Havelock Vetinari

You need interaction, there's an angry-as-sin Vendarian in the medbay. She's probably cursing. Still.

If it's fantasy and I can play a necromancer/vampire/werewolf/somethingsomethingdarkmagic then I'll probably play. *Casually sips from skull mug* / designates "or" in this case. Just to clarify.

...Heh. You don't need to worry about that. The Vendarians are angry about the fact there are aliens on the ship. Half the crew are angry about the same thing, but without the refreshing aroma of an ideology encouraging xenophobia and violence to support said xenophiba. And that's just the tip of the iceberg. The ship's a mess.

IC (Ameli) Ameli was currently feeling that unique combination of utterly incensed, deeply embarrassed and disgusted that tended to make one an unpleasant conversation partner at best. She was out on the ship without her gasmask for one-the rest of the crew could strut around barefaced to their hearts content, willing to accept the dangers that came with such a thing. She was not. No Vendarian was. They knew too much about the universe for that. The fact that it simply wasn’t proper for people she wasn’t related too, long-time friends with or…involved with were seeing her face was also…extremely disconcerting. So, embarrassed, angry, and more than a little annoyed, she responded to the well-meaning doctor’s query with a snarl. “No. No I won’t. I was just tossed out of my office by some…” She lapsed into Vendarian at this point, sparing the room from understanding a very creative suggestion as to what the maintenance staff could do with themselves. “I’m hear because I got a breath of some fumes or another. As if exposing myself to the entire crew isn’t bad enough, they made me…” She lapsed into Vendarian again. It should be noted that Vendarian has, perhaps, some of the most unique curses known to man. “…strut through the ship so you can stick me with something or another to make sure I’m well enough for duty….” OOC: She's normally much nicer. But being asked to walk around unprotected (no gasmask) in a ship with aliens on it, in addition to being thrown out of her office....well. The results speak for themselves.

Still more then what most people did. Quicknotes on Vendarians: Genetically modified-long story. Not public knowledge. Basically a military-controlled dictatorship, though the situation is more complex then that. But these are quicknotes. Xenophobic. Society has a very cynical view of the universe. Nearly all of em are tan and red-eyed. Wear gasmasks nearly all the time. Hate slavers more then they hate aliens. Which is saying something.

Right. Since I don't expect you to read through the massive profile I wrote up for the Vendarians-they always wear gasmasks. Like, almost always. And to my knowledge, Ameli doesn't need meds or attention in that regard... But I can work with this. I'll say the explosion jogged something loose in her office. Breathed in some fumes and was thrown out of the office by mantinence while they repaired it, didn't have time to grab her mask-they don't sleep in their gasmasks, not always at least. Though after this, Ameli is certainly going to start. A Vendarian going without their gasmask is like running around in one's underwear in their culture.

I can send someone your way. Though why a Vendarian secret policewoman would be heading down there.... I'm taking ideas. The person who comes up with the best idea gets to live when I rise to power.

Well, our counselor has only made one, one-line post. I don't think we could go wrong with a second.

IC (Devas) “And that….should…do…it.” With a triumphant flourish Devas made the last adjustment to the shield controls, redirecting the last bit of overflow. He wait five seconds. Nothing happened. Five more seconds. Still nothing. It was at this point he delivered a second kick to the shield controls. The various readouts went from orange, red and in one disconcerting instance, black, to solid green across the board. He keyed his comms. “Shields are up.”

OOC: As discussed with Tyler, and due to some overzealous pruning of my schedule on my part, to free up parts of it for FTL... *Chanting* Yig preserves. IC (Romulus, Congo) The foothills of the Congolian forests were not a pleasant place at the best of times, hot, home to a thousand different diseases which only had a tangential relationship with modern medical knowledge and last but not least, home to enough small, venomous crawling creatures to give even veteran soldiers a moment of disconcerted pause. This already inhospitable place becomes notably more hostile when one adds in a millennia old cult armed with the firepower of a small nation. The Legion was well-equipped, the legion was well-funded, the legion was led by a man who seen just about every type of battlefield on the planet. The Legion was also losing at least five men every two days, assuming only normal operations took place. Actual battles caused that rate to shoot up to the hundreds on bad days, dozens on good days. They had no solid intel on their enemies numbers, no solid intel on enemy leadership and any contact with the remains of the Congolese military in the region had been lost a week ago when their stronghold, the city of Goma, had been wiped off the map. The Brothers of the Yellow Sign had triggered a Limnic eruption in Lake Kivu. Most of the city had keeled over and died when carbon dioxide had hit them. The rest had been butchered when the yellow-masked, unnaturally tough soldiers in the service of the Brothers had rolled in, slaughtering all they found. Romulus pondered all this and more, as he sat in tent, clad in one of the best suits of power armor money could buy, minus the helmet. They need to break out of the forests, that much was clear. They’d taken the forest from the Brothers easily enough, but their offense had stalled there. The Brothers had seemingly dumped their entire force (or at least what he hoped was their entire force) around the area, sealing the Legion in. Almost as though they were buying time for something, for a project, a troop movement or something else entirely. Romulus knew that when the Yellow Sign was involved one could not afford to make assumptions. Assumption burned cities and ravaged nations; one only had to look at the humiliating defeat of the Congolese armed forces to see that. The Legion could not afford to stick to the defensive; it was counter to the entire reasoning behind this enterprise. They couldn’t afford to wait for reinforcements, which would have to be airlifted in at this point, calling in the militaries of the surrounding nations would likely make the problem worse, for Romulus had no more confidence in their ability to put down the Brothers then he had in the shattered remnants of the Congolese. That left him with only one option. Attack. He gestured at the ever-present Thistledown, who despite the climate, was still wearing the long wool dress she had sported in New York. With no evidence of discomfort, the fact she managed to keep an ancient laptop running in this hot and wet climate was also worth noting. Romulus had long since decided to stop asking question when his secretary was involved. They tended to lead to responses like “how did you convince the police to arrest the entire school?!’ or the always lovely ‘why, pray tell, did you throw a brick into the mayor’s bedroom?’. Questions or no, his men needed marching orders. “Thistledown, if you would take a message. To be delivered to the heads of the I through V Legions. I want a full artillery barrage laid down on the entire front, with the focus points being….”

IC (Devas) Devas reached the shield room without difficulty, he’d half-expected the security officer to cook up some trouble, despite how much risk it’d put on the ship. Such man only thought of themselves. Without a word on the comms, Devas began to work on getting the shields back up and running. He wouldn’t activate them until the word as given however; he would await orders from Major Daniels. Judging from the consoles before him, he estimated it would be a simple matter of adjusting some settings, rerouting the matrix through the crystal manifold and tapping into the reserve generators to ensure the projectors were all able to generate. Simple. Devas gave the console a solid kick, just in case. OOC: Technobabble. Utter technobabble. Humva said “science stuff” and he’ll darn well get science stuff.

For reference, these pictures sum up Bastion: http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/e/e2/Fluss_Dja_Somalomo.JPG/800px-Fluss_Dja_Somalomo.JPG http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131219041004/turok/images/thumb/b/b3/Jungle_T-Rex.jpg/640px-Jungle_T-Rex.jpg http://img4.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120603023221/turok/images/thumb/a/a5/Suuroundedbybugs_03.jpg/640px-Suuroundedbybugs_03.jpg And add on the Vietnam war. For flavor.

IC (Devas) Devas, deeming the actions of the feckless, weak-willed security chief to be below his concern for the moment, had brushed by him on his way to the shield room. He’d get the shields running regardless. The plan presented by the major seemed sane enough, as such things went. A lot of variables though, a lot of things that could go wrong, so having the shield ups regardless would be a smart choice. Still, even as he strode to the shield room, something nagged at him. He keyed comm and opened up a secure channel with Daniels. “Sir, I’m en route to the shield room….and….the recent actions of the security chief have called his morality, suitability for his position and overall character into question, to the point where Imperial Law demands his immediate execution. I’ll be filing a report later.” IC (Ameli) Ameli took the change in situation in stride; she’d seen worse bungles in her time on Bastion. The jungles…..well, the less she thought about them the better. “Well.” She crossed her arms and eyed the make shift fire-bombs she’d fashioned. “Guess I won’t be needing these.” She followed Daniels to the bridge, figuring he might as well take up her proper position now that the situation had gone from ‘the jungles on fire, the local carnosaurs are attacking and the insurgents have air support’ to merely ‘the jungles on fire and the carnosaurs are attacking’. “Major Daniels.” She snapped off a quick salute as she entered the bridge. “I’ll be deferring to you.”

I presume we space the slavers afterwards. Plan's got my support.

IC (Devas) “And it’s open.” Devas took in the sight of the engine room, taking an account of everything before him. Everyone seems intact at least. “Right then.” He addressed the crewmen under his command. “I’m going to be sprinting to the shield room shortly. I’ll try to keep in radio contact. You…are going to hold down the fort as well as you are able and respond to any critical situations shipboard you can. Provided the area is secure. I’m not losing anyone today.” With that, the chief engineer swirled around and carefully stepped over the corpses of the Mantis. He nodded at the power-armored form of Harken. “An escort would be appreciated.” He gestured at a few small red stains on his uniform. “Not life-threatening, but I’d like someone watching my back all the same.” He glared at Can. "Worthless slaving slime. I've nothing to more to say to you."

IC (Devas) Devas whirled around. “You didn’t.” He paused for a moment, letting the words of the security officer sink in. “You did. You attempted to deal with slavers. In the Imperium you’d be shot as a warning to others.” He laughed bitterly, an uncharacteristic display of emotion. “But in the Confederacy you’re a security chief. They sure know how to pick them.” The chief engineer shook his head. “Petty and weak. No iron at all. Second things get tough; all your words about freedom and law go out the window.” Without another word, though with a palpable air of disgust hanging around him, Devas strode up to the engine room’s door and began to punch in the password.

Okay. Did some looking at my schedule, if I cut back on the blood rituals I should be able to stay in. Though if a Great Old One rises and consumes Georgia you can blame this RPG.

IC (Devas) Devas swore, he swore in a long string of expletives in his native tongue, which was, at best, a patchwork of burrowed languages and outright thief of linguistics at worst. A reasonable response he thought, the fact there was a slaver vessel making threats seemed to confirm that the universe hated this ship and everyone on it. “First buggers, then slavers. Think they’d have the decency to kill each other. Savages.” He kept his weapon raised and ready, just in case the Mantis shrugged off the stunner. Which they did not. "Right then." Devas strode forwards, V45 in hand. "Doesn't seem sensible to risk them waking up."

IC (Devas) He was bleeding. Devas was certain of that. Debris had caught him in the side, shredding through his uniform, though the under armor had stopped the worst of it, he could still feel a few gashes here and there. He shook his head, pulling himself to his feet. Somewhere, had screwed up. Badly. That as all he knew at this point. He’d been sprinting for the engine room and now… Well. That stayed the same. He still had his V45, he still had a relatively clear path to the engines and….he could still see the telltale glow of a cutter, just around the corner. Devas froze in his tracks for a moment, before slowly slinking forwards, hoping that the buggers hadn’t noted his presence. With a breath, he learned around the corner. He could see them, two buggers slicing through the door. Devas raised his V45 and fired, sending plasma screaming at his insectoid foes. OOC: No idea how effective that’d be, so I’ll wait for Humva’s word.

Right. Things are moving quickly again, for some reason, and my schedule is going to need alot of adjusting. Not sure I can stay involved, at this point. I'll try, but if it's gonna be constant rapid-fire posting everyday, well, I've got my writing, my research for said writing and my work. All of which come first.

IC (Ameli) Ameli had bunkered down in her office, having realized her lighter weapon would be of little use in the conflict. Laid out on her desk was her trusted V-45, with a few of the ammunition crystals laid out before it. It was a heavier weapon, but she’d had something else in mind. Vendarian wine was powerful stuff, to the point where some disputed calling it “wine” at all. Lightweights. Lightweights all of em. In her opinion, if a drink cannot be used as an incendiary device in a pinch, it wasn’t a drink at all. So, her wine collection was arrayed beside her weapon, rags and the like stuffed into them. All it would take her a swipe of the lighter, and the Mantis outside, she estimated, would be little more than fried food for some of the stranger planets in the galaxy. It was at this point, of course, Major Daniels emerged from her floor.

..... IGOR! RELEASE THE SHOGGOTHS!

....So, my character got killed because I was putting college first. Nice. Real nice.

Okay. Uh. I had finals. Could someone catch me up?