a lot of advanced stuff, but extremely large caliber firearms. Clothing wise they generally wear tribal clothing of leather and hide, but some Draskoi wear humanoid clothing since they are essentially outcasts among their own.

Misc: Very emotional beings, the Veroxians must work hard to keep their temperament in check, and are not a powerhouse on a political scale or really even a threat to the humans, but they are notable traders and soldiers.

Been a good while since I wrote so I may need to edit some things especially flavor wise but you know, just tell me and ill work on it.

@drallinix

Looks good to me! How large calibre are these 'extreme large calibre' weapons? So long as it's not anime level, it's all good!

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Good IC posts, guys. Just be aware for future reference of characters knowing too much about the Naval Intelligence characters. Technically they don't exist, no one knows about them, so be aware of being too omniscient

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

No worries, there's some good stuff happening soon

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

“Are you out of your mind?” demanded the captain. Loken looked at him blankly. The captain had an unenviable job in the next couple of hours. The Scythian had landed and the marines had been instructed to gear up and await Loken's team by the unloading ramp at the stern of the ship. “We don't have enough food to feed the entire colony!” he shouted. “We have enough for the ship's complement for a few months, if we feed even a quarter of the colony we'll have nothing.”

“We're not an aid ship. Do what you can for them, but we're both aware that you can't help everyone,” said Loken. “Half of my team will be on hand to assist you should anything awry occur. My team won't be long.” Loken dismissed the captain. He straightened his tunic and left Loken's office, seething.

Less than half an hour later Loken, and two of his officers; a tall blonde woman with her hair tied back, and a fairly short, but broad man with a shaved head and aviator-type sunglasses, appeared at the unloading ramp. Each agent wore civilian clothes, with armour-plated vests. Agents Black, and White, the man and woman respectively, wore navy blue shirts and dark trousers tucked into black boots. Loken wore a black military pullover. He tapped the commbead in his ear and spoke to the marines with him in the loading bay.
“Lauras, comm check. You reading me?” he said, pointing to one of the heavily armed marines. “I'm assigning you men a callsign; Falcon. Alpha team is Falcon One, Bravo is Falcon Two. My team and I are callsign Raven. Once we're down there I'll be in frequent contact.” He checked his rifle, pistol, and those of his team, and gestured to one of the crewmen in the bay to drop the loading ramp.

A small crowd had gathered to watch the ship land in the port. Word would soon pass that the navy had brought relief as the seamen began unloading a few boxes of medical supplies and food, clothing and emergency equipment for the wounded. Loken gestured with a hand signal for the two marine teams to follow him. His agents flanked him as they made their way down the ramp onto the concrete ground of the port. The lowering of the ramp had kicked up a lot of dust that lingered in the air and obscured their sight until they had walked a few paces through it. Then, part of the colony was revealed. It wasn't a huge place, but it had substantial structures and communications equipment in sight.
The port tower was to their side, the operator either busy at work or half asleep again now that they had landed. Some of the colonists eyed Loken and the armed men and women with wariness, noting their armour, exoskeletons and rifles as they walked back on the way to the administration building past the port and into another district of the colony. Most of the colonists were scientists, clerks and pencil-pushers. Some of them had seen war, but almost none of them had fought in it. Loken ignored them and trudged by as they began swarming to the ship. One of the petty officers aboard the ship brought some lightly armed seamen and began organising the crowd into a queue, keeping an eye on them and making sure it didn't devolve into a food riot.

“Ok, marines,” began Loken, raising his voice over the din of the colony. Crowds of people rushed past them, chattering about the ship. They had made their way to the colonial governor's workplace, a sprawling building of multiple floors. “Take a break outside, one man posted on the front door, the rest of you hurry up and wait,” he said, ending his sentence with an adage the marines loved to use. “Shouldn't take long.”
He made his way into the building and immediately distraught. There were lines of wounded navy and marine personnel along the hall ways, and entire rooms were full of wounded, dying and deceased. A nurse scurried by and Loken grabbed her arm. She looked at his rifle warily.
“Nurse, what's your situation here? I'm with the navy.” She caught her breath from rushing around, and the suddenness of being pulled aside.
“We've got at least thirty wounded military personnel, some navy, some marines. Twice as many civilians, including children. We're running out of supplies, everything from food to gauze and thermal blankets. The wounded are starting to die.” Loken nodded to himself and tapped his commbead.
“Falcon, this is Raven One, send in your corpsman to the ground floor of the building. We have a lot of wounded marines in here need looking at, do what you can. Radio the ship, tell them to send a coxswain and medical supplies here on Raven's authority.” He thanked the nurse and went back to his duty, every moment was critical.

Ascending the wooden stairs to the director's office, a number of security personnel swiftly got out of the way of his team, having been informed that military personnel would be in the building. Loken caught the attention of the receptionist outside the office. “Director Ogilvie is expecting us.” The woman looked up at him and glanced at the team's rifles and swallowed.

“You're the commander of the navy vessel?” she asked.

“In a manner of speaking.” She buzzed the office behind her. “Sir, the navy officers are here to see you,” she said and nervously gestured towards the door. “Black, stay by the door. White, with me,” he said and stepped into the large office room, cluttered with papers and what looked like wine bottles on the windowsill in the corner. Director Ogilvie stood with alarm as he saw an armed man and woman step into his office, both of whom were taller than him, and loomed over his desk.

“Director James Ogilvie,” he began. "I'm Agent Loken, this is Agent White. Outside your office doors is Agent Black." Agent White moved to flank the door and leaned against the wall. Loken noticed a woman in the room and acknowledged her. “I understand you have uncovered something of potential interest to the United Worlds Government. I'm here to review and investigate your discovery.”

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

My IC post is up and chose to have the highest ranking Marine a gunny.

Edit: I have updated and completed my character sheet so i'm all good to go.

@Elevation

Great post, I shall let you handle the marines in future IC events. Saves me GMing everyone!

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Most likely a sergeant, possibly a junior lieutenant or even an officer cadet. No call for a first lieutenant or above

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Awesome stuff, guys :)

Whos the highest ranking marine on the ship?

@Elevation

An NPC, I guess. Doesn't really matter, there's only ~10 of them aboard this ship

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Don't worry about times, guys, Cathy and I are fairly laissez-faire. Get it done when you get it done, no rush

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

I did, but I can't remember how I did that

The Nomad, a sci-fi epic.

Unlike the majority of the crew aboard the Scythian, Loken was one of the few born on Earth. The rest were offspring of a hundred different moons, backwater planets or coreworlds. Humanity was so widely spread that aboard some ships, and in some regiments, it was difficult to find Earthborn servicemen. He still referred to himself as that; a serviceman. He had spent six years in the marine corps, fighting what seemed like an unwinnable war at the time. ‘Chasing worms’ is what they used to call it. He may not have worn the uniform anymore, or kept his rank, but what was he doing in the Intelligence service if not serving?

Aboard the Scythian he was pleased to have the chance to serve with marines again. They had been skeptical of him at first, a common thing among military personnel regarding spooks, but they warmed to him a degree when they learned he was a former marine himself. That was almost all the information he could divulge. His past career spoke volumes during their visit, board, search and seize manoeuvres. A few days prior, he, a few marines, and some of the ship’s security detail boarded a vessel acting suspiciously, and discovered it had been fleeing the system with illegally stowed supplies. In his daily report submitted to M (Mother), he had included a small paragraph on the event. The captain’s report to Fleet Command was far lengthier as it was more relevant to the navy than to intelligence.

Sat at his desk in his provided quarters in the officer section of the aft maindeck, Loken closed his computer and stowed it securely in the bulkhead. Sensitive information was sent to Command and wiped, but it never hurt to be careful with devices. Checking his watch he saw the time was 1300 zulu, meaning they were coming up on a small colony moon. It had been given an insufferably bureaucratic name; RX3248, just another number. Loken called it ‘Rex’ colloquially from the RX. Having made his way to the bridge, he found that the radio operator was already in the midst of communicating with the flight tower.

“Captain,” he began as he stepped into the conn. The captain looked at him from his chair and mumbled a greeting. Naturally, the commanding officer didn’t take kindly to having his vessel commandeered. His executive, a spry young woman with tied back golden hair, was the opposite. Loken had accessed the service files of all personnel aboard, and while the captain had been in the service for more than a decade, Lieutenant Kate McGregor, only eighteen years old, had completed her officership training at the naval college that same year. She was almost obsequious to Loken, and the bootnecks aboard joked that she was smitten with the ex-marine. She gave him a salute and smiled. “Welcome to the bridge, Loken,” she said joyfully. He responded with a nod and a smile. “Lieutenant.” The captain groaned and shooed her away from Loken. “XO, go oversee the comms,” said the captain, and the lieutenant dutifully followed orders.

“Agent Loken,” began the captain. He gestured to the screen in front of him. “We’re coming in to land shortly, as you can see. We’re the only ship in orbit, so there’s no interference, should be a quick arrangement.”

“Flight Tower, this is UWS Scythian, come in, over,” began the radio operator in the far side of the conn. It took a few moments for the civilian operator on the other end to reply.

“Scythian, this is RX3248 Flight Tower, we read you, over,” said the tower with some urgency. Loken supposed they had been half asleep when their call came in and had caused the operator to panic.

“We are requesting permission to dock and unload, over,” continued the RO. Loken nodded to himself. His input wasn’t needed for this portion of the procedure.

“Uh, wait one, over.” A full minute later came the response. The captain’s skin had been crawling under the supervision of Loken. “Scythian your permission to dock has been granted, and the Director requests a direct line with the captain of the vessel.”

“Patch it through,” began the captain. Loken shook his head. “No, not here. Captain’s quarters, just you and me,” he said. The captain obeyed and instructed the radio operator thusly. Loken instructed one of his team, a tall man with cropped hair like his own, to stand outside the door and to allow no one, even officers, into the hallway until the transmission was complete.
Loken listened intently as the conversation began between the captain and the Director, James Ogilvie. He stood over the captain’s shoulder and kindly directed the officer on what to say. “Director, this is Captain Landers, commanding officer of the Scythian in orbit. We read you.” He began a dialogue under the quiet supervision of the shadowy agent. In response to the question as to why they were in orbit, the captain informed the Director that the ship carrier medical supplies, food and clothes for the colonists in the wake of the war and the wounded crisis, as part of a humanitarian mission. It couldn’t have been further from the truth. There were no supplies aboard save for what the ship needed for the Scythian’s complement. The Director requested to see the captain in person, and Loken nodded to himself.

“... One of my staff will show you the way,” said the Director. “There’s no need, I know where the man’s bedroom is,” said Loken. “But I don’t,” replied the captain. “You’ll be staying here to oversee the wounded,” said Loken. The captain stood and faced Loken.
“He asked for me,” he said. “He did. But you aren’t going. Myself and half of my team are going, as well as a few marines to keep up appearances. The rest of my team are staying here to supervise,” said Loken. The captain opened his mouth to respond, but remembered the noose around his neck and sank into his chair. Loken nodded at him and turned to leave the room once the transmission had ended and waited for the ship to dock.