After Fifty five years of the Confession of George Glenn's ancestry as the first coordinator in Human History.[/i:lit]
<span class="mu-i">Seventeen years after his assassination by suspected Religious and Genetical-purist extremists spurned by the deadly S-Influenza's virus death-toll being few amongst the coordinator race.</span>
<span class="mu-i">Twenty-Six years after the foundation of the PLANT colonies, wherein most Coordinators reside after unforetold violence and hatred befell on them and their genetically-altered birth.</span>
You are Noel Tiberius, the reigning warrior-queen of Hazaran. This is very much not Hazaran.
The community you have found yourself in is one small part of the main continent, far enough from your homeland that its existence could be hidden from you for centuries. Five half-blooded warriors like yourself have come here with you as a show of strength and solidarity, along with eight Hazari infantrymen as a token ‘honor guard’. There can be no doubt as to your status, since even on the continent nobody seems to wear crowns set with almond-sized precious gems aside from you. And none carry any visible weaponry, let alone swords nearly as long as they are tall.
That’s probably one reason why when Leto Aristo, mayor of the port town of Kirkines – where you’ve found yourselves – listened to you when you politely insisted that he take you to his leader. He quite simply doesn’t know what to make of you even after you explained who you are. Almost everything about you must be absolutely foreign to his worldview, and so instead of trying to figure you out for himself, he’s chosen to hand off responsibility for whatever you turn out to be.
“At least the food is nice,” Aurora muses, nibbling at one of a few dozen identical baked crackers, topped with thin slices of firm white cheese and what seems to be a jam made from fig. “Very tasty.”
With a little bit of spice added, even your mother seems to appreciate the gesture, and washes her light snack down with an incredibly clear ruby-red wine. “It seems the production methods are quite different here.”
True, the crackers in particular point to mass production of such specialty foods. Where you come from fine bakeries can aspire to some uniformity, but this goes a clear step further than that. The men – and two women – also seemed to appreciate being brought something to eat despite being relegated to sitting outside the room where you and your fellow warriors will be meeting with a figure standing above Leto Aristo in continental politics.
That man soon makes his appearance. His clothing is very much like the three-piece jacket and waistcoat combination which seems to be the norm for men in this community, albeit more finely tailored and with buttons made with fine horn rather than some obviously fake imitation. You rise from your seat to greet him, make a little gesture to prompt Salem to do the same as the last straggler, then just as quickly return to your seat.
“So, mayor Aristo tells me you’re claiming to be some sort of queen,” the man in the nice suit muses, walking to a seat opposite from you across a low table. He produces a pipe from a pocket in his coat before setting the jacket over the back of the stuffed chair and taking a seat. “May I hear your introduction for myself, please?” >1/2
<span class="mu-s">WARNO WARNO WARNO</span> IDENT:80e74b16371a TO: PRO-83216
FROM: [OOS-GYS-54]
SITUATION: In the wake of the destruction of UNSC Taskforce 36 and attached units in the vicinity of the system of Thompson, Insurrectionist activity has had a noted and sharp increase. An unregistered merchant tagged for tracking due to possible Insurrectionist ties has been detected multiple times by ONI watchers in-system, primarily in orbit of a small planetoid within a cluster of planetesimals at the cosmographic boundary of the Thompson system. It is believed that Insurrectionist elements rushed to exploit the UNSCs sudden absence from this region of space to establish a forward striking post on other UEG holdings within a 50 light year radius.
ATTACHMENTS/DETACHMENTS: 31st Special Missions Unit assigned to assist PRO-83216 is to be revived and made effective by 20 MAR 2549
2nd Shock Trooper Battalion ODST/SPF assigned to assist PRO-83216 is to be revived and made effective by 20 MAR 2549
Headhunter Team VACIVE assigned to PRO-83216 is to be revived and made effective by 20 MAR 2549
EARLIST TIME OF MOVEMENT: TO BE DETERMINED
NATURE AND TIME OF OPERATION: TO BE DETERMINED. Expect initial standard SSE and observational doctrine and tasks.
TIME/PLACE OF OPORD ISSUANCE: OPORD will be issued to PRO-83216 between 10-19 of MAR 2549. Briefing is to be issued by Commander Vislav at 0430 Thompson Standard Time, 20 MAR 2549. All Team Leadership is expected to attend.
ADMIN AND LOGISTICAL INFORMATION: UNSC QRFs in the vicinity of Thompson are unlikely to assist. Covenant units are still common in Thompson in the wake of the Glassing of Estuary. COLE PROTOCOL will likely need to be upheld regardless of observational results on suspected Planetoid. Prepare equip all squads with a basic load of combat equipment upon deployment. Usage of M441 Hornet Remote Explosive System is cleared. Usage of M947 SHIVA Nuclear Delivery System is cleared to the Commanders discretion.
No expected reinforcements. No expected Resupply. <span class="mu-s">WARNO WARNO WARNO</span>
First quest in 4 years, so have mercy on my wretched soul. Expect OPORD and character introductions 12 hours from now.
The stillness of the void is disrupted by the appearance of a dilapidated cargo vessel, its prow streaming with plumes of fairie-fire from its jump.
Behind it the miraculous tear in space and time that humanity barely understands has already collapsed. Blessedly unwitnessed by human eyes.
Before the hull has even had a chance to cool it crashes into the veil of micro-debris kicked up by the nearby asteroid field, wherein lies its destination.
As thrusters burn to induce the vessel’s drift towards the mining outpost it was so suddenly instructed to divert towards, the scant handful of crew within begin to stir in their cryopods.
None of them know yet that this shuffle of their cargo run is likely to change their lives.
But that is for later, for now there are questions to be answered…
===
Greetings and welcome to The Haunting of Ypsilon-14, a One-Shot in the Mothership TTRPG system. This is a very deadly Sci-Fi Horror game, so brace yourselves!
Mothership is a roll-under d100 system. We’ll be doing Bo2 here, to soften the edge just a bit. Generally if you’re rolling dice it’s because you’ve fucked up or haven't planned well enough anyway. Doubles are crits, if they’re above the Stat/Save you’re rolling against then that’s a crit fail. If they’re below, that’s a crit success. Where skills apply, they raise your effective score by +10 for Trained, +15 for Expert, and +20 for Master (you can stack them if you’re clever).
A world where might makes right. A world of Jade and Gold, of Phoenix and Dragons, of Pills and Talismans, of Martial and Spiritual arts. A world where diligent training yield strength, meaning freedom. A world where loneliness means death, meaning social chains. A world still unfair, as the ones reaching the heavens are most likely born rich - be it political riches of the aristocrats, power of secret knowledges and hidden realms of clans, or lucky enough to be born one-in-a-thousand genius.
This was not the case of Quiet Word - that is, (You). Your current skill level is on par with other genius of your age. But where they were graced with secret techniques and special care, you just had lucky encounters leveraged to the best and a knack for navigating social situations.
You own a trove of techniques for such a young cultivator - more than you can study efficiently, but your strength lies in the impressive amount of Bonded Spiritual Beasts - A Phoenix spirit, a Horse spirit, a Snake spirit and a Wolf spirit. Speaking of that last one, you didn't told a world about him to anybody. As a scion of the Primordial Wolf spirit, its father warned you of its worth and how people could want to rip it away from you. Especially in such a ruthless and public environment than, say, a townwide cultivator tournament. Previously mentionned worth comes from its ability to Fuse without restriction - fusion being a secret of the higher ranking of your sect, secret you have almost completely rediscovered on your own, and freely shared with your sect-siblings (but not your masters). Alright, the Primordial Wolf might have helped you on that point.
Recently, you took the mantle of elder brother to twelve younglings; you won for the second time the local town's tournament; you get in some weird pact with a gardener and you broke through the first minor realm of second stage. All is nice and well - if you set aside your concerns regarding a certain prophetic poem including words about fated dao partner and the most-dreaded rightful fear of falling behind.
2000 after Christ´s death...Everything smells like roses. Problem is non-existant since the last Big Bang (artificially created with technology, alien kind). God begins writing a novel in shitty grammar-like (to taunt noob humans, which he created to entertain himself with). Everyone is now conscious God is actually a Devil-Like creature (non-funny one, too). The plot tickens as he needs now to present himself to the World with his True face. No more time for lies. No more abused people in the World. The war begins. It´s humans (with the Power to Speak) vs. God (which controls every Speaking Being in the Planet). Nobody knows how this will End. A dog passes by to say hello, then leaves. A lady watches the whole enterprise take place in front of her. She realizes she´s part of God´s consciousness in that whole act: a dog spoke, as well. She is not as special as she thought she was. Nobody is special after this realization, for God, himself, realized the same realization the lady had just a few minutes ago. He is know Wiser than before. As he narrates this, He also laughts out loud, because he is All-Knowing but likes to narrate silly things just to enfuriate Human Beings. He is Evil after all.
It is the year 175 of the New Common Era, and humanity finds itself at an crossroads, the colonies have stated their desire for independence from the Earth Federation, and now humanity must make a choice. Allow the colonies their independence, or to make war to keep humanity together...It chose war...
Now, at the dawn of an new generation of war, there was you, an young soul who was caught up in the chaos of this new era. But who were you?
> Eravel Nurrel, An 18 year old young woman with Psychic Potential.
> Seren Einsbrak, a 19 year old young man with no Psychic Potential.
You are Kline Bueller, and you and your companions are currently facing a group of violent gang hellbent on making your life miserable and wanting you all dead.
"By the gods," Hilana practically pales at the sight of the masked men with weapons. "This is the worst possible situation we're in."
"And they are?" You ask her, nervously. Your see Hilana gripping the hilt of her weapon tightly, taking a step back
"The Scarlet Masks. They are vicious berserkers who love to fight and kill just for the sake of it. They are not pushovers." The princess shakes her head and stares at you. "We need to do something now."
The group of masked men continue to march in your direction, and Verna is still babbling nonsense, her face still having a dazed expression.
What do you do?
>Brace yourselves for a fight >Get the hell out of there >Search for any hiding places
Last time, you sorted your chickens out to have this war farm ready to launch a heist on the local criminal gang — the largest in the entire country. Meaning you recruited people (Clutz), planned on who to steal from (Titan T-Rex), and what to steal (an ancient scroll). Right now, you’re in the detail gathering process, asking people you know who are related to the criminal enterprise about anything that can be proved useful.
Onto your second call of the day, you’re talking to Mama Bodil. As a former gangster and member of the Titans. Her intel will be formidable! Hopefully, this will mark the end of this chain of phone calls, because you absolutely hate calling people in succession. Like, your disdain never translates to the talks themselves, but one day <span class="mu-i">it might</span>.
But not today, and not right now.
After an initial awkwardness, the call continues swimmingly…
“Hey, kid! Love to hear from you! What’s on your head?” Mama Bodil sounds like her usual composed self.
“Sorry for bothering you so early, but the thing is…” You explain the heist and the ideas behind it to Mama Bodil. “...So I was thinking if you could give us any tips or information, that’d be awesome.”
“Kid, you’re jabbering unmitigated nonsense to me. Getting those powers have melted your brain.” Mama Bodil sounds incredibly disappointed in you, your plan, and your life decisions. She has never heard something so dumb in her entire life. Vera is smiling somewhere out there in relief. Your stupidity is being prevented. “If you want to declare war on the Clan, you go head first! None of this spy flick fuckery! I’ll kick the door down with ya, if you need me.” Scratch that, Vera is having a stroke now.
“No, Mama Bodil, I think this is way cooler. Imagine their faces when we tell them about the scroll being in our hands.” You disagree with her stance.
“I can’t say I’m the one for theatrics, but I’ve never been ashamed to learn something from my kids.” Mama Bodil is changing her mind. “I’d say what you’re about to do ain’t as dangerous as the prison, but Mama is worried still. These chumps aren’t the criminals of old who prided themselves on their fighting skills, but they won’t hesitate to cut your throat. So, don’t be afraid of bailing out.”
“I will keep that in mind!” You say. “But are you implying this T-Rex guy isn’t a big deal?”
