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[OMENRPG]Ben
First Post
LOCATION: SECTOR 47, STATION TAUGON 183
UNIVERSAL SYSTEM DATE: 4/9/14475
Taugon 183 was originally built as a long-term survival station for reconnaissance and resupply. The thousands that lived here centuries ago swelled to accommodate the never-ending supply of wounded soldiers in the contested area of space that was Sector 47.
Now that the Void Wars are long over, and the fires of battle that burned so brightly are but a faint memory, the descendants of those warriors and the refugees from the conflict have developed a unique and vibrant culture. Lawlessness had persisted for nearly three centuries, small-scale conflict became expected and the average child knew nothing of hope other than the brief respite of peace.
But as the violent powermongers slowly tore each other apart, an enterprising awowlee named Molo Lowapa slowly rose to prominence. He promised peace under a unified law, and the construction of ships to allow thsoe who wished to leave the station the opportunity to do so. Under his supervision, in a short twenty years, the station became a thriving metropolis in space, even serving as a waypoint and a hub for starward travelers, mercenaries, and traders.
In the last five years, the struggles of holding an ever-growing population comfortable and safe on a station not built to house so many has weakened the strength of Lowapa's grip, and there are those who now openly defy him. The promise of peace is slowly crumbling, the continuous growth of the population strains the already tight resources, and battle for important control nodes and chokepoints has become the norm once again.
Lowapa is desperately close to marshalling his forces and declaring war on those who resist him, choking off life support supply to the areas ruled by these so called freedom fighters.
Once such man, a burshdett named Dekt, was not born on Taugon 183, nor did he have any interest in its politics. He had arrived here as a last resort, hailing from a powerful mercenary cadre, his ship was heavily damaged and many of his men terribly wounded, and the station was his only choice. Now after several years, he and his men have carved out a seat of power, and the people begin to rally behind what they hope can be a better leader.
Each of you has been hired by Lowapa to stifle this threat without causing panic. He is wise enough to know that full military action against Dekt would only weaken his position further, and that he must protect his interests conservatively.
Over the last several cycles (days), you have been contacted and offered the position for a job to kill or capture Dekt, and to meet with Molo Lowapa to discuss the details of the mission.
Now:
The deep reverberations of the bass can be heard beneath your feet as you walk through the padded halls of Molo Lowapa's spacious complex. The club that runs all-cycle long beneath his residence is used as both a focal point for his power and his influence, and even now hundreds of individuals dance and entertain themselves in the raucous environment.
Four guards flank your group, two in the front and two in the rear. Each carries a compact sub-machine gun, hanging from a one-point sling on his respective tactical vest. The cold that you are accustomed to on the majority of the station is not present here, and your warm clothing causes small beads of sweat to form along your backs and brows.
The two guards in front, both of which are human, walk forward in determined silence. Each of their boots fall together on the soft, rubber-like ground in padded unison only a meter ahead of you, their eyes locked forward toward the door at the end of the hall.
The two guards behind, one a hulking insectoid (the chuklakquiss species) and the other a reptilian creature with a small crest of horns (a turtik) both keep pace with those in front, creating a small box for your group to travel within tightly together. Despite your various experience and tribulations, you can not help but feel that you are being escorted with a great deal of security.
At the end of the hall, a small air-lock door, ornately carved and decorated out of various synthetic materials over steel, is flanked on either side by two short and slightly blue-gray awowlee, their bulbuous eyes and enormous mouths looking forward in raptor-like hunger.
As your escort stops at the end of the hall, the awowlee on the left, a compacted shotgun draped across his chest on a sling, nods for the two human guards at the front of your group to move aside. He takes a short step forward, curling one hand's fingers around the grip of the shotgun.
He spreads his wide mouth into an even wider grin, displaying his array of small and pointy teeth, the five thick tentacles at the back of his head moving independently like a human's tongue.
He says with a surprisingly deep voice for a creature barely over a meter tall, "Normally we would require the removal of your weapons, although we are sure that you would refuse such a command. In this case, your reputations precede you, and Lowapa has assured me that you are to be allowed a minute fraction of trust. To avoid bloodshed, we will allow you the comfort of your weapons, although you will be heavily escorted while in Lowapa's presence."
He pauses as he considers each of you, a small little gurgly laugh deep in his thick neck. "If you choose to do anything foolish, we will ensure that the choice is your last. Show some respect, and listen carefully to his offer. It will not be extended again."
The sound of the music is still a quiet and indistinct feeling in your gut, and the warmth of this section of the compound is making you conscious of the water being lost in perspiration.
The awowlee speaking to you types in a code [you may roll to see if you can see it] by the door on a small panel. After a moment, the door makes a loud thunk as the lock moves out of the way, and both doors swing inward with smooth silence.
The room ahead of you is conservatively decorated; transparent material similar to glass and an opaque silicate of a slight blue hue constitutes most of the furniture. A rather short (designed for awowlee) curved couch dominates the center of the room, recessed into a small depression with steps down. A large curved window overlooking the enormous club constitutes nearly the entirety of the back wall, and a rather stern-looking awowlee, relatively tall for his race, stands with his back turned to you.
Sitting in a deep, quarter-egg shaped chair in the corner is a human man, his left eye and part of his head replaced with a rather clumsy-looking cybernetic implant. He rests his somewhat soft chin on the heel of his hand, looking bored and apathetically in your direction as you enter the room.
As you step inside, the two awowlee guards from outside enter behind you, and the four guards that served as your escort remain outside. A button is pushed on the door panel, and the door seals again of its own accord. The pressurized and magnetic lock schicks in place, and you can feel your inner ears compress with pressurization. The room is entirely silent, and no sound can be heard from the club.
There is a moment of tense silence as the awowlee, whom you can only assume to be Lowapa, gazes out into the crowd. The club below continues to dance to the fast-paced electronic music, flashing lights giving strobe glimpses of the horde of nearly-naked dancers covered with glowing irradiated paint.
With a sharp, decisive sigh, the awowlee straightens his posture and the back window quickly fades to an opaque wall with various blue geometric figures slowly and somewhat hypnotically floating upon it. He turns around, his arms clenched behind his back, adorned in a traditional and professional awowlee suit, his head-tentacles covered with a tight hood.
He looks at each of you with his large gray eyes with some severity, assessing you. With a slow blink, "As you no doubt know, I am Molo Lowapa. As much as it troubles me to admit it, I am in need of some assistance." A pause as he relaxes his stance. One of his small hands reaches out in a gesture of welcome, "Please, have a seat if you wish. Some of you I have met before, others, welcome to my base of operations." He relinquishes a small, cold smile.
[What do you do?]
UNIVERSAL SYSTEM DATE: 4/9/14475
Taugon 183 was originally built as a long-term survival station for reconnaissance and resupply. The thousands that lived here centuries ago swelled to accommodate the never-ending supply of wounded soldiers in the contested area of space that was Sector 47.
Now that the Void Wars are long over, and the fires of battle that burned so brightly are but a faint memory, the descendants of those warriors and the refugees from the conflict have developed a unique and vibrant culture. Lawlessness had persisted for nearly three centuries, small-scale conflict became expected and the average child knew nothing of hope other than the brief respite of peace.
But as the violent powermongers slowly tore each other apart, an enterprising awowlee named Molo Lowapa slowly rose to prominence. He promised peace under a unified law, and the construction of ships to allow thsoe who wished to leave the station the opportunity to do so. Under his supervision, in a short twenty years, the station became a thriving metropolis in space, even serving as a waypoint and a hub for starward travelers, mercenaries, and traders.
In the last five years, the struggles of holding an ever-growing population comfortable and safe on a station not built to house so many has weakened the strength of Lowapa's grip, and there are those who now openly defy him. The promise of peace is slowly crumbling, the continuous growth of the population strains the already tight resources, and battle for important control nodes and chokepoints has become the norm once again.
Lowapa is desperately close to marshalling his forces and declaring war on those who resist him, choking off life support supply to the areas ruled by these so called freedom fighters.
Once such man, a burshdett named Dekt, was not born on Taugon 183, nor did he have any interest in its politics. He had arrived here as a last resort, hailing from a powerful mercenary cadre, his ship was heavily damaged and many of his men terribly wounded, and the station was his only choice. Now after several years, he and his men have carved out a seat of power, and the people begin to rally behind what they hope can be a better leader.
Each of you has been hired by Lowapa to stifle this threat without causing panic. He is wise enough to know that full military action against Dekt would only weaken his position further, and that he must protect his interests conservatively.
Over the last several cycles (days), you have been contacted and offered the position for a job to kill or capture Dekt, and to meet with Molo Lowapa to discuss the details of the mission.
Now:
The deep reverberations of the bass can be heard beneath your feet as you walk through the padded halls of Molo Lowapa's spacious complex. The club that runs all-cycle long beneath his residence is used as both a focal point for his power and his influence, and even now hundreds of individuals dance and entertain themselves in the raucous environment.
Four guards flank your group, two in the front and two in the rear. Each carries a compact sub-machine gun, hanging from a one-point sling on his respective tactical vest. The cold that you are accustomed to on the majority of the station is not present here, and your warm clothing causes small beads of sweat to form along your backs and brows.
The two guards in front, both of which are human, walk forward in determined silence. Each of their boots fall together on the soft, rubber-like ground in padded unison only a meter ahead of you, their eyes locked forward toward the door at the end of the hall.
The two guards behind, one a hulking insectoid (the chuklakquiss species) and the other a reptilian creature with a small crest of horns (a turtik) both keep pace with those in front, creating a small box for your group to travel within tightly together. Despite your various experience and tribulations, you can not help but feel that you are being escorted with a great deal of security.
At the end of the hall, a small air-lock door, ornately carved and decorated out of various synthetic materials over steel, is flanked on either side by two short and slightly blue-gray awowlee, their bulbuous eyes and enormous mouths looking forward in raptor-like hunger.
As your escort stops at the end of the hall, the awowlee on the left, a compacted shotgun draped across his chest on a sling, nods for the two human guards at the front of your group to move aside. He takes a short step forward, curling one hand's fingers around the grip of the shotgun.
He spreads his wide mouth into an even wider grin, displaying his array of small and pointy teeth, the five thick tentacles at the back of his head moving independently like a human's tongue.
He says with a surprisingly deep voice for a creature barely over a meter tall, "Normally we would require the removal of your weapons, although we are sure that you would refuse such a command. In this case, your reputations precede you, and Lowapa has assured me that you are to be allowed a minute fraction of trust. To avoid bloodshed, we will allow you the comfort of your weapons, although you will be heavily escorted while in Lowapa's presence."
He pauses as he considers each of you, a small little gurgly laugh deep in his thick neck. "If you choose to do anything foolish, we will ensure that the choice is your last. Show some respect, and listen carefully to his offer. It will not be extended again."
The sound of the music is still a quiet and indistinct feeling in your gut, and the warmth of this section of the compound is making you conscious of the water being lost in perspiration.
The awowlee speaking to you types in a code [you may roll to see if you can see it] by the door on a small panel. After a moment, the door makes a loud thunk as the lock moves out of the way, and both doors swing inward with smooth silence.
The room ahead of you is conservatively decorated; transparent material similar to glass and an opaque silicate of a slight blue hue constitutes most of the furniture. A rather short (designed for awowlee) curved couch dominates the center of the room, recessed into a small depression with steps down. A large curved window overlooking the enormous club constitutes nearly the entirety of the back wall, and a rather stern-looking awowlee, relatively tall for his race, stands with his back turned to you.
Sitting in a deep, quarter-egg shaped chair in the corner is a human man, his left eye and part of his head replaced with a rather clumsy-looking cybernetic implant. He rests his somewhat soft chin on the heel of his hand, looking bored and apathetically in your direction as you enter the room.
As you step inside, the two awowlee guards from outside enter behind you, and the four guards that served as your escort remain outside. A button is pushed on the door panel, and the door seals again of its own accord. The pressurized and magnetic lock schicks in place, and you can feel your inner ears compress with pressurization. The room is entirely silent, and no sound can be heard from the club.
There is a moment of tense silence as the awowlee, whom you can only assume to be Lowapa, gazes out into the crowd. The club below continues to dance to the fast-paced electronic music, flashing lights giving strobe glimpses of the horde of nearly-naked dancers covered with glowing irradiated paint.
With a sharp, decisive sigh, the awowlee straightens his posture and the back window quickly fades to an opaque wall with various blue geometric figures slowly and somewhat hypnotically floating upon it. He turns around, his arms clenched behind his back, adorned in a traditional and professional awowlee suit, his head-tentacles covered with a tight hood.
He looks at each of you with his large gray eyes with some severity, assessing you. With a slow blink, "As you no doubt know, I am Molo Lowapa. As much as it troubles me to admit it, I am in need of some assistance." A pause as he relaxes his stance. One of his small hands reaches out in a gesture of welcome, "Please, have a seat if you wish. Some of you I have met before, others, welcome to my base of operations." He relinquishes a small, cold smile.
[What do you do?]
