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3.5E - Shattered Suns [RP]


Krefarus
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RKbEF4ZS22HcRQhV-7yyw-AdTXB_cmZBwKk2HyAiG4Li5zka8cCrYPOiJ8jnW0WDkjTKPTJ3_TcwtN5q2xVl7va7Fimhvkqsh4N0mJqLxRE1mCIRGsXEsPgDz2sQkdBkSGTEG7uS

 

ZONNERIJK VENNENDAL

 


 

[90 NP] Repairing Dreadnought hull (2/2)

[1 HP, 90,000C, 10M, 5A, 5T] Constructing Large Cruiser (½)

[150,000C, 35M] Constructing Shipyards on Devoort

[150,000C, 35M] Constructing Shipyards on Baas

[75,000C, 18AP, 18M] Recruiting 1,500,000 Imperial Standard Infantry

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Duchy of Castrillon

          As another year rolls around, production and employment rates go back to normal. An odd year 10,424 was. Hopefully another one like it does not happen for a long, long time. For the Duchy of Castrillon, the repairing of the Lord Regent’s flagship takes paramount importance. The massive hulking flagship rolls into port, and the crew disembarks as the mighty vessel receives the tender love and care it has desperately needed for the past two years. Despite the losses encumbered at the Labyrinth, Kalei appeared rather pleased to know the Irik couldn’t stand a chance against the massed imperial fleet. There truly was a fighting chance. Tireless days and nights are spent to ensure the Mandate’s newly collected tax is spent efficiently. Other than the repairing of the Retribution however, for the Duchy of Castrillon, nothing spectacular occurs. Kalei continues to politick amongst his old and newly added peers, and continues his tireless work to build a better future for his family.

 

Actions:
Flagship repairs - (14 NP, 10,500 C)

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SHATTERED SUNS
Year 10.427 AE

The clouds part.
====-----<<>>-----====

_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Events


THE REPUBLIC SHATTERS
“The die is cast”

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With the Separationist Senators having abandoned the Senate on Kior-an earlier last year, tensions within the Republic have continued to mount exponentially, with numerous government and provincial fleets being brought up into a state of readiness. All across the Republic, a pseudo-cold war between the Separationists and the Republican wings of the government sets in. Both sides eye each other carefully, awaiting the other to make its move.

It is spring, by Kaumai standards, when several large, Separationist controlled Republican Fleets, on the Stellarch Akamu’s orders, declare an end to the fuel crisis and cross into the Barons’ space, laying waste to their fleets in several sudden attacks before occupying both key hyperlanes, and several of their largest fuel producing worlds. 

By early summer, the whole Republic erupts in response to the invasion. The Grand Admiral Pepe declares Akamu and his Separationists to be enemies of the state, and orders them apprehended on charges of treason and sedition. In response, the Separationists, and many of their allies form a new provisional government to the south. Akamu’s Rebellion experiences a massive surge of support as northern and southern Stellarchs alike flock to his anti-merchant rhetoric. Perhaps the biggest boon to the Separationist movement is the swift establishment of military alliance with the far-flung EGPA, a Separationist goal long since stonewalled by the Republican and Constitutionalist elements of the Republican Senate.

The largest confrontation of the year takes place over the ocean world of Oiam V, a major Republican Fleet Base, when a Separationist Fleet led by Akamu himself falls upon the system in a surprise attack. Spearheading the assault with his personal flagship, Bulwark, A Heavy Dreadnought, a huge amount of Republican supply and material are lost to Separationist cannon fire while the local command scrambles to evacuate the system. With over half of the fleet being either disabled or destroyed, the Republicans only barely manage to limp away from the Separationist onslaught.

The onset of yet another Civil War also sees the Galactic Market’s fuel reserves and production plummet as the various Republican admirals and Stellarchs all rush to grab up as many stores as they can for the coming battles.
[Fuel stores and production are affected]
==---<<>>---==

HI’RAKS, THE EXALTED
“And behold, he sat upon a pale horse.”

Destiny Fallen Wallpapers - Top Free Destiny Fallen Backgrounds -  WallpaperAccess

From atop his Starcast Throne, the Mindbender once more orders his lieutenants out against his enemies, seeking to grab more space for himself and further crush any hope of a unified Empire. From the north, another Irik fleet falls down upon the Alamarii Mandate. This time headed by Hi’raks, the Exalted. Known for his brute strength and fanatic devotion to the Mindbender’s Crusade, Hi’raks’ fleet gained a particular reputation for glassing worlds during the days of the Collapse. The Lieutenant’s flagship, Resplendent Devotion, a large hulking Dreadnought, is equipped with a particularly fearsome array of glassing beams, said to be able to reduce entire worlds to ash in mere months.

Reports from beyond the border indicate that this second wave is much larger than one that preceded it. While The Exalted has not yet actually moved against the Mandate’s territories, his fleet continues to swell in number with each passing cycle. Many speculate that the Warlord intends to enter through Fiirkev’s newly opened route, but the Irik’s angle of attack remains unknown to all but his own.
==---<<>>---==
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

The Grand Duchy of Alamar

The Dryden’s will need all the ships they can muster for the coming storm…

Fal’s World

Expected guests.. (Discord)

Greater Altaire

A single Battleship hull was recovered this year, discovered as a retrofitted mining vessel.

Orteau

Another year draws to a close.

Kaitiaki Ora

She dreams of a great fire that climbs the western roots of a large tree, spreading to every corner. Not a single leaf is spared.

Vennendal

The Elferings receive a message from an associate. (Discord)

Castrillon

Retribution is returned to fighting shape.

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10,425

 

STELLARCHY OF MATENE

 

Spoiler

 

 

"My dearest subjects. Across our realm, I see you gathered in your masses, in jubilant throngs of well-wishes on this - the 50th anniversary of my ascension to the throne of August Stellarch of Matene. I, of course, accept your accolades, your triumphs, your praises, and your devotion to me on this most auspicious day in our calendar. I ask only that you share your genuflection with our liege - my master, my beloved nephew, lord of a thousand stars - Emperor Tuakeo II. May his reign be as long, and as bountiful, as my own has been - as my own shall continue to be.

 

Matene is a beacon of light and civilisation in an ever decaying galaxy, but I shall not pretend that a similar decay has not been seen in our own domain. As has been the case throughout history, and indeed throughout life: prosperity breeds complacency. We see that all is well and assume it shall always be thus. But, sadly, whilst we dine in gilded halls, weeds have taken root in our garden. Roots dig at our foundations. Rats gnaw at the beams. As many of you will know, no matter your role in it, maintaining a great estate is a taxing affair that requires constant vigilance, attention to detail, and decisive action. It requires work - to burn back the weeds, to cut out the roots, to exterminate the rats. Such work will soon be required in our Empire. Work that I am relishing the chance to undertake.

 

Alas! Let not the sombre business of tomorrow dull the festivities of today. I await your tributes, gifts and well wishes, and look forward to another year as your overlord. Long may I reign."

 

- Tanalar the Glorious, broadcast across Matene

 

 

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Actions:

  • 1 x Support Carrier constructed (40,000 C, 6 M, 1 A, 1 T, 20 NP)
  • 3 x Assault Ship Squadrons constructed (15,000 C, 6 M, 3 NP) 
  • 9 x Destroyers constructed (90,000 C, 18 M, 36 NP)
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Grand Duchy of Alamar

Year: 10,425

 

Overview and Story

 

“People of the Empire, today we detect for the first time in history Xenos ships entering the Alamarii systems attacking the Northern Military District of Paruru. I will not abandon you, I will stay on the homeworld until we prevail or fight to the last. We will leave their ships burning in orbit, we will leave their many limbs rotting in our streets, we will make them choke on our blood from high born to low. We do this for the Empire and if we fall we do it in hopes that what we do aid our allies in the great restoration, House Dryden stands for the Empire and in the end we believe it will stand for us.” -Grand Duke Albert, broadcast on the event of the Irik Invasion

 

The Invasion had finally come to Alamarii Space, the Northern Military District for the last fifty years had been expecting at some point an Irik incursion and had prepared for the event as best as a single system could. But still the planned interdictor was not completed in time and stands to not be completed until the following year thus allowing the Irik to drift over the fortified world and delve deep into the Alamarii space. Regardless it would take more than a year to destroy the Grand Duchy, Albert had time in a year he could trap the Irik Armada and his fast fleet could pick off its supplies and stragglers. Sadly the world of Paruru did not hold out as long as the Grand Duke had wished, surviving for only a quarter of the year leaving the hyperlanes open to Alamar and his seat. 

 

At the start of the year Knight-Commander Rekai was sent to take command of the singular Alamarii Legion on the world of Paruru, selected among the Knights due to his lack of any real meaningful ties in the main systems, he and command knowing it was likely a suicide mission to simply try and hold the Irik for several months so that the Loyalist allies might be able to build a combined force to meet the genocidal monsters that now banged at the proverbial gates of the Grand Duchy. A few diary entries were able to be broadcasted offworld before darkness fell on the Alamarii 1st Legion. 

 

Siege of Paruru, 1st Month Log

“It is the start of the year, by Kaumai standards at the very least. It is cold in Paruru. I believe it is in the middle of winter, I wake up every morning to see frost covering the dirt outside my quarters. I was informed by my subordinates that the Xenos Fleet had entered the system and was burning towards us. The fears and perhaps hopes of some of the men here were that he would pass us by but I suppose we were too juicy bait for this warlord. We are going to stand and fight, some officers put our estimates of fighting as low as in the single digits of weeks, the lowest estimate was two weeks.”

 

Siege of Paruru, 2nd Month, Week 1 Log

“The Xenos fleet reached the range of the Orbital Defense Station, I ordered it mostly evacuated and operating on a volunteer skeleton crew, it was destroyed in quick order and we do not know if it ever hit any targets. The Fleet then backed off from the planet before they could get in range of our own batteries, whoever is laying this siege might have it out for us but they’re not a fool. We have seen a few scouting parties begin to descend down, we have shot down a few transports but this is a prelude to the invasion.”

 

Siege of Paruru, 2nd Month, Week 2 Log

“The invasion has commenced in earnest, we have divided our forces to defend key facilities, shields, batteries and the sensor arrays. We’re stretched thin but we have good positions even though the regulars are able to perform well under these conditions, the Celestial Gods have blessed them to at least not be on the offensive if the conditions were reversed. My Knights are performing well, the issue we are now finding is we are simply being overrun, no matter if we’re getting a good kill rate, the simple truth of the matter is they have the numbers and we do not.”

 

Siege of Paruru, 3rd Month, Week 1 Log

“The Batteries have fallen, it took a while but it was inevitable and we have begun to fight off raids at the headquarters. It is hard to sleep now, the enemy fleet bombards our shields like a drum and it can be heard from even the lowest level of our bunkers. They have begun to ground assault the shield generators, most are still holding but outside of headquarters they are quickly running out of ammo and regular infantry is not suited to engage Irik in close quarters. I pray we can hold out for another month, but I am beginning to have my doubts.”

 

Siege of Paruru, 4th Month, Week 4 Log, Final Entry

“We are out of food, most of our guns no longer fire either through no more ammunition or simply breaking due to overuse, the perimeter of headquarters has been breached and the bunker will fall. I am gathering what remains of the Knights and Infantry under my command and arming them with whatever we have left. We will use a secret exit and assault the Irik forward encampment that acts as its headquarters for the siege of our own. I swear by the House of Dryden we will take some of their leaders with us and make them choke on our blood.”

 

Expenditure 

 

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More Alamarii Knights are called into service, three hundred thousand in total. They are trained and equipped to Imperial Standards [300,000, 90M, 18A, 24T. 42AP] 

 

Four Million Infantry are recruited in the coming year. Trained and equipped to Imperial Standard [200,000, 48M, 48AP]

 

Twenty Thousand Imperial Artillery are produced. [60,000, 16M, 6A, 20AP]

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ALTAIREREEEEEE

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-160,000C, 50NP, 10M, 6A, 10T towards 2 Onager-Class Battleships.
-19,500C, 26NP towards repairing 1 Dreadnought,
-7500C, 10NP towards repairing 2 Dreadnoughts,
-150,000C, 100NP, 30M, towards 5 Light Cruisers,
-100,000C, 40NP, 20M, towards 10 Destroyers,
-50,000C, 25NP, 9M, 2A, 2T towards 1 Heavy Cruiser
-20,000C towards searching for yet more battleship hulls.
-20,000C towards a special friend!
-3I spent on..........SOMETHING!

Edited by Catostrophy
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RKbEF4ZS22HcRQhV-7yyw-AdTXB_cmZBwKk2HyAiG4Li5zka8cCrYPOiJ8jnW0WDkjTKPTJ3_TcwtN5q2xVl7va7Fimhvkqsh4N0mJqLxRE1mCIRGsXEsPgDz2sQkdBkSGTEG7uS

 

VENNENDAL

 


 

[1 HP] Constructing Large Cruiser (2/2)

[25 NP, 50,000C, 9M, 2A, 2T] Constructing Heavy Cruiser

[80 NP, 120,000C, 24M] Constructing 4 Light Cruisers

[12 NP, 30,000C, 6M] Constructing 3 Destroyers

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Duchy of Castrillon

         As the members of the Hui Ariki evacuated Alamar and headed for the safety of their home worlds or some far off planet, the Lord Regent had other plans. To the dismay of many of his advisors and entourage, Kalei opted to take command of his fleet before rendezvousing with the massing Imperial battle fleet. From the bridge of his heavily armored flagship the Retribution, Kalei and the other lords and admirals draw up plans and calculate their odds. Although there have been better situations one may find themselves in, Kalei stands ready to lose it all and then some if there is even a chance for a safer and more stable galaxy. 


Actions:

Four light cruisers are constructed in the shipyards. (80 NP, 120,000 C)

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10,426

 

STELLARCHY OF MATENE

 

 

Life continues as it has done in Matene for the past three years - a feeling of a disquieted calm before the storm. Soldiers drill, ships are built; the Prince celebrates life, art, and himself. All the while, gears turn in the darkness, wheels are put into motion.

 

 

 

Actions:

  • 6 x Stealth Ships constructed. (90,000 C, 18 NP, 24 M, 6 A, 6 T).
  • 10 x Freighters constructed. (2500 C, 2 NP, 1 M).
  • 5 x Bomber Squadrons constructed. (25,000 C, 10 NP, 10 M).
  • 1 x Light Cruiser constructed. (30,000 C, 20 NP, 6 M).
  • 100,000 Heavy Infantry retrained and equipped to Imperial Standard. (20,000 C, 5 AP, 4 M)
  • Tanalar "requests" that the Fourth Empire's Anti-Piracy Taskforce II be dispatched to Matene for a short duration. Perhaps there is a piracy issue to be dealt with...?

 

7g7MA22.png

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F ā l ' s   W o r l d

 

[60,000C, 20NP, 5M, 3A, 5T] - The battleship hull scavenged two years prior begins repairs, thanks in part to 5 Tech doled out by the Imperial Demesne/Tenierts.

 

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[25,000C, 3P Bought, 6P in Fleet] - Much of the indisposed fleet of Fāl's World, 1 HC and two stealth ships, accompany an expedition of scavengers to search the battlefield to the east. The stealth ships wait by the opposing hyperlane exit, ready at a moment's notice to launch torpedos, go into stealth, and jump away, while the heavy cruiser is there simply to coordinate evacuation efforts if, say, a certain pirate were to show up, and is similarly given the command to warp away if it is in any real danger.

 

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Orteau

 

Who cares about forum RP anyway

 

Actions:

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-REDACTED [8 I]

-REDACTED [8 I]

-REDACTED [8 I]

 

-Orteau begins repairing one of the several dreadnought wrecks recovered from the Graveyard recently. [$140,000, 80 NP, 15M, 5T]

 

-Another light cruiser is produced for the screen. [$30,000, 20 NP, 6M]

 

-A stealth ship is produced, as part of the hypothesized counter to “the battlecruiser question.” [$15,000, 3 NP, 4M, 1A, 1T]

 

-Along the southern border with Sorin, there is a blurring of the line between occupied and free nobility. Lesser Teniert events in the south seek to take advantage of the recent atmosphere of patriotism, connecting with their counterparts.  [$24,000 on buying influence]

 

 

THE ALAMARAN MANDATE

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A crisis!.


Actions:

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-The imperial government builds two CAs and three SDDs, you know I did the math right.

 

-A total of 24 T is dispensed as welfare to some of the more destitute lords, such as Albert Dryden.

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SHATTERED SUNS
Year 10.427 AE

The moon’s light splits the horizon.
====-----<<>>-----====

_____________________________________________________________________________________________
Events
music

THE PRODIGAL SON
“It cannot be...”

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A long, shining hall. Steel walls, marble floor, a gilded ceiling, all glowing with majestic, reflected light. At one end, huge, inlaid doors tower over the guards to either side, while at the opposite side, a huge throne sits upon a raised dais. The throne is made of gold, silver and marble, clearly designed as an imitation of the Starcast Chair. Around it, blinding light shines, obscuring the figure sat upon it, dressed in the golden robes of the Emperors.

 

Throughout the hall, men kneel, clad in the smooth and gilded armor of the Imperial Guard, each bearing the sigil of the Imperial House of Rān. Below the chair, a line of officers chant in a constant, low dirge, delivered in High Imperial - the ancient language of the Imperial Core. Another officer, clearly the most important of the soldiers, stands in front of the chanters. His scarred face looks impassively across the hall as he thunders a question:

 

“Who are you?”

 

“We are the Imperial Guard!” the men roar in reply.

 

“What is your duty?”

“To protect the House of Rān, to protect the Emperor!”

 

“What do you give?”

 

“We give our honor, our loyalty, our service, our life!”

 

“What do you ask for?”

 

“We ask to serve the Emperor, unto death!”

 

“Will you fail?”

 

“No!”

 

“Will you falter?”

 

“No!”

 

“Who are you!”

 

“We are the Imperial Guard, we live to serve the Emperor!” they scream as they hammer armored fists into their chest plates and stamp their feet. Across the room, they lend their voices to the chant, droning and yelling the ancient battle-song. The officer draws his arc sword and raises it to his nose, before flicking it to point at the floor. He bows to the Emperor and roars:

 

“Rise then! Rise and join the service of Rān-lir, Emperor of the Galaxy! Rise to serve Rān-ji’s heir!”

 

The soldiers rise to their feet with an echoing clatter, and Rān-lir rises from his throne. The Emperor slices the palm of his hand open and as each man of his Imperial Guard approaches him to offer his obedience, he receives it by smearing his blood across the soldier’s face, blessing his service and accepting his loyalty.

 

As ten thousand men receive the Emperor’s blessing, the droning chant rises in pitch, as the Priests of the Imperial Cult look on, approvingly….

 

=-<<>>-=

 

A new claimant rises to seek the Starcast Throne! A man claiming to be Rān-lir, only son of the Emperor, Rān-ji, has appeared. Whether his identity is true or not, none can be certain - but all who have seen him claim he looks like the spitting image of Rān-ji. Already Lord Taanga has flocked to his banner, joined by the remaining independent warlords of the south.

===----<<>>----===

THE ENDLESS MARCH
“The dawn of a new age, Seer!” “All shall know it.”

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Far to the west, Atu-an’s endless wars carry on. As the year turns, the Heavenly fleet once more penetrates into the failing Colonial Reorganization Authority. Forced to meet the Atuans in battle over the hastily relocated capital, the Colonial fleet, outnumbered and out-maneuvered, is dealt a crushing defeat. What remains of the Colonial fleet scatters to the winds, broken and shattered, there is little hope of the Colonials organizing another solid defense against the invaders, save for the event of a miracle.

With the defense of the capital having failed for a second time in space, the ground war is won by the Atuans in a quick, yet brutal invasion of the surface. A large majority of the Colonial government is captured and shipped to Atu-an to face trial for their ‘crimes.’

Further south, the Altairean invasion of the USSC sparks a moment of opportunity, and an Atuan fleet penetrates the northern border towards the end of the year, meeting little true resistance, what with the USSC main fleets being positioned elsewhere.
===----<<>>----===

THE WAR ESCALATES
“What hope do we have?!”

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As the Civil War enters its second year, the Separationist momentum continues while the Republicans, and their merchant allies, struggle to manifest any true gains. Akamu, leader of the Separationist government, continues his campaign, spearing northwards after having destroyed the Republican fleet base at Oiam V earlier last year. His advance is fast  and effective, aided by Separationist fleets currently occupying the Eastern Galaxy’s expansive fuel belt. He is halted only by the arrival of the Grand Admiral Pepe’s own combined fleet. After a short and indecisive engagement, Akamau withdraws, unwilling to risk any real battle with the esteemed hero of the previous civil war.

Further south, Grand Admiral Manhuera leads his own fleet through neutral space against the Separationist occupied drive yards of Orthun IX. Lost in the opening days of the war to a relatively minor Separationsit fleet, Manhuera’s forces become embroiled in a system wide series of engagements to pry the defenders off of the numerous orbital facilities, and those built deep within the asteroid belts.

In the north, ERTC Battlegroups based from Oh’ran’s territory advance against the domains of General Tso and Badab. There is little in the way of space engagements, but on the ground of several worlds, ERTC legions are quickly fought to a stalemate, or even repelled by those of the General. 
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

 

Grand Duchy of Alamar

The Knights of Paruru’s final stand is spoken of all across Imperial Space. Their bravery and sacrifice are not soon forgotten by the many millions of lives saved by their desperate defense and stalling actions.

Greater Altaire

A single battleship hull is recovered, found buried in ice on some outer-rim room.

Vennendal

The war continues.

Duchy of Castrillon

Kalei seeks battle against the invader.

Stellarchy of Matene

Tanalar is approached with a mysterious business request.. (discord)

The young Emperor is all too eager to lend the task force to his dear Uncle. Matene is vital to the success of the Empire!

Fal’s World

The surveyors pick apart the old battle site, clearly having been created during the civil war some sixty years ago. This particular site is littered with numerous Loyalist ships, having been the site of a decisive defeat..
1 Dreadnought - 70 NP / 180,000 C / 30 M / 15 A / 20 T (2 turn)
1 Dreadnought - 80 NP / 165,000 C / 30 M / 15 A / 15 T (3 turns)

3 Heavy Cruisers - 30,000 C / 10 NP / 5 M / 1 A (1 turn) (priced individually)

Orteau

The news of yet another heir having proclaimed himself gives Adrien a raging headache.

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GREATER ALTAIRE

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oiwTjwB.jpeg

 

Anuaut III was a world positioned at the centre of “Ran’s Road;” the trade lane that wrapped closely to the galactic core connecting the eastern, western, and northern galactic arms. It was Greater Altaire’s main source of credits and the planets on the ‘Road’ looked the part. Millennia of trade had turned each world into thriving ecumenopoli with towers piercing the stratosphere and under-towers tickling the world’s molten core. The teeming masses of humanity went about their business within inordinately cramped and claustrophobic conditions. Seeing the sun was a luxury worthy of a paid holiday—none but the wealthiest could see above the monolithic structures, and it wasn’t clear precisely where the surface began and sky ended. Deep beneath the towering wealth and hordes of humans lay kilometres deep of refuse, forgotten infrastructure, mutants, mythical creatures told in topsider tales, and secrets many thought lost. Beneath even that was where an ancient, decommissioned battleship was stored thousands of years ago.

A team of historians had scoured a millennia’s worth of Imperial documentation and had located a “storage bunker” for an unnamed warship. With further research, and a lot of luck, an expedition of engineers found the bunker and the ancient machine housed within. Even after an eon of sitting beneath the lowest levels of a world-city, the outer hull was usable. Everything within the hull was another matter entirely.

 

Several weeks were spent pumping air down from the surface, establishing a near-vertical supply line, and clearing locals from their squats and buildings above. Further months were spent repairing the kilometre-long, super-reinforced doors that would free the ship from its sarcophagus. Finally, work began on repairing the ship itself. The mission was clear—the vessel was to be placed in orbit in order for proper refurbishment to commence, which was a task far easier said than done. The journey down to the hull took days and supplies were often delayed. Still, work continued. Air filtration systems burned out multiple times due to the sheer pervasiveness of dust and rust, and even when it was ‘safe’ to breathe the air tasted thick and metallic. Injuries were common, as were resignations and occasionally deaths. Without power and functional thrusters the ship wasn’t going anywhere regardless.

The team performing the repairs were more than three-hundred strong, although those numbers fluctuated with accidents. Even so, it was barely enough for the job at hand. Many, if not all, the engineers had cybernetic augmentations to better work in the horrible conditions--strength enhancers, artificial adrenal glands, sockets for exo-suits in their spines, and eye-mounted scanners just to name a few. It made many of the engineers appear like machines themselves, and some eccentrics took it as a point of pride to only leave their augs uncovered. Fashion was hardly in the mind of one particularly frustrated engineer all the way at the stern of the ship, whose artificial arms were quite busy.

The engineer swore loudly as his comm-piece cheerfully beeped. He leant his body-weight on the enormous spanner he was hefting to keep it taut and one of his arms pressed the “receive” button on the little ear-mounted device. A voice crackled through in a polite drawl.

 

“Morning, Fulpo. How’s the work going?”
 

The voice received a loud flurry of curses from the engineer as he returned to manually tightening a two-metre seal on the enormous fuel-intake pipe.
 

“Fair. Can’t say I don’t sympa-“ The words of comm-piece were cut off by the engineer as he roared.

“Where is my support staff?! You took them away from me TWO DAYS ago, Derrum! I have been down here alone for TWO DAYS tightening bolts as big as my ******* FIST! You hear this?” The enraged man smacked his six-foot spanner on the side of a wall several times, eliciting a melodious clang that echoed throughout the cavernous space.

“That’s a ******* WRENCH I found in here, since I still haven’t got the tools I requested a MONTH AGO!” Fulpo roared, a vein popping on his temple. You little piece of shhhhh-... He exhaled with a long sigh, and he flopped against the wall in exhaustion.


Where are my boys, Derrum? I can’t keep doing this alone.”

If Derrum was unnerved by the outburst, he didn’t show it. “They’re preoccupied attaching support-boosters to the side. I did the math—we can’t get this hulk out of the atmosphere with the ship’s engines alone.” There was a brief pause, and then Derrum continued with a nervous lilt. “Have you checked the thrusters?”

 

“Well,” the exasperated engineer sighed, wiping muddy, dust-filled sweat from his forehead. “I had a quick look. They’re intact I think, but I’ll need time to look them over and double-check pressure and output.”

 

“How long?”

 

“After I’m done with the fuel, I suppose. A week, maybe?”

 

After a brief pause, Derrum pressed again. “What about the reactor?”

 

“I fixed that first. It was in surprisingly good condition. The fellers who stuck this thing down here actually made an effort to preserve it.”

 

Another pause, this one longer. “Derrum?” Fulpo queried as he dragged a cloth across his muddy face.

 

“Fulpo I need to admit something to you.” He said, his voice shaky. “We need to launch today.”

 

Fulpo blinked and chuckled. “Launching with what? Our hopes and dreams? It isn’t the best replacement for functional engines, I hear.”

“We need to launch today.” Derrum repeated.

 

The seriousness of his tone was beginning to clue in Fulpo that the little man on the other end of the comms was not joking. “Unless you want to explode, we aren’t launching today. What are you talking about?”

 

“Fulpo, I promised the Admiralty that I would have this ship in orbit by year’s end.” Fulpo felt his stomach hit the floor. “I said all senior engineers agreed that it was doable.” Fulpo’s stomach metaphorically punched through several decks.

 

“They’re bringing an attaché from OfPO, he stammered, “to review our speed, efficiency, and political forthrightness for future contracts.”

Fulpo staggered in place, as if in a trance.

 

“Fulpo,” he continued, his voice cracking with every word. “They’re going to shoot us.”

 

“They would have only shot you, you weasel!” Fulpo screamed, snapping out of his stupor. “Why did you include us?! I never would have made a promise like that!”

 

“We’ve been down here for two years, Fulpo!” Derrum yelled back hysterically. “They’re going to make us dig up another somewhere worse, I know it! They won’t let us quit now after the last wave of resignations! We’ll be sent to the bottom of some other nightmare world and I’ll have to watch even more people die! I can’t do it anymore, Fulpo! The only way out is being promoted up the ladder!”

 

Fulpo had dropped the spanner, and was now frantically pacing around the engine room. His bio-scanner was warning him of a sudden jump in heart-rate and was making diet recommendations. The feeling of fear and rage was now giving way to calculations.

 

“Alright alright. When are they arriving?” Fulpo asked, quickly checking a portable scanner kludged against the side of the reactor. The readouts still claimed that the reactor was structurally and mechanically sound within 89% of minimum safety standards.

 

“They were delayed by six hours, I just got the message. It’s why I’m telling you this now.”

 

Six hours. It was do or die, or potentially slowly die. He slapped the scanner on the innermost side of the main thrusters, and the little yellow screen showed 62% structural and mechanical stability in flashing red letters. It’d have to do.

 

The next two hours involved planning. The whole crew was informed (with some creative flourishes about who would be potentially executed) and began their own, terrified prep-work. A whole team arrived down to the stern, carrying a reaczap; essentially a giant battery that would deliver a massive jolt of electricity to the reactor, restarting it. A ship this size had its reactor running for years on end, only turned off at a drydock for maintenance. In modern ships there were more elegant ways to reactivate them, but for ancient, defunct models at the bottom of a planet’s cesspit, they required something a tad more archaic.

 

As the specialist pilot for the launch was kidnapped and cannibalised by a local under-tribe, the honour of flying the hulk was handed over to Fulpo. He had previous experience in launching a small spacecraft from the surface once before, and was therefore most qualified professional. He was not thrilled at this decision.

 

Launching ships from planet-side drydocks was very inefficient. Large-scale shipbuilding had moved entirely into orbit over several thousand years, but sometimes it was still necessary to get large spacecraft out of a gravity-well. Usually it was just commercial freighters that had to make emergency landings or small-scale pleasure-craft. Anything larger than a cruiser was generally just resigned to rot on the surface, as the cost to raise it was simply too great to bother with. The issue was ultimately tonnage—the mass of a ship would require a greater amount of force to push it into orbit, and a battleship was several million tonnes. In essence, with the force necessary for the launch, a few of the towering spires above were likely going to melt.

 

Despite being against it, Fulpo took some solace in that the launch would be (in theory) simple. There wasn’t any manoeuvring that couldn’t be performed by the ancient navigational AI. All he had to do was sit in a chair, press the button he needed to press, push forward the thruster’s lever to the appropriate level, and hope the G-force didn’t kill him. He was informed late that the inertia-dampeners didn’t quite cover the bridge, and since everyone else needed to be moving around, he got the short end of the stick.

 

Entering the bridge, Fulpo was astounded at how badly the repair crew had torn apart the stations that dotted the camped space. Numerous old computer terminals were torn out and tossed unceremoniously into a corner, replaced with nothing but gaping holes. Open wiring was present everywhere with most of it snaking back towards the pilot’s station. The antique chair threw out a cloud of dust as he sat down and looked over the buttons. Next to the old console were hastily attached controls for the support boosters, but the original ship’s controls drew most of his attention. After a quick investigation, he came to the realisation that he couldn’t read any of the words written on them.

 

“Derrum!” Fulpo growled through his comms. “What is this jibberish I’m looking at?

After a moment of static, Derrum spoke back in a strained tone. “Yes, apparently the guys refurbishing the bridge didn’t write down what does what. We think the dialect is extinct so we couldn’t run an auto-translate. There should be a switch that reads like a coreworlder soup, or a drunk trying to hire a prostitute.”

 

Fulpo glared at the controls for a moment. “You mean Engager Poussée?”

 

“Yes that’s the one. You flick that, the one under it listed as Pause Gravité, push the big red lever on your right to its absolute limit, and then press the button Initier Brûlure. Got it?”

“... Yes.” Fulpo hastily pulled a bottle of adhesive from his belt, and squeezed out a number next to each control in order. “Is everyone in position?”

 

“Just about, they’re doing final checks on the support-boosters, and then we’ll leave it in the hands of fate. Could we go one more time over the plan, please?”

 

Fulpo sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I engage the boosters which should take us directly upwards. At 15 kilometres the guys with the reactor will jump the power, at approximately 22 kilometres the support boosters will be out of fuel and will automatically disengage. I then hit all the soup-switches and we blast out of the stratosphere, where a team of tugboats will drag us into a stable orbit. Provided we don’t explode and die during any of the aforementioned steps.”

 

“Yes, that would put damper on things.” Derrum remarked sardonically. “I’ll give you the all-clear soon.”

 

For twenty agonising minutes, Fulpo sat in his dusty chair and stared through the greasy observation window. The tiny twinge of excitement he had for what he was about to do was crushed by the sheer weight of terror. The only emotion he felt stronger was pure hatred for Derrum and his infantile scheme. Something that he would have to address later...

Derrum finally gave the all clear, and Fulpo personally comm’d each team around the ship, making last-minute checks/searching for any excuse to abandon the launch. When all hands reported their condition as ‘sufficient,’ he began the countdown. He prayed the G-forces wouldn’t break his fingers.

 

He engaged the first-stage support-boosters, and felt his fingers break.

 

His whole body was thrown back into the chair as the world violently shook. Pieces of the ceiling came cascading down to the ground, striking against dusty floor and shattering without so much as a bounce. The hull of the ship groaned angrily, trying to hold together despite the insides being torn apart. As he silently suffered his ribs bending inwards, all he could do was stare upwards through the observation window.


The undersides of the towers flew past at frightening speeds. The engineers had cleared enough space through the chaotic metal tangle that was endemic to the lower parts of the towers, displacing monsters, gangs, and tribes while starting a few local wars in the process. What remained was a direct path upwards from the ground to sky, with enough extra space to ensure it wouldn’t crash against the edges on its ascent. What Fulpo originally assumed was rain from far above was actually tiny pieces of glass and metal from the cascading destruction. The pressure and power of the thrusters were shattering windows and tearing walls above them as they soared.

 

In his comms he could hear the crew frantically reporting damage in their sections of the vessel and organising patching jobs before they hit the vacuum. All the while, Derrum calmly counted the kilometres passing. When they reached fifteen kilometres, lights on the bridge flickered on and quickly exploded afterward in a hail of sparks, while small electrical fires hissed into life within the botched wiring of the empty console stations. Out of the corner of his eye, Fulpo could see the lights flash on his console, and one or two working screens revealed very unfriendly looking words in red. A moment longer, and the his second job would begin.

 

Derrum’s counting reached twenty-two, and Fulpo felt the pressure against his body quickly dissipate. Thankfully the switches didn’t require precise manipulation as his mechanical fingers were bent in a direction they were not made for. When the G-forces allowed it, he painfully swung his whole body over to the buttons.

 

He flicked the first, and he felt the whole ship shudder.

He slapped the next, and heard a dull roar someone deep in the vessel.

 

With his limp digits, he pushed the red lever to its farthest extent, and listened to panicked yelling from his comms.

 

Finally, he slapped his hand down on the button, and his vision went black.

 

At least, his biological vision. Blood had apparently rushed to his fleshy eye, but his cybernetic eye was seeing things just fine. If the world shook before, a cruel god now took the vessel and rattled it around in a glass. Sparks flew from the screens in a heavy torrent, scorching his trousers and finally engaging his automatic adrenaline injectors. He would luckily get to experience every moment of agony as his ribs snapped one by one. A sudden pain twitched at the back of his throat, as he realised a false tooth had snapped out of his mouth and was now lodged there. The buildings raced past faster and faster, but finally a ray of light gleamed. The towers were beginning to spread out and grow thinner. The noxious clouds parted, and just as his ankles were about dislocate the pressure pushing down on him began to slowly dissipate. The sky went from brown, to blue, to starry black. Refuse began to float around the bridge, and Derrum’s voice confirmed that they were almost in orbit. Through the cracked observation window, Fulpo could see a few small ships gently float towards the hulk. He vowed on his mother’s ashes that he would transfer out of this division of the company, whether OfPO liked it or not.

 

The celebrations in the comms were interrupted only by Fulpo begging for medical attention. He received it just after he joined the other senior engineers in throwing Derrum out of the airlock.

 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

-125,000C, 50NP, 10M, 5A, 5T, towards refurbishing and repairing 1 dreadnought wreck.
-80,000C, 25NP, 7M, 3A, 5T towards 1 Onager-Class Battleship.
-40,000C, 16NP, 16M, towards 8 fighter squadrons.
-40,000C, 16NP, 16M, towards 8 bomber squadrons.
-120,000C, 60NP, 18M, 3A, 3T, towards 3 support carriers.
-100,000C, 50NP, 18M, 4A, 4T, towards 2 Heavy Cruisers.
-60,000C, 40NP, 12M, towards 2 Light Cruisers.
-200,000C, 5M, towards an orbital defence station.
-20,000C towards a very special friend.
-50,000C towards searching for more battleship hulls.
-50,000C + 1T towards a very special trip...
-3I spent on....... SOMETHING....

 

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Edited by Catostrophy
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Duchy of Castrillon

          Shots streaked around the Retribution like streaks of light as the main gun fired once more. “Again!” Kalei demanded as his rail cannon cut another Irik ship in two. Before his next command could be given though, Sorin’s voice boomed in the bridge, taking the Lord Regent by surprise.  As the words he spoke and sounds of explosions sunk in, it was clear what the transmission’s purpose was. A beam of light erupted from Hirak’s flagship shortly before the transmission ended and Sorin's mighty vessel went up in flame, crumbling into a million pieces of imperial handiwork. Kalei knew what was to come. He cut a glance to his communications team and nodded as they looked to him for direction. They knew what to do, and went fast to work sending out his final message to the psyker on Castrillon for his wife and son. His rail cannon rang out another shot, making yet another Irik vessel crumble before it’s might. That would be him shortly he thought to himself as he watched Hirak’s flagship move towards the Retribution’s position… He never thought he’d die before seeing Kuamai. He never even got to erect a statue in his father’s honor at the spot of his valiant last stand. Could he have been a better man? A better father and husband? Was there more he could have done for the cause that he so loved? Perhaps, but the true measure of a man is not only how he lived, but also how he died. “Redirect full power to the engines” he said calmly to his bridge crew. He knew it wouldn’t be enough, the Retribution was a behemoth of a vessel. It didn’t have that kind of speed, but it would give some sort of peace of mind to his sailors before their oncoming doom. A false sense of security. It was the very least he could do for them. At this point the communications team and psyker looked to Kalei from across the bridge and gave a thumbs up signaling the message had been sent. This brought a smile to the doomed man’s face. Hirak was now over them. Their time had come. The massive glassing beam could be heard and seen spooling up a charge above them. This was it for Kalei Folau, Lord Regent of the mandate. As the Retribution attempted it’s escape from the weapon's range, a bright beam of light cracked the noble flaghip's once hard shell. The vessel proceeded to be blown to pieces by the glassing cannon of the Resplendent Devotion. 

       As the message is received on Castrillon there is no time for mourning or weeping, as the 17 year old Kalani is rushed to the main hall for a quick coronation ceremony as instructed by Kalei. Kalani Folau is crowned as Duke and lord protector of Castrillon and it’s space within two hours of his father’s death, securing his rule and cementing his position.  One thing is clear however, there will be retribution and vengeance to come as a fire is lit deep in the last child of the Folau line.
 

Actions:
Rakena is paid for the creation of Castrillon’s new flagship, and the materials necessary are fronted for it’s construction. (350k C, 10 A, 10 T, 20 M)

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