Queen Raidne — Roleplayer Guild

The RP has started! Post away!

There is No GM*
*Okay, so I lied. There is a GM, and it is me.

We the players start at a pub.

After that, the RP is entirely free-form. Need to order something from a bartender? Write a bartender into your post. Want to establish a bit more of the setting? Write it in your post. Want to make something particularly complex, such as an entire nation, race, or fictional job? Write it in your post! Remember, if at all possible, show, don't tell. This RP starts with an entirely blank slate - not even a genre is decided before hand. All the details are up to us, being made up on the fly as we go along.

There's only two rules:** Anything already established IC by another RP'er is canon, and all Player-Controlled characters should have a sheet.

Character sheet/application:
To apply to this RP, post the following information in the OOC. Once your application is approved by me, go ahead and post your character in the "characters" tab. As the IC progresses and we learn more about our characters, add details to your character sheet.

• Name:
• Gender:
• Write at least a paragraph of a character doing something: This is how I'll actually judge your application. So, write well, and be sure to include background details. Try to avoid copy-pasting something you've already written.
[be sure to fill in other details as the RP progresses! Things like: your character's description, their job, favorite brand of cheese, species, biography, or whatever you find relevant. Only fill in those details we've established IC.]
[color=cyan][u][b]•[/b] Name[/u]:[/color]
[color=cyan][u][b]•[/b] Gender[/u]:[/color]
[color=cyan][u][b]•[/b] Write at least a paragraph of a character doing something[/u]:[/color]

• Name: Ral Girard
• Gender: Male
• Write at least a paragraph of a character doing something: Serena examined the Head of Personnel's door. The airlock's metal was sparkling; somehow that didn't surprise her much. Near the side - to the right of the control panel - she spied a skinny square-shaped gap in the metal. A distant clanking made Serena jump; probably the janitor in the North Corridor. She grabbed her toolkit, opened the little metal clasp, and jammed the mini pry bar into the gap. With shockingly little effort, the cover popped loose and Serena had to scramble to grab it before it fell to the floor. With the control panel open, she grabbed her wirecutters - more clanking was coming from the North Corridor - and pried apart the bundle of wire. Back in training, her instructor had been explicit to never cut glossy red wires, as that usually indicated an alarm system. Of course, all these wires were glossy red. She heard the North airlock hiss; the janitor was almost behind her. Snip! went the wirecutter. Nothing happened. The airlock behind her was cycling. 'To hell with it,' she thought. SnipSnipSnipSnipSnipSni-KaTHUNK. The Head of Personnel's airlock cycled. It was agonizingly slow; government regulations required that every airlock in laboratories like this take at least one minute to cycle. What an idiotic regulation. The North Corridor airlock stopped cycling. She heard the motors opening the door behind her as she whirled around, wirecutters ready, lame as that was, but what could the janitor possibly have to defend himself with?


We build off of our previous posts, adding more details as we go. So, someone starts off with an empty slate, and they have to come up with something everyone can grab onto. Maybe describe the pub a bit, or its clientele, or casually drop references to the evil overlord dictator that lives down the street. Then the next person jumps on, and could, for example, describe their character sitting down next to the first one - glancing nervously, of course, at anywhere but the evil overlord dictator's thought police standing in the corner of the room. Then, in the next post, someone decides to play the previously-NPC thought policeman, so they start writing from their perspective, and edit their character sheet so that their job as thought-policeman is more clear.

That's three posts that just take what we already have and add a little to it. But by the third post, we've already got some basic potential plot points and setting - clearly there's an evil overlord dictator with thought police in the pubs, and while this could be modern, sci-fi, or fantasy, it's definitely dystopic. However, you can already jump off those few established things and add even more to it. Maybe these characters are resistance fighters, secretly meeting in this pub to try and overthrow the evil dictator. And there's also a lot of unanswered questions, like, are there elves here? What about ray guns? Elves with ray guns? So you just hook onto one of those for your next post, and maybe casually mention these sorts of details in the background as you push your character around the world.


**Obviously, site rules still apply. Also, no God-Modding, being a dick, igniting wars in the OOC, etc.

Eastwing ship Gravitational Variable
Orbiting Khas, the Eastwing Homeworld


"After so many years of hard work and calculation, with great pride and humility, I'm humbly pleased to present the heart of my masterpiece," Fred Kwan said. Microdrones had fanned into a loose crescent in front of him. The corporate backers and chief constructors were stirring. They'd been sitting in the background of the stage, trying not to fall asleep during Kwan's rather longer-than-it-needed-to-be speech. The stage was a raised white chunk of the Variable's formal dining room. President Penelope Kate had the honor of a front row seat, next to her media advisor, bodyguard, and the opposition party chief congressional, Emmit Brown. The OP2C was a stooped old man with more wrinkles than guile, but the Independent party always seemed to have a thing for easily-manipulated leaders. Penelope briefly considered elbowing Mr. Brown awake. An errant microdrone, however, bumped into his forehead. The camera's rotor had been bent into uselessness, and it dropped like a stone into the OP2C's lap. He started awake.

Behind the Kwan and the other guest speakers, a long, curving bay window looked out onto the Gravitational Variable's after drive section. A digital projection of the bridge shined in the corner, transmitted by one of Captain Smith's microdrones.

"The natural warp effect is actually rather dull. At only a 47% loss of efficiency, I've managed to visually represent the warp field and the flux of eddies in spacetime passing through it. Captain Smith, the ship is yours," Kwan said, officially handing over control of the ship from designer to captain. Of course, the Captain had been unofficially in command ever since the last builder had left the space scaffolding.

"Thank you, Mr. Kwan. Helm, set course for System 32. Engineering, power the warp drive," the image of Captain Smith ordered. Background characters suddenly made themselves busy. Outside the bay windows, the arc containing the warp drive lit up, panel by panel glowing a pleasant blue color.

"Course set," the helmsman reported. The view had cut to him at his console. The controls were esoteric; a set of spiraling spikes and stems sprouted from the console. The helmsman moved his hands through the maze at near random, the only feedback being a set of beeps and different-colored glows. "Engineering reports warp drive is ready, Captain."

A close up of Captain Smith's grizzled face, done so that they were looking up at an angle, slowly zooming in. Light glinted off of his eyes. "Engage," he said.

The warp drive glowed ever brighter, a mechanical spooling up noise filling the ship. Gradually President Kate became aware of a ring of what looked like the darkest possible shade of red glowing around the ship. Then, with a great outrush of energy (at least, that's what it sounded like, and if Kwan was worth half his boasts, that was what just happened), the ship entered warp. Apparently the eddies in spacetime took the form of lines slowly moving sternward; it looked like the stars themselves were streaking past. The ship would shortly arrive at System 32, an unexplored blue giant. 

Penelope clapped appreciatively.

Eastwing Ship Discovery One
Near the Faira Nebula


Dr. Tycho Clavius stalked toward Engineering. Despite being Research Director, despite being the impetus for the entire Discovery expedition, he had little authority on board the ship. Oh, sure, theoretically he was on par with the other heads of Discovery One, but Captain Needlemeier had taken an instant dislike to him.

“Bluespace translation in 5...4...3...2...1,” the ship’s computer announced. Dr. Clavius leaned against a nearby bulkhead, bracing himself. A bright flash dazzled away his vision, but the characteristic tearing noise was faint in this particular corridor. Likely a speaker was malfunctioning nearby. His labcoat fluttered slightly as his eyesight returned.

He entered Engineering, the automatic double doors gently whooshing aside. The engineer on duty started to stand up, saw that it was only Dr. Clavius, and sat back down.

“I demand to see Chief Nedry!” Dr. Clavius said, slamming down the “Power Requisition Form” he’d received minutes ago.
“He said he was busy,” the engineer on duty said.
“Busy! We’re about to translate the nebula probe, and he’s giving me power requisition forms! The nebula probe is the entire for this expedition!” Dr. Clavius could just make out Chief Engineer Nedry through the window. He was leaning back in his chair, fiddling with something. Nedry glanced up and gave Dr. Clavius a four-fingered wave.
“Nedry! What in the name of Tr-tza is this?” Dr. Clavius said, slamming the form against the glass. “We need unrestricted access to ship power for the probe launch! Cutting me off not only endangers my research and this expedition, but the entire ship!”
Nedry went back to fiddling with the thing. Dr. Clavius glimpsed a pot of body paint.

“Dr. Clavius to Research, please,” the ship’s intercom crackled. Nedry looked up at Dr. Clavius, and then meaningfully looked at the engineer on duty.
“Oh, a power requisition form? Is it purple?” the engineer on duty said. Dr. Clavius didn’t speak, only glancing at the obviously blue form and back to the engineer. “Hmm. Clerical error. Should’ve been sent to medical. Sorry about that,” she said, her voice dripping with sweetness.
“Hey, Dr. Clavicle, I think you’re late,” Nedry said, peeking out of his office door. He was laughing. Dr. Clavius managed a growl, ripped the paper in half, and left back toward the research department.

By the time he got there, Dr. Romanova had already taken charge.

“Oh, Dr. Clavius, how good of you to join us. I was just about to inform my husband that the probe was ready for launch. Unless you wanted to ‘manage’ us.”

Tycho glared at Dr. Romanova. “No, that’s fine. I’ll be in my office,” he said. Natasha turned away, giving orders to his department. He slumped into his office chair, monitoring the process through the microdrones. The lone bright green microdrone that bothered to follow him bumpted on the glass. Tycho opened the door for it.

“At least you’re still here for me,” he addressed the anonymous viewer, Dhrmi knows how far away. “Though why you insist on watching my life is beyond me.”

Dr. Romanova’s tinny voice said, “Probe systems confirmed green. Helm reports that we’re holding station 250 million kilometers from the nebula. Nedry, dear, we’re clear for the translation.”

Researchers backed hurriedly away from the spherical little probe. It had a tiny shield generator, a locator beacon, battery, and not much else. The sphere was hollow inside, designed to lever open and obtain a sample of the nebula’s gas.

“Bluespace translation in 50 seconds,” Nedry reported. Orange triangles winked into existence around the probe. A high pitched whine rapidly approached supersonic.

“Probe geodesic shielding on,” one of the researchers reported. A beehive barrier of pale blue hexes flickered around the probe. The limited battery life meant that the probe would only have shields for seven minutes, but the plan was to translate it back to the ship before then, presuming it didn’t move from the location it was translated to.

“Bluespace translation in five seconds,” Nedry said. With a bright blue flash and space-ripping sound (this one real, not piped through speakers) the probe disappeared off the Discovery One.

In the Faira Nebula



The probe flashed noisily into existence, blue sparks lazily trailing off into the nebula. The geodesic shielding immediately flashed orange, suddenly under strain. The probe levered open, and a section of shielding dimmed, allowing the hot gas to fill the probe. Five minutes later, the probe disappeared in another flash.

FD Nyxa, Faira Nebula
“Talk to me! What is it?” Admiral Sola roared from her station, “And silence that alarm!” In a few seconds the antenna wrenching screech and flashing green light shut down. Her holo displayed the nebula, slowly zooming in on a certain sector as their sensors did their best to pinpoint the location of the intruder.

“High power energy discharge, Ma’am. Unknown configuration, possibly an FTL dropout. None that we met before, but the output is consistent with the general requirements.” the officer at the sensors reported, her eight fingers waving over the controls. “Watcher fleet drones have been dispatched to get a visual.”

Shaking her head, Sola called for her diplomatic ataché. “Not good enough. Bring us in. Full combat readiness. Train weapons on target the second you have a lock, but hold fire. I don’t want this to turn messy unless it has to.” the violet accented Faira decided. A chime rang throughout the ship and the destroyer sunk into subspace. They emerged on the outskirts of the nebula momentarily. “Anything on scope yet?” the admiral demanded.

“We have them, but barely! It’s either stealth or tiny, weapons are having trouble getting a lock. Visual coming now!” the officer hollered, pointing to the main holo. A picture of the blue nebula appeared before moving in closer, displaying a spherical… something. The thing opened to suck in some of the nebular gas. “Looks like a probe, scientific if anything.”

Nodding, Sola briefly weighed her options. Maybe if they didn’t act, the probe wouldn’t notice them. But then what would happen? If it was them sending the probe, the Striker fleet would follow. No, better to know what they are dealing with. “Active scan. I want to know what there is to know about that thing.”

A moment later, extremely powerful sensor flash hit the probe, analyzing it nearly to the atomic level. “Detecting transmission. Attempting to locate the target… It’s heading somewhere outside of the nebula. Impossible to tell the distance without knowing the power output.” the tech reported.

“Bring it aboard. I want it torn apart if that is what it takes.” the admiral ordered, but to her dismay the probe vanished a short while before the Nyxa could scoop it up in it’s hangar. “Damn. Any idea where it was headed?” she asked, but knew the answer already. Without a working example to study it wasn’t likely they would be able to tell how that particular FTL even worked, let alone where the probe went.

“Negative. Well, if we’re lucky, they’ll run scared. Our sensors must have messed the thing up good for a few seconds. If they were listening in, they’ll have a nasty headache.” the tech tried to stay optimistic. If only it ever worked that way.

Eastwing Ship Discovery One
250 Million Kilometers from the Faira Nebula


Red warning lights flashed around the probe’s pad, klaxons sounding. The researchers were behind protective barriers facing the pad, equipment at the ready. The lights were dimming as the ship’s power grid underwent extreme strain. Bluespace translations from a location other than the ship of origin were always much more difficult and power-hungry, even if there was a locator beacon acting as an anchor.

“Translation in 3...2...1,” Nedry reported over the ship’s comm. The probe crashed into existence on the pad, violet arcs of electricity slashing out. The geodesic shielding was an angry scarlet. Seconds later, the shield vanished.
“We’ve angered Tr-tza!” one of the more excitable scientists shouted.
“Don’t be a fool! Obviously we’ve miscalculated the energy load the probe had to withstand,” Dr. Romanova said, fingering her copper bracelets subconsciously. They were a wedding present from Dennis, supposed to offer her Tr-tza’s protection from electromagnetic discharge.

The microdrones were fluttering about madly. A few had even been hit by the electrical discharge.

“Is everyone okay?” Dr. Clavius asked. Natasha glared, kicking herself for not asking the question first. The researchers responded with a chorus of “I’m fine.” The protective barriers had done their job.
“Good. Let’s proceed. Electrics, download the probe’s logs; toxins, you’ve got the gas,” she paused. “Unless you’ve got a better idea, Dr. Clavius?”
“...no. Oh, electrics, see if you can analyze the shielding power draw. Even if the probe didn’t have the sensors to know what hit it, at least we can figure out when it got hit.”

The researchers looked at Dr. Romanova. She nodded.

“And prep the pad for a sensor probe series. I want to find out if it’s a localized phenomenon,” she ordered.
“Yes, do that, too,” Dr. Clavius chimed in. Natasha rolled her eyes.

The toxins department rolled off the gas chamber on a dolley. Dr. Clavius watched them for a moment before his lone green microdrone follower waggled in front of him, motioning toward his console.

“Right, thanks,” he said. Whoever was controlling the thing, at least they were being nice. Tycho thumbed the vidcomm on, contacting the captain.

“What now, Tycho?” Needlemeier growled.
“We’re sending out a sensor drone series,” he responded.
“The hell you are. The last bluespace retrieval nearly turned off the bridge lights. I don’t want to know what seven will do.”
Dr. Clavius sighed. “I’ll tell Dr. Romanova it’s a no-go, then.”
“Ah, I see. Tell her she can proceed in half an hour. I’ll reposition the ship closer to the nebula. Bridge out.”

Half an hour later, with the ship only 50 million kilometers from the nebula thanks to a short bluespace translation, seven four-meter-long, pole-shaped probes were sent into the nebula in sequence, one minute apart. They were translated into a octahedral formation with the seventh in the center where the gas probe had been. Each probe acted as an antenna, and each was packed with sensors and a significantly larger battery. Even so, the probes’ shields would only last 10 minutes, giving a grand total of three minutes time for all probes to be in position simultaneously.

FD Nyxa, outskirts of Faira Nebula
“Fleet reporting multiple signatures matching the previous one! There is also something matching but with several times the output barely outside of the Nebula. Could be a carrier, but it’s at the border of our intrasystem capability. Only the Nyxa can make the jump, we’ll be alone if we go.” the XO reported as she took over from the sensors tech.

“They’re combing the nebula to find us. We can’t let them get away with that information. Plot the jump, and ancestors aid us.” Sola decided and Nyxa’s jumpdrive whirred into life.

It was the most turbulent jump of the admiral’s life. The nature of subspace at the channel their FTL used was such that the farther one was from a source of a gravitational field, the less stable it was. And they were on the limits of what the structural integrity of the destroyer could take without damage.

Finally the window spat them out. Immediately the holo displayed the sensor readings. They had them, all but five kilometers in front of them. “Visual?” sola asked, and the Xo nodded, changing the view as requested. Getting the lay of the contact, Sola decided upon their course of action. “full power to frontal shield quadrant and approach them from behind. Hail them, and follow with the standard first contact package. They must not be allowed to run before we have a chance to either talk or go over their computers. That ship has quite clearly defined engines - if they try to run, hit there. And hope they won’t overload. If they fire, fire right back, target this sector, it appears to be a weakspot.” the admiral said, pointing to the windows - perhaps a bridge?

The grey and red mass of the Nyxa moved as ordered, its guns trained on the target while every available communication array was trying to make contact with the unknowns.

Eastwing Ship Discovery One
Bridge


Captain Needlemeier’s face was outlined by the rainbow-colored glow of rows and rows of buttons and indicator lights. His Exploration Squad uniform, bright purple against his gray body paint and green skin, almost looked striped. The bridge window, a graceful arc, showed stars with a subtle blue gradient going left to right. The nebula’s boundary wasn’t a definite line as much as a gradual gathering density of particles. Scientifically, Needlemeier supposed there was some definitive density where the nebula began.

He pulled up C.E. Nedry’s image on his console. “Report,” he ordered.
“Yeah, all the outbound translations are done. I started the auto-retrieval already. Supercapacitor charge looks fine, but the crystals are going to be pretty brittle after retrieval,” Dennis said.
“How long before we can-”
“Kron’s dice!” the sensor tech shouted. The shout drew the microdrones like dogs to a box of biscuits. “New contact, five kilometers to stern.”
“On screen,” the Captain ordered. He pressed a switch on his command chair’s arm. The computer played the appropriate boatswain’s whistle.
“This is the Captain. Blue alert.” Needlemeier thumbed another switch. An automated message played: “The alert level is now blue. Security may have their weapons out. Random searches are allowed. Shields are online; please refrain from excess power usage.”

A faint blue series of hexagons and pentagons shimmered into life around the ship. On the bridge, an image from the Discovery One’s stern cameras lit up the main window. A large, rather blocky, red and gray ship floated among the stars. It was bristling with obvious weaponry.

The sensor tech frowned. “They’re a bit blunt with their design aesthetic, aren’t they?” His console pinged at him, diverting his attention. Captain Needlemeier called up Nedry again.

“Dennis, stop the retrievals,” he ordered. 
Nedry opened his mouth to say something, stopped, and then said, “Aye, sir.”
“Captain, we’re probably being hailed; telecomms is being flooded with… something,” the sensor tech reported.
“Or they could be trying to jam our communications before blowing our butts out of the sky,” Lt. Ray Arnold, the Head of Security, pointed out.

Discovery One had no weapons; it was built and equipped solely for missions of science. There really was only one choice. Captain Needlemeier called up C.E. Nedry again.

“Yeah? You know I’ve got things to do, right?” Dennis said.
“Dennis, get us out of here. Go anywhere, as long as it’s nice and far,” Needlemeier ordered.
“We can’t! We jump again so soon, the crystal’s will fracture. Pieces of the ship would end up not even Kron knows where,” Dennis said.
“How long?”
“At least half an hour,” Dennis said. Needlemeier growled. “And that’s assuming we can charge the supercapacitors in time anyway!”
“Fine,” Needlemeier said, ending the call. He mulled for a second. Discovery One had no xenodiplomacy department; the odds of running into aliens near the recent supernova were enormous. Given their lack of weaponry, a confrontation would be bad. And they couldn’t leave. That left stalling. Procedure called for the R.D. to step in for xenodiplomacy on ships lacking it. He smiled.
“Let’s assume it’s a hail for the next half an hour,” he said. He called up Dr. Clavius. “Tycho, get up here; as research director, you’re now officially in charge of contacting the… friendly… ship that’s on our tail.”

Dr. Clavius blinked. This wasn’t his field of expertise. He desperately tried to remember the one required class on xenodiplomacy that he’d taken.

“Okay. Um. Okay. Are they… signalling us?” Tycho asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” the Captain said.
“Send it back at them? And then play our standard greeting. I’m on my way up now.”

Greetings, xeno-lifeforms! We are a species known as Khasi, of the nation Eastwing. Our ship is called Discovery One. We come in peace! If you can understand this message, please respond on a similar frequency. If you don’t understand, please respond anyway. If your response is weapons fire, please try and miss.

Eastwing Ship Nostromo
Ennedi System

Armament: 10 multichromatic laser cannons
5 red high-explosive torpedoes
5 blue high-explosive torpedoes

The Nostromo screamed into existence with a bright blue flash. Sparks of blue spiraled off into the night. Those sparks weren't holographic projections; they were intentionally engineered flaws in the bluespace crystal matrix that resulted in pairs of clumped charged particles exiting at high speed post-translation. Through careful application of magnetic fields, the particles were made to spiral away in a safe direction and fascinating manner (although, truth be told, the particles were no more dangerous than micrometeoroids).

Captain Rollins stretched back in his command chair. "Navigation, report," he said.
"We're in high above Enned. Ship is currently in free-fall," the navigator said. This was standard; the farther the bluespace translation, the less likely your momentum would be a useful direction or speed.* While freighters got around this through a long and energy-taxing series of maneuvers that mostly involved falling in the right relative direction, most space force and exploration squad ships had chemical rockets to execute orbital maneuvers. 
"Helm, calculate and execute a burn-to-orbit maneuver," Rollins ordered.
"Burn-to-orbit maneuver, aye sir," the helmsman said.
"Patch external telecomms to the vidscreen," Rollins said. The Eastwing logo took up the main viewer. A little red light in the corner turned green at Rollins' nod.

This is Captain Rollins of the Eastwing Space Force ship Nostromo to the Straylight Institute. I'm here to formally request that Eastwing be included in this expedition, and all former grievances be forgotten. It is my impression that we've gotten off on the wrong foot.


*This is another reason why ship-to-ship or ship-to-surface bluespace translations are so rare. If one ship isn't matching the other ship's velocity vector precisely, splat. That is, assuming the object has even managed to fully emerge before the ship has moved out from underneath it. Then it's stuck in space without a ride.

Quite aside from the energy requirements (which often necessitate a lack of shielding while translating something), this has limited bluespace  weaponization potential. And then you have to factor in delay between starting a translation and actually executing it, which can be a problem if the enemy ships refuse to maintain course and speed for some reason. On the whole, lasers are just easier. And more flashy.

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