Sword of the Federation (IC)

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  1. [​IMG]
    Welcome to the USF Flagship, the Titan. This ship is top of the line, equipped with formidable turrets, a fighter ship bay, FTL drives, and a railgun running the length of the ship and capable of ripping a planet in half. A titan needs a sword, after all. With this sword, the United Species Federation aims to cut the hostile threat residing near the center of their galaxy, a strange species known as the [something]. They've been festering down there for hundreds of years, perfecting their art of war. Twenty years ago, they attacked the USF. Now, the Federation is tired, but strong. The Titan is their answer to these twenty years. To end the war once and for all. On this ship resides some of the most talented scientists, the smartest engineers, and the toughest soldiers all headed towards the center of The Great War. This is where you come in.

    Where You Come In
    You're members of the crew. You've somehow managed to get aboard the ship, be it through direct enlistment, a hired mercenary, a corporate contract, or some other means, you're here. You could be an engineer, soldier, medic, a combination of those or something else. Above all you're here to help the Federation. Or are you? There's a movement, deep under cover, against the Federation. Corruption, mismanagement, low pay and poor hours burn into the working man's mind. They've grown tired of being mistreated and are rising up against the Captain to take this ship for their own Rebel cause. Will you fight the power, or stay loyal to the United Species Federation?

    Not to be confused with "Racist", even though it's fair game.

    Races (open)
    A race of hairless apes, they are one of the most populous species. Forming settlements on some of the most formidable planets and one of the largest population counts in the galaxy. They are remarkably hardy as a species, some of them even reported to survive getting entire limbs blown off their body. They are known for their exploits in war, having fought among themselves for thousands of years, and have nearly perfected the art. The weapons their engineers produce are among the most deadly of the galaxy.

    The Kuza are a race of reptilian humanoids that sport colorful scales, thick tails, and flat heads that are reminiscent of komodo dragons from Earth. Their eyes are powerful and robust, capable of perceiving distant objects and infrared radiation. Their home planet is a massive one almost completely covered in grassy plains, where their eyes saw plenty of use over the large expanses mainly in hunting. They've lived in semi-underground huts for a while, until their mining instruments became more robust and they started living in masonwork dwellings. These houses varied in quality, and those owned by the rich could be considered art pieces in themselves with the proliferation of carvings on their walls. These houses are passed down through families as heirlooms, and in their society blood is always thicker than water. Through their advances and shortcomings in technology combined with an almost (and sometimes literally) religious drive to perfect their bodies, they have become one of the largest producers of biomechanical augmentations in the galaxy.

    The Sentient Information Telecommunication Augmenting Frames, or SITAF as they are known, are a "race" of robotic humanoids. They have a humanoid body, with thin, strong limbs and a central power supply in their heart that is a crystal, the composition of which is still under study. Their heads bear no face, but instead are similar to human televisions. They can display images of any kind of their screens and their voice is white noise, only understood by others of their kind. They appeared a few centuries ago when a cargo ship collided into a forest world. A few of them had been activated, and ever since they have been constantly seeking purpose in their own existence. Nobody knows where they came from, or what their purpose is, but they know that they are not "alive" in the traditional sense. However, they hold a marked fascination with biological life for it's ability to heal and die and be born again. Some of the SITAF have been active since their first wave of activations nearly 600 years ago, and some have only been activated a short few weeks ago. Activations can occur randomly, or can be triggered by another SITAF. Those activated manually can have "parents" of sorts, but for the most part they are independent. As a civilization, they are fairly unorganized, still living in or around their mother ship. Some, however, have sought out answers somewhere on the planet and travel to distant places in order to live. SITAFs do not share a general "personality". In fact, they vary greatly in size, head shape, and general demeanor, even more so than biological species.

    The daingeans are one of the closest cousins to the human race. They are shorter, stockier, and hairier than humans, but otherwise are almost the same. They hail from a planet dangerously close to the black hole situated at the center of the galaxy, the home to the perditors. As such, their planet is a world of opposites. On the side facing the hole, it is lifeless, hot, and ravaged by cosmic winds. On the other side, it is rather peaceful, arid, and life-sustaining. However, the daingeans do not live on the surface. After discovery by the perditors they were forced to wall themselves in from the constant attacks wrought by the hostile creatures. After nearly two centuries of battery, they have grown to be elites in defense technology. When they build motorcycles, they build two-wheeled tanks. When they build tanks, they build fortresses that can move. They themselves are also very hardy; their stocky frame can withstand quite a beating before showing any sign of wear. They've lived mainly underground and out of sight, and build strong bonds within sibling relationships, valuing family highly.

    Felids are a race of rather short, feline bipeds closely resembling the felines found on earth. They themselves have lived busy lives within the center of civilized space, acting as a trade hub for the galaxy. They are shrewd traders, skilled shipbuilders, and keen in their senses of sound and smell. They developed on a rather desert-filled planet, and have formed social constructs similar to feudalism. There are serfs, farmers of the sand, who till the dirt tirelessly and are some of the strongest of the species. They live in small, tight nit villages and live in familial units. The traders, wanderers of the dunes, that travel in large caravans to facilitate the flow of goods and currency. These are the wisest and fastest moving of the species, and make friends easily. Then there are the nobility, rulers of the desert, who rule over groups of villages and reap the profits. They are the weakest physically, but are the most intelligent and diplomatic of the species, capable of calming entire rebellions with a few sentences.

    By: RomanCat
    Name: Conahae
    Appearance: Conahae are a plant based humanoid in body structure, with legs that are bowed back, and usually a brown or green skin color, although blue is not unheard of, and many other colours may be on the rim of their face plate. They have no bones, instead their flesh consists of tons of little fibers all of which the individual can control, to harden for defense or stature, or soften for movement, although it cannot soften enough to complete uselessness, there is still a basic structure that is maintained. Only their faces consist of a large plate of permanently hardened "flesh", that can vary in structure from one to another, with four eyes in quadnocular forward facing position. They can speak, even though lacking a mouth, small vocal tendons run on the inside of the face, making their voice sound much more surrounding and raspy. They gain energy from sunlight or similar UV lights, and if left alone in these sources can heal much faster, including lost limbs. They still require water, as well some easy to obtain nutrients. That being said, if going for more than 30 hours without sunlight, they will begin to wither, wilt and die, and cannot heal even simple wounds without sunlight. They are slightly stronger than humans, but usually slower.
    Culture: Conahae are simple and conservative. They keep close tabs on their resources, population and territory, and rarely ever face things like war or riots. Their government is controlled by an oligarchy of the most respected of their kind. They have several religions, but the most respected is the sect of the wind, which believes that the wind carries souls in an everlasting sleep, only if wind sweeps over your body. They have never colonized any world other than their own, due low population and a general lack of interest.
    Skills: Conahae are efficient farmers, and mechanics. They can make good leaders, although unemotional, and make good tacticians.
    Home Planet: Byanca. A flat world of plains, forests, jungles, tundra and desert.

    The World At Large
    History and the like

    From the point of view of humanity, things have been going by at a blazing pace.
    In 2140, humanity left earth. Things had not gone well there. Thanks to a freak biological experiment supposedly quarantined to an orbital laboratory, earth's waters and soils had become sterile and dead. Governments crumbled as they tried to fix what had become of their world, and huge corporations rose up to take their place. Similarly large ships were built, millions of humans loaded, and with the first faster than light engines they blasted off in seek of fairer skies.

    On the morning of April 18th, 2155, the first ship had arrived in a new system capable of sustaining life, thus dubbed New Sol. Their home planet, New Earth, bore life like never before. Humanity's numbers increased tenfold and new interplanetary and interstellar missions were launched to further colonize space.
    In 2200, the first alien transmission was received from a lost vessel owned by the felids. An exploratory vessel that had come off course, they were greeted apprehensively at first but as time progressed the language barrier was crossed and it was revealed that humanity had found its first friend in space. The other races soon followed, calling in from various corners of the galaxy to say "Hi!" to their new neighbors.

    In 2232, all of civilized space received a transmission from the center of the galaxy. An ominous signal that somehow managed to pierce the fierce radiation veil that shrouded the area around the horizon It spoke of a hostile race, one hardened by an entire existence in war. They claimed the universe as their own, and said that the rest of them were ttrespassing They called themselves the Victors, but the rest of the galaxy called them the Perditors, or the destroyers in old Earth. Soon after, a kuzan settlement near the fringe of space was attacked by a group of unidentified ships. The Great War had started. That same year, a second voice had appeared. The voice of the daingeans. They said they could assist in the war, only if they could seek refuge further near civilized space for their species. Rescue efforts were tough, but it was done, and now they live among most settlements as a scion society.

    2233 marked the formation of the United Species Federation. A council, as it was, of various leaders from all the races formed as an emergency wartime alliance to fight against the growing threat. They worked together, pooling their knowledge and resources, working to cover eachother's weaknesses and exploiting strengths to fight the war on all fronts, and to win it for all.

    The year is now 2242. The war has been going on for ten years, and with all of Civilized space pushing against the perditor menace at the edge, there has yet to be a winning side.
    The USF has met once again to order the construction of their deus ex machina, the tide turner, the Titan. This ship is here to tip the scales, but it wasn't built without difficulties. Growing unrest in the working classes has become more vocal lately. The war has drawn the government's attention away from their concerns, wages have dropped, prices skyrocket, mouths go unfed. Words of rebellion spread underneath the USF's blind eyes and deaf ears. A splinter organization, galvanized in the fires of war, is forming, and it's found its way aboard the Titan. The mouth of the people here to bite the fist of civilization, all hurtling towards the center of the galaxy at three times the speed of light. There is only one thing for certain: It will be interesting.

    -No Godmodding. Don't make your character or species or weapon or anything invincible and/or indomitable.
    -Listen to the GM. I'm gonna try to not get into the way, this is a pretty player-driven RP. However, should I or any other GMs have to intervene, please listen. It's just easier that way.
    -Don't be mean in the OOC. Your characters can be as loathing as you want them to be IC, but try to be nice otherwise.
    -Have fun! I know I can't actually enforce this but I'll sure try. If you're not having fun, or have any other concerns, don't hesitate to ask me privately or through the OOC and I'll do my best to fix that.
  2. A Forward

    As players, you are all free to do whatever you want, whenever you want, to further whatever goals you so desire. That includes making up bits of the ship. I didn't write up a lot about the ship because it's really, really big and it'd take forever to make a map of it, and because it's your universe too. Make up whatever you want, within reason.

    The Titan is a big place. To call it a flying fortress would be an understatement. (They keep the fortresses in the ship bay.) The Titan is a flying, warp capable city. It's home to thousands of crew members and a similar number of rooms and halls. Most of it is up to you as a player to make up.

    A few points of interest already set up are...
    The Dormitory - Where the crew sleeps and stores their personal artifacts.
    The Lounge - Home to the only alcoholic bar on ship, as well as billiards, pinball, and a number of other recreational facilities.
    The Cargo Bay - A dimly lit labyrinth of sealed crates. The ship's security cameras see very little that goes on in its alleys and as a result, many organizations who would wish to stay hidden operate down there.
    The Armory - Storage for guns and armor, it is heavily guarded by the ship's in house security team, the SICS.
    The SICS Station - SICS, or Special Interspecies Corporate Security, has its base here near the bridge where it maintains order on the ship.
    The Bridge - The brain of the ship. The place where the heads control everything. Piloting, weapons, power; all the main consoles are in there as well as some of the highest ranking officers on the ship.

    An Introduction

    The current date is November 7th, 2242. It is the morning. So far, things have been rather average and mundane.

    The ship has been at warp speeds for nearly three weeks. There are another three weeks to go before it arrives at the front lines. A lot can happen in three weeks. The grumbles of the discontent crew are hushed, and the Captain remains confident in his control of the ship. Things have been quiet. So far.
  3. Marius stared out through the thick glass and out into the stars. So many miles crossed, so many victories won. It was a brief moment of refreshment from his usual work talking to the crew and working with the rest of the heads in the Bridge. A moment for himself to think upon all of his training, the things he'd learned, and what powerful pathos he would implement into the minds of the station. A smile widened on his face as his stomach fluttered with inspiration. Marius wiped away the thoughts of grandeur and untucked his hands from the silky robe.

    "Captain, the morning is young and I would like to be debriefed on what needs to be done today." Marius still stared out the window. He was half focused on what he was saying, but his full attention was still attached to the dotted imagery beyond the window. "I'm assuming the usual things for me. Civilian Consultant is a very demanding job."
  4. The Captain, walks up behind Marius. He's a tall, well built fellow, with a grizzly beard on his square chin and blue captain's hat. He's dressed in full uniform and holding a mug of coffee that says "#1 Captain" on it in big block text. His face is stoic, and he sips his coffee as he looks out into space with Marius for a second.
    "Very demanding, Marius. Very demanding. I've actually got an assignment for you, today. You've spent more time among the crew than anyone in this room. That gives me reason to believe that you can help with this."
    He takes another gulp of coffee.
    "You see, I've got word that I'm not very well liked on board. I'm not going to blame the crew, I think we've all been looking for scapegoats after things stopped going well for the Federation. But, I still have a ship to run, and I can't do that if my crew doesn't respect me."
    He drinks deeply, tipping the mug and finishing off the drink.
    "That's where you come in. If you can find out what these guys want, and how I can fix their problems, tell me as soon as possible. And, well, barring that, I'm giving you authority to try and thwart any... Any rebellious movements. This ship needs to remain under one flag. Understand?"
  5. Marius's smile crinkled across his face and he turned face the captain who he looked to with honor and respect. "Yes. I completely understand, Captain." He stepped away from the window and to the table nearby, which he promptly sat in but kept his eyes on the Captain. "Do not fear the word of foul men on board. It is to be expected, all good gestures and motives are questioned by the populace. For better or for worse. Rest assured Captain that the search for the "scapegoat" is over. The Federation holds firm and the crew have nothing to worry about, and I will find all the information you request and keep the ship together. That is my sworn duty." Marius tapped his fingers on the table. "If anything else, you will always have my by your side unquestioning of your authority. Together with the proud unity of the USF behind our back, we will conquer yet again."
  6. Bryzan was lying on his steel slab bed, absorbing some nourishing rays, when his alarm sounded notifying him to get out of his slumber and switch exercising his fiber muscles. This is the routine he had been doing for nearly the whole trip since he arrived, stopping only for water and the occasional disturbance of one of the crew members. walked over to a bar between the closet frame, and began his chin ups. He knew he needed to prepare himself for what he was going to face. He too had heard the grumbles and mutters of some of the crew members, and although his paycheck was to destroy the [something] no amount of money was worth the satisfaction of conquering the biggest space ship this side of history. Nor was effectively defeating an entire empire. But only if he saw the opportunity. No, he wouldn't go against the largest-or possibly second largest-military force unless he saw an ample chance to beat that force. He would wait, and either take his paycheck and leave, or take part in the greatest revolt in his lifetime.

    The alarm sounded and Bryzan stretched his shoulders before dropping to the ground and beginning his next routine. He needed to prepare, whatever it was he was preparing for.
  7. Pavel hadn't slept in his bunk; he'd passed out in the lounge, slumped over a billiards table, an empty bottle of cheap fortified wine tipped over beside him. There was one word to describe the job of a combat-specialized medic on an enormous ship when there wasn't any combat: boring. Absolutely, mind numbingly boring. They had the real docs and surgeons who couldn't fire a laser if their life depended on it tending to any accidental injuries incurred day to day, leaving Pavel to get drunk and gamble away his rations. Nothing better to do anyways.

    Pavel's head finally rose up off the table, his extended catnap (hue hue) finally concluded. "Ah.....shit, my head...." The situation wasn't exactly new to him, but a hangover's a hangover.
  8. Marius

    The Captain nods slowly, and walks across the room to the wall-mounted coffee maker to pour himself a new cup. It's on this wall that lay a number of buttons, switches, and levers all dedicated to luxuries such as beverages and entertainment. They even all have a rich mahogany finish on their panels with shining brass highlights, a theme that is shared with the rest of the Bridge. Such is to be expected, however, when you are a commanding officer on the greatest ship the Federation has built.

    He turns back to Marius. "Good, good. That's what I like to hear." His eyes brighten, and he clears his throat. "Well then. I do have something I've been needing a man to investigate, but if you would rather not I can get someone else on it. There's been an increasing number of people late to their assigned shifts, or simply not showing up. Today marks the fifth day of this, and the department managers won't stop bothering me to do something about it." He drinks another gulp of the rich, black coffee. "If you choose to investigate, see if these absences are related. Maybe it could be a union protest, or another one of those Kuzan religious holidays. Find out that, and try to put a stop to it." He adds, under his breath, "I'll never understand why those lizards have so many damn holidays." His voice picks back up. "Report anything you find out there. Dismissed."


    Your holocomp beeps and projects itself on the wall across from your bed. It greets you in a synthetic voice.

    "GOOD MORNING Bryzan."

    Holocomp Screen (open)

    Current Time
    November 14, 2242.

    >9:00 - Report to Armory for Work Shift.
    No other events scheduled.

    INBOX (3 unread)
    Crew Absences (open)

    FROM: ina.adams@usf.gov
    SUBJECT: Crew Absences

    Dearest crew members,

    Please know that you are required to show up to work every day on time. Not attending your assigned work station at the designated time will result in a fine, possible jail time, and a personal re-evaluation of your work aptitude.

    Any further disturbances will be dealt with harshly.

    Thank you,
    Ina Adams
    Ship Employee Senior Manager

    NO SUBJECT (open)

    TO: Abraham, Kit; Abbey, Yanna; Allen, Joe; Ama'il, Talik; and 2,564 others.
    FROM: guest@icafe.com

    If you are tired of Federation treatment, come to the Warehouse at 7:20.

    Twin Sun Supply Amazing Year End Sale! (open)

    TO: Bryzan
    FROM: donotreply@tss.com
    SUBJECT: Twin Sun Supply Amazing Year End Sale!

    Wow! Twin Sun Supply is selling all new and used laser weaponry for up to 60% off retail price!

    That's right!

    Get a brand new or lightly used "Ranger" Light Repeater for only 999.95 credits!
    Or, consider a more robust "Eagle Eye" High-Yield Rifle for only 2,499!

    Stop by any local licensed Twin Sun Supply dealer for more information!
    Some restrictions apply. See store for details.

    ((The something are called Perditors. I missed that placeholder when I put this in Iwaku.))


    Your head throbs and your eyes water as you look around the barely empty billards room. The soft felt of the table feels inviting and would be nicer if it weren't for the fact that your brain felt like it was trying to leap out of your skull. As you look around the room, you notice not much out of place. Across from your sleepytime table there is a juice bar, complete with SITAF bartender and two attendees. To the left is an exit leading to the hallway and to the right is a small vent grate that softly putters out stale air.

    The two attendees talk loudly, likely thinking they were the only ones in the room that were listening. One was a rather tall Kuzan, wearing a standard grey jumpsuit with a large Engineering patch emblazoned on the back. The other was a short and stout daingean. He wears a blue collared shirt and brown work pants. Your Felid ears twist and turn to pick up the Kuzan's heavily accented speech with ease.
    Words words words words (open)

    Kuzan: "Thessse paycutsss are sssuch bullssshit. I can barely feed my family with the money I sssend home."
    Daingean: "I hear ya, Hin'am. There's just not enough to go around."
    Hin'am: "They sssay the Orator isss talking with thossse disssgruntled in the warehoussse in a few minutesss. Perhapsss we ssshould attend, Godin?"
    Godin: "Bah, Orator schmorator. Like a man can change what the Federation wants. Even if he has his own little cult following, all he's got are words."
    Hin'am: "Perhapsss. But, it isss it not wordsss that can bring revolution?"
    SITAF: [Indiscernible white noise]
    Godin: "Sure. Another round, Hin'am?"
    Hin'am: "Sssometime later, Godin. I wisssh to hear what the Orator hasss to sssay. Even if all she doesss issssssspeak, there isss truth in her wordsss."
    Godin shrugs. "Suit yerself. You know where to find me."

    The Kuzan pulls out a rectangle of plastic and passes it over a small device on the bar. It beeps and he gets up, leaving through the door. The SITAF pours some yellow liquid into Godin's cup. It smells fainly of bananas.
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